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Help me.
I’m losing my faith.
I feel it slipping from me. Draining out, drop by drop.
Like blood from a slit wrist.
I’m frightened.
There will be nothing left of me.
A shattered goblet. A fractured bowl. Empty and useless. Naught.
I weep in the night.
I don’t know why that happens.
I ache inside.
A bright light fading to gray, then black.
I cry out to the ceiling fan, up there, spinning away.
Churning hot air, but not helping. There’s no reply.
Where is God when it hurts?
I don’t know. I can’t find Him anymore…
…at least not alone.
I’m sending you postcards, letting you know where I am.
They’re on your table. Won’t you read them?
I’m tired.
I’m in the corner.
You don’t see me. I’m pathetic, inconsequential.
You look right past me.
I’m invisible.
Mr. Invisible. I should be a superhero. I’m not.
I have no special powers.
I’m nothing like you.
I skulk around the edges, lurking in the shadows of the steeple.
Nature abhors the vacuum that is me.
Dust in the wind. I’m dust in the wind.
Crowds scare me. I hate being with you.
But I long for your attention.
I want to be wanted.
I yearn to be part of the Body. I just can’t do it…
…at least not alone.
I’m sending you postcards, letting you know where I am.
Aren’t you getting them? Don’t you care?
I can’t go on like this much longer.
I pray alone.
I’m bearing a pressing weight. It crushes me, even in my sleep.
My spirit is ebbing and my flesh is weak.
I’m ashamed.
Sex and perversion clutch at me with painted nails and airbrushed bodies.
I disgust myself, the vile things I do.
I’m addicted. My guilt is drowned in a bottle.
I’m thirsty. Oh, God, I’m thirsty.
My heart’s been torn into bloody ribbons. Hope has left me.
Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?
I shudder under tattered blankets
Fetters, emancipation, bondage, relief
It’s the unending conflict that’s destroying me.
I can’t be healed…
…at least not alone.
I’m sending you postcards, letting you know where I am.
Why aren’t you reading them? Why don’t you answer?
Where are you?
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