I’ve been told that writing about this particular subject would be helpful so here it goes.
I have lost faith in a majority of what my life is. I guess you can say I started to lose it when I was about 9-10 years old. Maybe younger. I’m not sure. But I remember losing faith in myself when I started decelerating at math. I was a good student in several other subjects, but I noticed that my weak point was math. Maybe it was just the subject matter at this time, not a further indication of my own aptitude. That was not the case. I started to decline in my grades and led to an eventual failing of a test in fourth grade. I cried when I knew I failed. I think I can pin it to that moment. However, it seemed I could not get any sense of confidence back. It just continued to spiral when crushes started to happen and they were unrequited. Further hits to my self esteem. Continuing to fail in math, I just couldn’t get it. Then with little ability to keep up with the subject alongside my unrequited potential romantic partners and friendships, depression started to really sink in. I think I lost faith back then. I had spurts of hope every now again, which was a nice little vacation until it came crashing back down to earth again in a heap of rubble. It seems every time I tried to reach God, my tower came crashing down. So eventually, I stopped trying, thinking that no god wanted anything to do with me. Why would I be stuck in this pit of despair every day if there was such an entity? I had some renewed faith when I left for college, thinking a new life would give me the strength I needed to be what I’ve always wanted to be. But that entire identity was a sham, an act I had made up to get people to like me so I could have faith in myself again. But that didn’t work, as I was always in fear of being found out that I wasn’t who I claimed to be. It seems I have given myself a beating over the years, being my own master and slave, dominant and submissive but with little care or concern for myself. That killed all the faith I had. Having it beaten out of me with a bloody intent, the vase I would carry any faith in was now smashed to pieces, despite the constant repairs I did to try to seal the cracks.
I don’t know right now if I have any faith or not. Every time I build a monument to hope within me, it is stricken down by the hurricane within me. The unearthly winds and the raging tempest fueled by the heat of anger and resentment floor any attempt I have that might stand in the midst of its fury. The worst part? I created it. I made this monster. So very much is it a part of me that I mistake it for myself most times. I am the storm; the storm is me. Made from my own blood, drained into a wine that created a dizzying, infernal rage, I birthed it into this world, a twisting screaming storm that only calms down periodically. If only I had not made this storm, made it a clone of me as for me to mistake my own identity, my own image… perhaps I would still have the smallest slice of hope and faith still, something to keep my head above water in these drowning times. My life vest is being worn from my tight embrace…. I see some sunlight every now and again, but just as I find that my eyes tighten in the sunlight, the blackened clouds roar with a thunder again to hide the clearing.
I wonder if I’ll make it out of this storm alive.