Rebirth versus suicide. I want to make the conscious decision to no longer exist, to no longer exist as the person I am. I cannot reverse my faults. I cannot take back my words. I cannot succeed when I chose to fail or reclaim any integrity I so irresponsibly lost. Thus, I shall reinvent myself: A revolution of the heart and mind. I shall be born from the blood and tears and grief that killed my former self. What then, if I accept the person I used to be like an old friend or lost lover? Would that vanish the regret? Would that rid me of the knife that works its way through my gut as I try to form words? Would it at least allow me to read my own writing, without calling it trite or mediocre?
Would it stop me from hating the new person- from hating me?
I can only hope so. I can only hope it will embrace me with all the warmth and freshness of the morning, pulling me into the presence of light and the presence of love and the presence of God.
I can only hope, with all the desperate, honest longing that is hope, that I can still save myself. I can only hope, with the blinding blanket of snow that is hope, that all things that ail me can be cured, that someone will love me despite them and that someone already does.
I hope. When there is nothing else I can do, I hope. I hope with the promise of a new day, a baptism, a change. I hope with the hypocrisy that dwells in the pit of the well in my heart and the hypocrisy that settles on the ocean floor. I hope for the miracle of chance- a much greater miracle than many would think. It's the kind of miracle that makes skeptics fall to their knees in prayer, something I yearn to do but my secular mind forbids.
Someday soon I will be relieved of my wounded heart and my empty beliefs and the restrictions on my ideals. The verdict's in: Rebirth is victorious.