Ah.

Sometimes I wonder, legitly, if I have some sort of sociopath in me. I find it hard to care. About people, about things, about my life, about my Spiritual self. Maybe it's just apathy, but it's a hard-reigned apathy if so. Perhaps I'm so out of tune with who I am and with God that I've simply phased out of the human side of my nature and split into two different people.

On the one hand, you have the warrior. The priest. The scholar. The wise young man. The writer. The author.
On the other hand, you have the coward, the sick, the lustful, the dispassionate, the cold, and the strange.
They're at war, constantly, now. And I can't ever escape. There is no escape from self except in hard work, which is fleeting to pursue. This is why I want a longboard. The only other time I could escape from myself, aside from working, was when I rode a longboard that my friend Kade loaned me while we worked at a fireworks stand last summer.

Fortune favors the bold, but often times it abandons those that do not work for their own happiness. Depression is one thing, but I am not depressed. I'm apathetic, and there is a difference. You can still work hard while feeling apathy. It's much harder to work--or move--at all when you're depressed.

I am not being an example of the believer that I should be.
And I don't know if I can find the strength to ask for the strength to become that believer again.