I Don't Need Your Inspirational

Don’t tell me to just believe. Don’t tell me that if only I believed in myself, that if only I believed hard enough, tried hard enough, then I could be anyone I want. Then I can do anything. Anything.

What good does believing do? And what can faith accomplish? If my faith in myself is as big as a mountain, can it move a mustard seed? After all, it is not so much about faith, as it is the object of faith.

I don’t want to hear you saying “you can do it!”, when clearly, I can’t. I hate how you force yourself to think positively, how you believe baselessly on optimism as if it were a god. I hate how you chant your words like some mantra of an obscure religion. I hate how you only look at the positive side, not facing the reality of the situation.

Let me tell you: false hopes could be more destructive than hard criticism. It does not kill in one blow after which it is possible to recover. No, it whittles away the life, little by little. It keeps me ignorant. It keeps me from growth.

“Everything will be fine.”

Why?

“It’s okay.”

But it’s not.

You call it inspiration. Positive thinking. All I see are half truths and baseless lies, statements that can’t even stand up to a little scrutiny. So stop feeding me your sweet poison. I’d rather swallow whole a raw bitter gourd.

What I need is the truth. I need the encouraging word of truth, not the desperate hopes of a disillusioned mind.

I need you to tell me that truth, that I sang terribly at the karaoke last night. I need you to tell me that I skate well. I need to hear how embarrassing I was in front of her. And tell me I’m funny. That my breath is bad. Tell me I cook well, and that my fashion sense is terrible.

I need that bloody, excruciatingly painful truth.

So tell me that it’s not okay. Cry with me. Tell me that even this is for the good of those who love God. Tell me that I’m wrong. That I’m wretched. And that I have hope. Remind me that I’m forgiven. Tell me that I am changed.

I don’t need a placebo. I need that bitter medicine. I need that bloody, excruciatingly painful heart surgery. I don’t need your inspirational.