I am.

Why does one put one's self in harm's way? Why do I have this tendency for self mutilation? (As Ned would say) I have made a commitment to try not to think about women yet what do I find myself doing almost more? Why do I feel compelled to continue in things I know I shouldn't? Why do I drag things on instead of putting an end to them? Am I that self seeking? Do I put that much thought or pull on what people think about me. Am I that insecure that I need confirmation of self worth? What is wrong with me so much so that I need, am forced, compelled, obligated, constrained and bound to seek others approval? All of this is like a dozen freight trains racing through my head at speeds incalculable. Like my mind is a punching bag and I am the puncher. My mind reels and heaves at these thoughts. They are constrained in the sense of vocal action, yet they find their way beyond words. They are who I am; who I hide. They are the inner façade to an even greater turmoil. They are the raging waves and currents of the ocean now as the void. The void encompasses the ever increasing crevasses and hidden corners of me. When people look at that two letter word 'me' they think and ponder at what it truly means. They know not what it, in fact, is. If they did they would be open to a rage, a wrath, a frenzy. Their idea's and characterizations and labels all amount to wisps on the wind of who I truly am. And who am i? Am I the Man of God; the one with impeccable moral fiber and character. Am I the secret sinner that has infiltrated the deepest levels with the cleverest of disguises? Am I the frail teen seeking truth? Am I simply confused? I wonder these alongside the chaos and trials of every day. If I made the wrong choice? Yet still I know that I did not. That I am were I am supposed to be. The question dissolves to what end?

These are not the first encounter and reckoning of these thoughts and ideas, nay, these persistent and nagging queries. They are simple made worse from the outcome of their ravenous appetite. Even after a day such as this, the haunt my every thought. I am one searching for an answer? But the answer to what? I am a purpose without a cause; a fight without a reason. A am an adult in adolescence, a Man in a boy. I am unknown, not understood, Alone. Yet there is still the whisper in my ear, the whistle of the wind? No, a silent companion; one who knows all and does not tell. I am not alone. I feel alone, I am alone, but I will never be alone. I am a state of mind. I am an idea. I am a missing puzzle piece. I'm a statistic. I am unlabelable. I am unique. Yet how do I attempt to label myself unique and not labelable in a society where everything is and has a label. Like the Israelites who want to name God so they can 'own' him, how do I own myself if i do not truly know who I am and what my name is. Ywh the name that is unpronounceable or rather should not be pronounced is the label God gives himself. It means "I am who am". I am who am. I am who I am. I am not who I think I am. I am not who you think I am. I'm who I think you think I am. I am a servant in search of master that is already found. I am a voice seeking it's sound. I am lost in the middle of being found. I am a series of thoughts that lead to no end. I am a logical being in an illogical conundrum. I cannot label myself so I seek others to do it for me. I am a plate spinner. A spinner of dreams. A spinner of worlds, cities and people. I am a master spinner of personas; switching between them as I like, freely as a bird. But one false move and all the plates come crashing down. I am one removing the plates. Trying to discover the table they sit upon, they are build upon, their foundation. I am an onion with its many layers. I am a painted wood object trying to discover the grain. I am a door that's lost its key. I am a door that lock's is broken. I am key seeking it's lock. I am a lock seeking it's door. I am a door seeking it's frame. I am a light without any source. A source without any light. I am stuck in an elongated path, a pathetic path, that whinds from one state of mind to the next as a river seeks it's end. I am self destructive in survival. I am a product of modern thought and a thought of modern product. I thrive where I die and die where I thrive. My mind is a split personality an oxymoron. I am who I make myself to be; yet, I am who God made me. I am smart and I am dumb. Strong, but o so weak. I am blind where I should see and see where I am blind. I am a struggling stranger. The only fact that can be proven, and yet not proven, is that I am. My mind exists yet nothing else might. I am. I am here. I am questioning. I am thinking and pondering. I am brooding and, yet, preoccupied.

I am.

 

A Struggling Stranger who is.