herlucidlife

It’s the next day supplies have run out again. The first day of no smoke is always the hardest and no it never gets easier. Starting from square one each time, I save the kief for one last hoorah at the end of the night. Looking, searching, digging into my mind for some kind of peace. I don’t feel any, the supplies are empty. I stopped going to Jesus when my mind got too high, it feels disrespectful coming to Him like this while other times I think “I have no choice, He has to see me ugly before His cleansing.” I know I sound absurd, He only died for me because I’m raggedy. Dragging myself into better mental health is a ghastly task at best. Searching, scheming, breaking my own rules and boundaries trying to escape myself. 

Fighting tooth and nail against my spirit, funds lacking I just want to crawl in a hole and wait for my next high to arrive. Stuck in my head, alone most of the day I don’t like talking about this feeling with others because when spoken it sounds stupid. Irrational how something could become so potent to my life that it houses excitement, fear, and comfort. First thing I do in the morning and the last activity at night you have become my bible. A place of worship I sit at your feet more than God’s. Trying to bring You with me, meditating on gospel and pursuing the Bible app in my tomb of smoke. It’s not the pacifier I need, tainted with embers. I believe Jesus sits with me in every situation and circumstance. The issue is I’m trying to make it homey for us while Jesus has already prepared my forever home. 

Moving in the midst of not feeling like it, creating in the midst of feeling dry. Sometimes it’s a blessing that anything outside of breathing gets accomplished. Passing away time, pushing tasks to the side for weeks, I finally found the mental capacity to achieve something I’m proud of. Behaving well in public, slumped to the ground in private. Life must go on, doing while tired, exhausted mentally caved in, no one is waiting for me to regain lively features before throwing things my way. Keep going anyway because the truth is we’re all walking around here heavier than we’d like to admit. Putting on a front for the world, lying to self saying everything will be okay while nothing really ever feels “ok.” 

Unfortunately, this life can only be lived by me per the rules of life. No hired help can do the job, for my bank account says so. No this life, this step, this breath can only be done by me one moment at a time. A sober mind does not mean I love Jesus more. It does not mean I’m the best Christian in the world, maybe it just means getting faded is an issue I struggle with. Sometimes I think, what would life be like without mental suffering? What would health and wellness feel like if mental exercise were not needed? Crazy how overtime I put myself in this prison in my mind and only I have the key but I keep playing around moving the exit thinking, “why not stay trapped forever? It’s dark and cozy in here.”