Forgive me Father, I know not what I do.

Yes...having sobered from my self-despise slash frustration slash forgotten security slash blind selfishness, I now see strikingly clearer. The dust my own feet kicked up has somewhat settled and I've begun to see the mess in bitesize and chewable chunks. None of any of my solutions (hopefully long-term and routine) have anything to do with anybody else. It's all on my head. This here child is wanting to grow up.

I'm sort of ashamed of the fits I throw, my implosions of senseless bitterness, my excuses to abuse my body (yes, I've acknowledged over-eating and emotional eating as self-inflicted harm and although somewhat amusing, utterly stupid and too influential of my daily handling), my obvious negligence regarding friends with the excuse that "they started it!" and finally, my semi-devotion (the much loathed, luke-warmth) to God. All of the above, I'm attempting to "fix" for the umteenth time in my hopes of being a better person, in my hopes of meaning what I say, and walking as I boast.

Heck, I'm a billboard for Christianity and I'd hate to think that I might so much as project a crumb of anything contrary to the agape love, passionate justice and absolute truth that God is. But who am I fooling? I'm nowhere near the sort of Christian standard that Jesus illustrated in his many parables and teachings.

So I'll sweep everything off the table and try and try and try again. Because we only live once and because my life is but a breath. But a breath, let me be one most refreshing. Start again, I have nobody to blame. Moth Teresa and Helen Keller (just to name a couple) didn't blame anyone. They probably had less means than I (save the strength from their depths) to change the world and ripple such a violent recoil into poverty's unequivocal hold on mankind- that continues to inspire many a hopeful also to wage war on selfishnes-, that silences my complaints. As mentioned by the mentor, in the grand scheme of things, how petty are these complaints...really. Go and dig up gold in the friends whose elbows are driven sharp into your side - yeah, go and get over yourself.

But a breath. No more, no less.
...I say all this now and I'm sure I sound very brave, but I...yeah, have no idea.