Honest Diary 02/07/26

The house is quiet, but my head is screaming. It’s always these late nights. They lay me out on the operating table and force me to look at every single flaw until it hurts to even possess a brain. I woke up again with that familiar, heavy sickness in my chest; the immediate realization that I have to spend another day inside my own skin.

I actually imagined walking up to my own corpse tonight. Just looking down at myself and thinking, “You absolute waste. You're so weak.” How twisted is that? I feel like I hate myself so deeply that my own mind generates images of my destruction just to make myself feel at home. I’m trapped in this twisted paradox where I’m surrounded by success, yet I feel entirely bankrupt. Not that I'm successful materially but in life a lot of people would envy what I have but I take it for granted I guess. I buy into the lies the world sells me, knowing they're toxic, because at least the poison is familiar.

I don't see the people who love me the way I should. They look at me, and I can see how misunderstood I am in their eyes. I want to be better for them. I want to heal so I can hold them. But how am I supposed to offer anyone warmth when I am burning my own house down? How am I supposed to love when internally I am destroying myself?

The Silence from Above

So I did it. I finally did it again after resisting for a reason unknown to me. I fell to my knees tonight. I threw my arms wide open, completely exposed, and I quietly desperately asked into the ceiling.

“God, where are You?”

It’s been weeks, months maybe. I know I’ve been selfish. I know I’ve ignored the signals, burned the bridges, and clung to my misery like a safety blanket. But I am standing here completely empty, begging for a connection, and all I get back is the echo of my own voice. It’s a terrifying, hollow kind of hopelessness. If this silence is all there is, if I am truly cut off from the divine, then I am entirely lost. I want to feel His presence, but my hands just grasp at thin air. I look at the sky and feel completely invisible. Unseen. Unneeded.

Does He see me? Or am I too broken to be worth fixing? What if this is the plan for my life to remain in this space of mental torment.

The Comfort of the Cage

The scariest part of all of this is the pride. I am too proud to genuinely ask for help, too stubborn to admit that I'm drowning. I’ve lived in this trauma, these unaddressed demons if you like, and this self-pity for so long that emotional agony has become my comfort zone. My self-esteem goes up in flames every single day, and I just sit back and watch it burn like it’s a campfire keeping me warm.

I’m terrified of healing. I’m terrified of peace. If I put down the baggage, if I stop being the broken human I know I am.. if I actually let myself find God and find peace... who would I even be? I don't know how to exist without my pain.

I’m walking through the ashes of everything I ever cared about. I want relief. God, I just want relief, but I keep kicking away the hand that tries to pull me out of the dirt. I'm knee-deep in the defeat of my own actions, screaming for freedom, but refusing to walk through the open door.

The peace keeps speaking to me. I can’t hear it whispering in the dark. So I can't have it.

I just can't have it.

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