A Chasm of Unexplained Frustration -- LiveWire College Forums

A chasm of unexplained frustration, a weight of veiled guilt, the pressing of unheeded loneliness, the silence of unheard anxiety. When I go home tonight, I go home to no one, no responsibilities, no projects, no distractions, no calls to be made, no friends to jest with, no studies. There are a million things that I could do - I could clean the mess in the kitchen that has been waiting for me all week, I could pick up the clothes in the shower-room, I could arrange my living room to make it look nicer, all this, but for whom and for what reason? I haven't had a visitor since I can remember. No one sees it but me, and I've no reason to impress myself with any sort of cleanliness. I know the mess that is within myself, and how to clean that, I know not, so why worry about the externals? When one asks if they may visit, or if I ask them to, selfishly, oh how quickly the apartment transforms into a five star living area! Much like myself. A mess throughout the week when no one else sees me... pounded right and left with my sinful heart, but once I am with the Church, how spiritual I seem! But the moment the last visitor leaves, I fall to pieces. A fa�ade. I am, in short, a fake. An idiot. A selfish sinner who cares for nothing but how he appears to others. If you wish to see me... stop by unexpected. There I am. Oh how disappointing... and the disappointments are great and not few, when one says they will visit, the day is spent in preparation to receive such a visitor, everything is put in order, and then he cancels. My heart sinks as I look around the tidied apartment. Pointless. I do not weep any more for the loneliness that I face within... no. Why do that? If that would make anything better I would be weeping from night to morning, and the problem would have long been eradicated, for I think that if all my tears were to be bottled up, a full sized bath tub could not hold them all. I have grown numb to it, accepted it. An invisible shell is about me that none are privy to save for those that I allow to see it, and they are few and have not been well selected in the past. My hand is still sore, the scars on my arm faint but there, unnoticeable to those who don't care to notice. But, oh that I would be able to shed this horrible chasm of unexplained frustration, this weight of veiled guilt, the pressing of unheeded loneliness, the silence of unheard anxiety. My heart has been broken so many times... I have duct-taped together what remains and I hide it for fear of what may become of it if it is ever seen again.

It seems that everything I love I must die to. There is one final thing, one final hope, but I fear without anxiety, rather a fear of understanding what is most likely to come and, though unwillingly, understandingly accepting the death that waits for me. My God is good to allow such deaths as I must learn to trust Him more, and the deaths that have passed before are great in their efficacy to grow this child of God, and this final one may be the greatest of them all. But my heart will be my own and no one else's. The fa�ade will become permanent - I will love others, but hate myself with an utter loathing that one would wonder how it hasn't led to self murder. I leave that to God. I do not know my heart well enough to say.

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