27 06 2013

People say they want to
know you.
They want to
walk with you.
They want to share in joy
and pain.
They say to take off the masks
because we are all
one in the same,
wounded and broken.
Some with healing and
restoration
and others still wandering around.

And they say,
come as you are.
No hiding behind masks,
let down those walls.
They make it sound inviting,
and freeing.

And so you give in.
You slowly let the walls
fall,
and allow the mask to
slip away.

And they stare at you.
Unsure of how to respond.
Is it the ugliness that makes
them speechless?
Is it because they don’t
understand this specific
sort of pain?

Because it happens
the same way.
Every. Time.

The slow patting of the
hand.
And the little rub on
the back.
The cliche words that
‘it’ll all be okay’.
And out the door they go.
Pretending nothing
was exposed.

And my heart lays
there.
On those wooden floors
again and again.
Barely beating.
Barely breathing.

I do this again
and again
and again
and again
and again….

When will I understand
that people don’t get it.
People don’t understand
it.
People can’t meet me where
I am,
despite their convincing
words.
People can’t meet me half-way.
There is no halfway.
It is this way or that way.
My terms or yours.

And this is why I isolate
and hide away.
Because it’s just that much easier.
More painful?
Yes.
Lonely?
Yes.
Depressing?
Yes.

My hope in people
and the church is
non-existant.
I know it should fully
be in Jesus,
but I also know we
should be able to
trust in the body to be
the body.
But the body is wounded
itself,
and I just guess it
doesn’t work that way anymore.

Today I took yet again
another huge stab to the heart.
It’s hard not to take these
things personal.
It’s hard to pretend it didn’t
hurt.
But it reminds me yet again,
they just don’t get it.
And that’s okay.

It’s not you,
it’s definitely

me.

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