Exhausting, yet Exhilarating. Desperate, but true.

I can't pin the desolateness yet. I can't foresee the future's end. I can't step back into yesterday nor leap into tomorrow. Instead, I feel contained, imprisoned by today's demands. It's forever dragging me downward into a horrible spiral of depressive happiness. False hope and fake enthusiasm is what I offer to the world.

We lead lives of quiet desperation. And yet, I scream in panic, cry out in fear. No one hears, or wants to hear, my call for help. They continue on with their lives and beg for a glimmer of hope in a shinyless world.

Do we dare tell them the truth of their existence? Shall we tear down all of their daydreams and bring to life their worst fears? Must we continue on in blind obedience without regard to our truest nature?

Onward and onward I feel like I'm spiraling, but to what I've not an idea. Passion that once invigorated my soul now exhausts me in its intensiveness. Loving all people was such an easy task and now its the very thing that causes me to crumble inside. Frantically waiting and endlessly praying do I sit in my valley of hopelessness.

Silence is nowhere, conversation everywhere I'd least like it to be. Always there are people and always there is a problem, but never shall it be eminating from me. I understand my call to be about others, to be obsessed with them my entire life's dedication, but my attempts at being completely available to all who need me leave me in a world of hurt and anger.

I'm not angry at those who request my help or to those who desire to seek the light. I am merely God's vehicle to this end shining his love as I've been ordered to do. I feel contempt for those that otherwise love me, yet don't take the time to make sure I'm okay. If my only existence is for other people, there's a humongous chance I may lose myself in that attempt. I'm functioning on empty in a world where full tanks are rare. And yet everytime I want to complain, I look around and see someone that's worse off than I. That's what keeps me going. How dare I complain when I'm surrounded by riches!

Despite my understanding for what I was made to be, I yearn for a time when someone can take care of me. To reach through the pain and the false bravery and to understand that I feel like a clanging cymbal in an orchestra. I feel out of place and sad and overwhelmed. And no one seems to recognize it. Or care.

I receive joy out of helping people, but even joy isn't enough to feed my soul anymore. I need something of substance, something rooted in truth. I'm sad, I'm miserable, I'm burnt out, and scared. And yet, I continue on through my solitary ways with a smile and no sign that my sanity is slipping away.

I don't know how much more I can take it. It's so much to contain. I don't think I can fake it anymore! I feel nearly insane!