I am in that house again. The one Jesus is at. I am at the table.
This time I have my head down on the table and I am pulling my hair and then punching myself in the face over and over.
I’m sure this is just my own imagination. Symbolic of how much I hate myself. Not that it is right, but this is how I feel.
I didn’t stay long enough to see how Jesus would respond. I’m too stubborn and childlike right now.