i toss and turn in my bed. it’s 3am. my sister is already asleep and i am mad at her because she is not awake to listen to me talk. and i am mad at her because she is able to sleep.

i wonder why i can’t sleep. why i actually have resorted to counting sheep. and why it is not working.

i think maybe i just need to calm down. maybe if i smoked a cigarette. just one. and then it’s not like i’m addicted. i will just use it for what it was made for. i get out of my bed. walk downstairs. every stair creaks in my house. i think about the word creak. and how i have no idea how to spell it.

creek? creak? creke. nothing in my head looks right. it’s one of those dumb words that probably isn’t even a word. more of a sound. and can you spell sounds? willow creak.

i open the door to my outside. my cigarettes are in my car. so that is where i am headed. the door to my house won’t shut without first making the loudest whale noise known to man. and then it slams behind me. because i live in an old house. and thats what happens in an old house. an old house with no air conditioning. an old house with loud natural noises.

i am outside now. and it’s gross and slimey feeling. can air feel slimey? it can in illinois.

i get in my car, and take a cigarette out. i have no lighter. i look around for matches. i know i have some. they are in here somewhere. damn matches. i look under the seats. in the cushions. in my trunk space.

“what the fuck, matches.”

i am starting to freak out now. so i just casually tell myself that looking for a way to light the cancer stick is definitely doing way more harm then it could ever do good. so i walk to my front stoop, and sit down.

i cry. i cry a thousand tears. each which should dry my eyes out, only cause more tears. and then i talk. i talk to myself. i talk to God. because after all what is this?

what am i feeling? why am i not happy? and why has my life caused me more pain then good? why did that lady stop me to tell me that God wanted me to ask for things from him. and then God would give them to me. pray.

crazy lady. crazy God talkers. if there is a God. why the fuck does he not talk to me?

why do the insanes tell me things and freak me out? and really, if the lady was correct, where are the gifts that i am supposed to recieve? or when they are upon me, do they leave before i get to touch them?

I don’t know, but i believe that God must hate me. that he must get joy out of my pain.

fuck off God.

yeah i said it.

if all good things come from you. then you must not exist to me. i’m sorry. no. i’m not. fuck you.

i cry. because tears feel good. because they mean something. they mean i am alive. and they mean i can still feel. i know in my heart that God exists. there is too much meaning in life to say that there is no God. but to say that God truly loves me. that he could, when i have been so alone. that when i cry out to him he does not answer. and when i protect his name, he does not protect me back.

really. am i so wrong?

the only people to dislike me are those at the church.

the only people to judge me. are those from church.

It hurts when i am OF the church.

this is what people must associate me to. this is what people must think of me. but i am not them. i just want to love them. but they don’t want to love me.

God. if you love people. why do you let this happen? why when I ask for peace. for hope. for something good. do you turn it down? why do you wave it in front of my face and watch me leap for it and then laugh as i fall flat on my face? i have faith. and if this is testing. you are really going to far.

i stand up and walk around my front yard. i stomp my feet in anger. cause it feels good to be immature and insignificant. it feels good to not care and to be angry. it feels good to say the “f” word and know that i am allowed to do whatever the hell i want.

it feels good. and i say to God. “give me a sign.”

i wait for it. crickets.

i wait for it. mosquitos.

i wait for it. damn mosquitos.

i wait for it. God. you suck.

then fine, don’t give me a sign. show me you love me. and we’ll keep talking. it’s not fair to be in this state. when it’s not a chemical imbalance. i have perfectly good reasons to be sad. i have perfectly good reasons to cry. and to get mad at you God. i have good reasons to be angry. and no good reasons to be happy. the good never cancels out the bad.

one time someone told me that it’s pointless to hold your anger in at God. let it out and then find out that what you were mad at was not God at all. just yourself. maybe even… the devil. hahaha.

fuckin devil. i’m pretty sure i’m angry at God.

he doesn’t have to let this happen to me. when i ask for protection, he can save me. if he really wants to rescue me, he could have done it. on new years. with my friends. with my church. but i was lost.

i get up out of my place. walk inside. up the stairs. and lay back in my bed. i would be lying if i say i don’t toss and turn for a few more minutes. but soon i am out. dreaming. maybe it’s not a sign. but at least i’m worn out. and if you are to see me. i am smiling. because i know i am full of shit.