would all be over soon and I would be free. No more hurt. No more
nightmares.
I have
aches I cannot turn off. Each day I wake up and find the pain is ever present.
It eats at me. I seek ways to numb it so I can survive it. Drugs do the trick
but they have such nasty side effects and it is way too easy to slip and
overdose. I thought for a while that was what I wanted, but I couldn’t go
through with it. Drugs take complete control, and I’m always more damaged when
I resurface. I’ve given drugs up. I should be proud of myself.
I hate
myself. This honestly isn’t easy to admit, but it’s the truth. I look in the
mirror and what I see reflecting back makes me feel nauseated and nasty.
People pay
to look at me, which I still find completely ridiculous. They are blind or see only
what they want to see from a distance. It blows my mind at what is considered
beauty. I’m a hollow shell that is heavily weighed down and stained by
repulsive sin and vulgarity. But hey, it pays the bills and then some. So I
just go with it and allow the public to covet me naively.
I’m so
damaged…
I really
wish I had died…
Chapter
Eight
Greyson
I almost
died once. Well, let’s be honest. I’ve almost died a half dozen times. I don’t
know why God decided to spare me time and time again. I guess the big Guy isn’t
done with me just yet. There were some close calls and in those moments I had
welcomed the end, but it never came.
I am alive
and well. I have no plans on squandering this gift either. I’m going to live
with my eyes wide open from here on out. Each day I wake up, I am thankful to
still be breathing. I spent the last two years expecting this not to happen. So
every day, I wake in surprise that yes, I’m alive and well.
I want to
enjoy the time allotted to me to the fullest. I want to enjoy people I meet
along this journey of life—especially one certain person.
I’m so
whole again…
I’m really
glad I didn’t die…
~~~~
I close my journal as the sun decides to heat the day.
Everything is packed up, and I’m ready to pull out. We are heading to Boston.
Time is speeding by quicker than I can keep up with and I’ve got a long to-do
list to check off. Maine has been my resting stop and it’s stretched over three
weeks now. It’s time to move on. Stan and Betty already pulled out last week.
They were great company and that sweet lady fed me well every time I turned
around. Julia and I both moped for a few days over missing Fifi .
We got attached to the little fur ball.
These few weeks have passed with me trying to relax and
Julia constantly trying to annoy me. She’s bored… She’s tired of communing with
nature… She’s bored… She feels claustrophobic in the RV… She’s bored… And I’ve
had enough.
We’ve just pulled out of the campground and she’s already started
up for the day. “Why exactly are we going to Boston?”
I emerge on the open road and steal a glance at Julia. She
has all of that silky hair piled up in a messy ball on top of her head and is
decked out in a tank top and yoga pants. She looks like she should be heading
to a workout class instead of on a road trip. She’s got those long legs propped
up on the dashboard and is studying me.
“I want to hear a Boston native say wicked .” I shrug my shoulders. She rolls those prissy eyes at me. I
don’t care what she thinks. It’s something I want to knock off my list no
matter how trivial it may seem to her. This is a short pit stop on the trip. I
only plan on hanging out for no longer than a week. I’ve decided we’re going to
Boston, then this babe needs to go home before one of
us kills the other. The tension is getting worse. I know where it’s coming
from. Julia wants to drink and I won’t let her.
“I thought you were more creative than that,” she teases me.
“Didn’t you already establish I’m boring?”
“You are boring. How much longer until
Boston?”
nightmares.
I have
aches I cannot turn off. Each day I wake up and find the pain is ever present.
It eats at me. I seek ways to numb it so I can survive it. Drugs do the trick
but they have such nasty side effects and it is way too easy to slip and
overdose. I thought for a while that was what I wanted, but I couldn’t go
through with it. Drugs take complete control, and I’m always more damaged when
I resurface. I’ve given drugs up. I should be proud of myself.
I hate
myself. This honestly isn’t easy to admit, but it’s the truth. I look in the
mirror and what I see reflecting back makes me feel nauseated and nasty.
People pay
to look at me, which I still find completely ridiculous. They are blind or see only
what they want to see from a distance. It blows my mind at what is considered
beauty. I’m a hollow shell that is heavily weighed down and stained by
repulsive sin and vulgarity. But hey, it pays the bills and then some. So I
just go with it and allow the public to covet me naively.
I’m so
damaged…
I really
wish I had died…
Chapter
Eight
Greyson
I almost
died once. Well, let’s be honest. I’ve almost died a half dozen times. I don’t
know why God decided to spare me time and time again. I guess the big Guy isn’t
done with me just yet. There were some close calls and in those moments I had
welcomed the end, but it never came.
I am alive
and well. I have no plans on squandering this gift either. I’m going to live
with my eyes wide open from here on out. Each day I wake up, I am thankful to
still be breathing. I spent the last two years expecting this not to happen. So
every day, I wake in surprise that yes, I’m alive and well.
I want to
enjoy the time allotted to me to the fullest. I want to enjoy people I meet
along this journey of life—especially one certain person.
I’m so
whole again…
I’m really
glad I didn’t die…
~~~~
I close my journal as the sun decides to heat the day.
Everything is packed up, and I’m ready to pull out. We are heading to Boston.
Time is speeding by quicker than I can keep up with and I’ve got a long to-do
list to check off. Maine has been my resting stop and it’s stretched over three
weeks now. It’s time to move on. Stan and Betty already pulled out last week.
They were great company and that sweet lady fed me well every time I turned
around. Julia and I both moped for a few days over missing Fifi .
We got attached to the little fur ball.
These few weeks have passed with me trying to relax and
Julia constantly trying to annoy me. She’s bored… She’s tired of communing with
nature… She’s bored… She feels claustrophobic in the RV… She’s bored… And I’ve
had enough.
We’ve just pulled out of the campground and she’s already started
up for the day. “Why exactly are we going to Boston?”
I emerge on the open road and steal a glance at Julia. She
has all of that silky hair piled up in a messy ball on top of her head and is
decked out in a tank top and yoga pants. She looks like she should be heading
to a workout class instead of on a road trip. She’s got those long legs propped
up on the dashboard and is studying me.
“I want to hear a Boston native say wicked .” I shrug my shoulders. She rolls those prissy eyes at me. I
don’t care what she thinks. It’s something I want to knock off my list no
matter how trivial it may seem to her. This is a short pit stop on the trip. I
only plan on hanging out for no longer than a week. I’ve decided we’re going to
Boston, then this babe needs to go home before one of
us kills the other. The tension is getting worse. I know where it’s coming
from. Julia wants to drink and I won’t let her.
“I thought you were more creative than that,” she teases me.
“Didn’t you already establish I’m boring?”
“You are boring. How much longer until
Boston?”
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