Truth

I used to have things to say.  I used to write; blogs, poetry, letters, words.  I'm out of words.  Literally.  Everything is just empty.  And as much as I'd love to say it's because this happened or that happened or because my childhood had this or that...  there isn't a reason.  It's just the overbearing realization that everything is meaningless.  Maybe there is substance to be had out there for the lucky few, but for most of us we're just floating in a stream of nothingness.  Brief moments of amusement aside, there is neither any sense of happiness that I've experienced nor anything to lead me to believe that any such sensation truly exists.  And at the end of it all, I'm frustrated.  I'm frustrated that ten years ago I was touched by something larger than myself and that now I can not deny the existence of the God of the Bible because that means that my only true means of escape has effectively been stolen from me.  Not looking for sympathy, not looking for anything.  I don't expect there to be substance, but I guess there's still a tiny part of me that foolishly hopes that in writing this I'll at least feel some sense of relief or lessening of my burden.  I guess I haven't completely learned better yet.  I'll have to work on that.