the dance of the ink riddled fingers

evenings are darker for me

Posted in 52 pickup by enisea on 22/04/2011

There is something about the evening that pulls the rug from under me.  As the sun sets, it takes the better half of me.  This sinking feeling that this secret is going to bankrupt my reputation keeps me shamed humbled. That if people found out… they would treat me with that which I loath – sympathy.

But tonight, illumination.

I used to go out every night, I used to leave the house in the morning, latest 9am and return sometime between 9pm-1am. That was my weekday occupation: to disappear, to be busy, to live in the blur, to always have an itinerary involving others.  I was never standing still, I was never alone. I never let the smile leave me because I lived off others.  But fatigue started nagging at my young irrationality.  Somehow the facade that ‘being busy means a productive and fulfilled life’ was wearing thin and He told me I needed to stop this and slow down.  Gradually, His firm hand was heavy on mine, gradually blocking every second event, every third opportunity, every fourth ‘yes’, and my phone started assuming a hush.  I hardly use my phone now, I hardly hear it.  There is little point checking it, because it’s a little pathetic realising how little I receive; and the few times it does buzz or cry for my attention, I am relieved… until I realise it is some mass text from RMR or 3, in which case I shrug off disappointment.

Lately has seen me keep to myself most evenings now (though my days are still hectic), and the few times I’m actually asked out, I’ll reply my default “sorry, I’ve got paperwork to do”… which is true. Except the time I could’ve spent conquering paperwork (work and college) 3 times over, is spent feeling absent. Faced with absence has been crippling. Having nobody to bounce off tortures me.  I feel like a parasite who lives only off others, as if I’m not my own host, and trying to live without response and feedback of others is dry and unrewarding.  I foolishly gave my soul to the social bunny and now I’m trying to wrestle it back via these violent withdrawal symptoms of sparse validation.

Abba’s trying to tell me something, teach me something. He’s training me to be productive at my worst.  He’s been provoking me to leave the house, on occasion (when I’m feeling brave enough), looking very average.  He puts finger to my lips when I want to talk excessively to others, half the time I ignore Him and talk anyway.  He asks me to listen, to watch, to be a little less obvious and a little more invisible… because let’s be serious, it’s not about me, and I can’t keep acting like it is.

I used to ask for revelations of ‘true beauty’ since ‘shallow, media-driven, anorexic “beauty”’ seemed more elusive… but I’m beginning to think otherwise; that true beauty is even harder to obtain than media’s definition.  The beauty that couldn’t care less about exteriors and care so much more about every single soul.

I’ve been possessed by this sick desperate hope that people would love me because I write well, would love me because I look pretty (sometimes), would love me because I am funny, because I am loud and laugh a lot, because I can sing reasonably well…which is all rubbish because I’d hate to be loved for any of those reasons because that would be the definition of conditional love… and that would suck once all of these fleeting ‘impressive things’ fall away from me… and they will. 

Value me – no more or less than I deserve. Put away the ‘normal social conventions’ that claim that normal people hold each other at arms length and only converse under ‘cool conditions’. Normal people can’t love me… they don’t have the patience and endurance to.  Because if you haven’t noticed, I’m about as inconsistent as Melbourne’s weather and I rise and collapse without so much as a whisper, because I shun weakness… but worst of all I despise hopelessness.  And I need whoever reads this to know that they cannot use the excuse that “they (being strong, calm, happy, etc) cannot be publicly vulnerable” by my own example, because apparently I am all of those things.  And between gritted teeth, I am telling the world wide web, right now, that my evenings have been horribly lonely.

Having said this, I don’t want to now be littered with invites and spammed with messages and calls, that is not the point – as above, I don’t want your sympathy. I just need to be honest with you and dispel the myth that ‘really social happy people are really social happy people every waking moment’. Somehow there is relief in telling you that my demons claw at me most evenings and torture me until my soul shrivels as I cave to some selfish useless moment of using people just to feel better about myself.  I need you to see that I am humiliated as I write this because this is not the picture of a confident, faith-governed Christian… but weakness is the inevitability of us all and we need to learn to stop running from it.  The pressure of being ‘strong and happy’ all the time beckons leaders wear masks.  I hate masks, because 10-5 years ago, my masks nearly melted onto my face and I almost convinced myself I was what was fake. 

I don’t think I’ve written this very prettily… it’s a gross concept: weakness, vulnerability.  It’s uncomfortable and messy… sort of like me right now.  However, just because my enemy never leaves me doesn’t mean I never experience victory.  It merely means that we try to conquer each other’s lands…frequently.  It tries to chain me and keep me prisoner while I try assisting the escape of others – being considerably familiar with the process of capture.  Sometimes I lose a little ground and sometimes I gain a little, hopefully more of the latter than former.  Anyway, He who positioned me on this front for this particular battle has an overarching command and He never loses.


“Hey nic! A few of us are chilling at my house. Come by if you’re free and join :)”
“I think i will :) thanks for the invite! Seeyou in 30?”

I’ve got to go, company awaits, I’ll fight these demons another night…

Remember, Hallelujah.


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