sleep.

the moment I grew up, I started going to sleep.

and I went down to this place in my mind where I could hear myself.

and I found that I was screaming. why was I screaming?

it was louder than anything I had ever heard before. it was the sound of my questions. it was the sound of my anxiety. it was the sound of my anger and pain. and it got so loud that I couldn't drown it out, and i stopped being able to discern the different voices from each other.

the moment I grew up, I started going to sleep.

but it was so loud in there that I couldn't stop waking up.

the moment I grew up, I started to wake up.

composure.

it's been roughly

a month, four days since I've written anything of significance. 

because it's hard to put words to something you still can't describe.  

it's difficult to write a song when you feel like a symphony, 

but it's hard to write a symphony.  

(there's no metaphor there. symphonies are damn complicated. there's so many people. so many parts. so many sounds, noises, tensions, rises, releases, all working together to create one giant beautiful picture. I couldn't ever write one of those. but then again, I can't even write a damn song. I think there's a double metaphor in here now. I don't even know, man. writing is hard.) 

writing is hard. because I feel like this symphony is messed up because I put myself in the wrong chair. am I the writer, or the conductor? I know God's one of those, because these are metaphors and that's how this works when I write metaphors. but I don't know which space I'm screwing up. wait, I got it now. 

I am the blind conductor.  

I'm conducting this symphony performance with a few pages missing, and out of place, and probably even in Latin or something. But instead of trying to find the right pages, I'm just making things up as I go, trying my best to pull it from a memory that grows more fleeting every day. I remember it was a great song. but I'm trying to get this to work again, and it's taking longer than I thought. And this all feels way too familiar in a way that I dread, but I think I can figure it out. or at least I hope i can.  

i want to write a song. 

but I'm no composer.  

and I'm still lacking a bit of composure.  

let's put me back together again.  

even when it hurts. (breakaway 2016)

there are some moments that I'll probably never be able to fully understand. and I think that's okay.

a year ago, I was absolutely excited for this week. four months ago, I was completely dreading this week. ten days ago, I stopped sleeping. a week ago, I preached a message on sadness and the grip it had on my life. last night, I was able to let go of it all.

I started to hate the person I had become this last year. I was unrecognizable even to myself, and in the spiral that I fell into I lost just about everything that mattered to me, for reasons that were nobody's fault but my own. I spent 8 long months blaming everyone around me but myself, because I couldn't see that the common denominator had become me. I prayed about a month ago, at my lowest spot, for Jesus to give me peace and for the ability to worship even when it didn't make any sense to me.

Sunday night, I slept for the first time in a week. Tuesday night, I prayed with someone dear to me. tonight, i laughed harder than I have in months. this week, I let go. this week, I understood praising when it hurts.

so thank you Breakaway for doing what you've been doing to me for 8 years now - for teaching me how to trust and obey, and for reigniting passion and love in my heart. thank you to everyone I got to share this with and to those who graciously allowed me to take part.

this is real love.

i leave my eyes open.

i leave my eyes open,

because maybe then I won't dream;

maybe I will keep the days from moving, 

and the clock from running.  

maybe if my eyes stay open this won't sink in, this won't all become reality. 

because once it becomes reality, everything will change (or nothing will change). 

because nothing makes any sense anymore.  

except it does. and the only thing that doesn't make sense is how the hell i managed to miss it all.  

or did I miss it all? 

was it all right here in front of me? 

this may be an answer to my prayers, to the lingering doubts of who I'm supposed to be,

but

maybe I didn't want them answered yet.  

honestly I like sitting.  

because I can't chew gum, or utilize cough drops.  

the gum is ALWAYS eventually swallowed, 

the drop is ALWAYS chewed.  

because slow, lingering relief has a blood feud with instant gratification.  

but that always ends in disappointment.  

and am I disappointed? but in who? 

me? 

you? 

them? 

it? 

You? 

us? 

i leave my eyes open,

because maybe, 

i'll see it.

i leave my eyes open, 

because, 

i can't bear to miss it. 

i want to close my eyes,

because, 

I'm terrified I missed it.  

did I miss it? 

22.

there's a shift that's taken place in my mind, 

and I know what I'm looking for but still don't see how to get there.  

i thought this last year was going to be great.

and in a lot of ways, it was.  

it was amazing. it was an adventure, in every sense of the word.  

but it's hard to enjoy an adventure when you're unsure who is supposed to take place in the story. the supporting cast is just as important as the lead. and it's difficult to look back on those past experiences knowing there are too many things tainting them. 

and so it was great. but it's quite a bit of work to separate two worlds, to define a new healthy normal while holding parts that you desperately want to cling to.  

there's no logic in emotion, 

but emotions cloud what we perceive, and so we try to find a solid anchor yet end up tethering ourselves to a mess.  

i don't want to keep playing into the cycle, 

but I don't want to lose what I think still matters.  

i want to believe in myself again, because I believe in the One who has made me but I get stuck doubting in who He made me to be.  

i want to pursue what I'm supposed to be. I want to embody all that I love. I want to write a damn song without feeling pathetic about it. I want to write the words my heart has been trying to shout.  

i don't know about you, 

i guess I'm 22.