I Hate Myself Even More When Win

I try to be the best at everything I do. If I’m the best then maybe I’ll feel loved. But it’s hard to be the best. It takes time. It takes effort. It takes focus. It takes sacrifices. And after I’ve put in all the work and I find myself on top, something strange happens. I hate myself even more. I’ve climbed to the top of the mountain that is my expectations. Finally I kept it together and pulled through. At last I conquered my emotions and kept my poise to be the champion. But at the top there is just emptiness. There is no way to go but down. Down into despair. Into even deeper self-loathing. Because my usual comfort in my despair, that I will win at some point in the future, is suddenly revealed as a lie. I won outwardly, but it’s still just me. It’s still the guy that hates himself. Still the guy that does not deserve to be loved. And in this new-found cloak of success he looks even more pathetic and naked than ever before. He has nothing. The success he strived for turned out to be a hoax. The promise was a fraud. And now he has nothing. So what can I do? Where is my faith, and what should I do with it? I know God lives. I know Jesus lives. I know he is the way, the truth and the life. I know he rose from the dead, conquered the grave and called his people to share his victory. But what’s the point? How can I feel so miserable knowing these things? Why don’t I feel peace? Where is the love? Where are the fruits in my life? There is just nothing there. It’s so much pain. And I suffer for no good reason. I suffer for my sins. I suffer for my selfishness. I suffer because I am such a shallow and disgusting person. And yet I am not ready to suffer for anyone else, because I feel that would be the easy way out. To cover up my own shortcomings by sacrificing myself for someone else. Then suddenly my suffering would be fine, and it would make me a hero. A fake hero, that only hides his own pain in the pain of others. Like, if I were to go to Africa to help the poor. Or if I were to hit the streets to assist the homeless. Then suddenly I would be the strong party, the helper, the healer. But I’m so weak. I need help. I need healing. I don’t want to be strong by comparison. I don’t want to be relatively healed. I want to rise again. I want the cross. I want you Jesus. I want you. I want you to save me. I want you to heal me. I want to scream. If te point is to live near you, then what am I doing? If the reason of human life is to love you, then what is going on? I’m on my knees. I can’t see because of the tears flooding my eyes. I have no real problems. I don’t starve. I am not sick. But I’m riddled with disease, and my character stinks like a corpse. I have nothing to offer. Less than nothing. I take and don’t give. I whine and moan about the tiniest of discomforts. But that’s the way my life has become. And I need your life in mine. I need a new heart. I need a new spirit. Please come touch me. Give me your gifts. Transform me. Make me new. Let me die with you, so I can rise with you. Teach me what it means. Breathe your life into me. I cannot breathe on my own.