What the actual fuck, bro. What the actual fuck.

I was a fan before the last bit of this marathon. This part we’re in now, with six days to go.

I watched your television show, I was rooting for you, I was Team Lucifer.

And now, I feel you breathing down my neck, controlling my thoughts and feelings, whispering to me that all I need to do is give up and you’ll give me freedom and relief.

Not cool.

And you know what else isn’t cool? How I spent yesterday prophesying my own death.

Over, and over, and over again, watching myself die with your voice screaming that this was the last day I had. I told Mary that I would prove you wrong by living until tomorrow, so you spent all night last night waking me up from nightmare after nightmare, as I begged God for sleep.

It’s taken me 33 years to get this close to true relief. I mean, I know that this many mental illnesses aren’t going to go down quietly, but it is you that will end up fucked over in the end. I’m going through with the baptism. Come what may. And I’ll fight you tooth and nail until I get to that river.

But hey, other main character in this Christian chapter that seems to be playing out right now, um, you think I could get a bit of relief please, Jesus?

“Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.”

Hebrews 11:11

You’re ridiculous up there, Celestial Crew. You know that, right?

Immediately as I typed the word Jesus, the pain and agony of the day fell from my heart, as I felt a tickle on the top of my head. Then, I open the bible and you give me 11:11? Honestly, y’all are something else.

Alright, I’m just going to let this post be a short one. Gotta get that content out, eh?

At any rate, thanks for keeping an eye out for me, y’all tickly weirdos. Here’s hoping I’ll still be able to have that gift of Sight that was once promised.

Xoxo,

G