Overflowing..

Anger has built up so much, I'm full to the brim. I'm just gonna type. Let the chips fall where they may.

Salty taste in my mouth, where's it coming from? Haven't been to the beach. I hate the beach. I don't swim in the river, it smells bad. Where is this salt taste coming from? My face it wet. With the same salty concoction. But why. Oh wait, I get it. The salty liquid is coming from my eyes. But why? What it causing these eyes to burst with tears? What is that I smell? Oh no. No no no no no. Stop, make it STOP! NOT AGAIN! God, why. You promised. You told me. How is this gonna get better now? Who am I supposed to turn to now? You moved my wall, my rock. Now I'm falling and there's no one there to catch me. The slurred words. The empty bottles. Strangers who aren't really strangers. That blank, placid look on her face. What does it remind me of? A stone. How ironic. All of these elements kicking, Kicking me while I'm down. The remarks cut open newly-healed scars ike razor blades. "They use you." "If you don't like it, then move out." "Your friends are wrong." God, why are you letting this happen!!! Please, Lord. I'm asking You to make it stop. You said if we ask we will recieve. Well I'm asking. Begging, Please, make it stop. I don't know what to do. My efforts are wasteful. Nobody hears my point. Nobody cares. They don't care. Lord. It hurts. Daddy, make it stop. It's only a matter of time before it hurts to breathe again. Before this salty liquid clouds my eyes so much I can't see. Before my brain refuses to respond to anything, including pain, and I become a zombie again, only moving when I have to. I don't want to be like that again. But you know what. I'm tired of fighting it. I'm tired of asking. I'm tired of trying to fix it. I'm just plain tired. I don't want to deal with it. Give me the broom and let me sweeo this pain under the rug that I call "Smile" or "Mask". I'm sorry, God. I give up. I can't try this anymore.It's not working. I can't let this be my problem anymore. Please, Lord. Get me out of here. Take me home. A different home. Not this home. Not with these things, not with these people. Too many memories, too many scars that are dangerously close to the razor blade. It hurts to much to fight it when they are just going to get ripped open anyway. Distract me, Lord. I don't want to turn my back on you. But this is too difficult. Maybe you'll hear if your prayer warriors ask. My voice is tired of asking. Do what you will, and I'll do my best to honor it.