Obtuse: 650 words

I don't know what to do. 

 I'm lost beyond words. I'm out of ideas. I have nothing. There doesn't seem to be any hope left. Deep down I know that's not true. There's always hope, even when the whole world is starving and lusting and growing more and more depraved, murderous and apathetic and the national debt ceiling continues to tip-toe higher into the lives of the next generation. Even with all that, there is still hope. It is fact.
And yet... fact and feeling sit on opposite poles. 

I don't want to go back tomorrow, or the next day or the next or ever again.I admit that freely. I don't want to go sit in that room and watch as their mouths clickety-clack and their eyes rove the surroundings. I can see my words travel in through one ear and out the other. Not that I say much that is mind-blowing. I don't have great lessons to teach or tremendous inspiration to offer. I'm simple, tired and lost. 
Because they don't care. 
And now after all these months, it is wearing on me, and I begin not to care too. 

Apathy. It is the worst enemy of all. Apathy. It is worse than death, because in a way it is a living suicide. I don't want to throw away my ambition, but I see it slipping away before my eyes. 

On Monday my English teacher assigned a word in class for me and my classmates to write about: The word is "Obtuse." 

I'll be honest, when he said it, the meaning escaped my memory and all I could see was the brazen figure of a triangle etched into my mind after 180 days of geometry. It took a dictionary definition to remind me, and after reading the phrase that followed "obtuse" I felt the cold grip of conviction on my shoulder. 

I am obtuse. 
I am apathy. 
I am pretending not to see, for the fear of what will come.
I am conquered.
I am allowing something unimportant to become everything.

I am insecurity. 


In many ways it all goes back to eleven years old and the brown-haired boy who said, "You're not good enough. Pretty enough. Smart enough. Thin enough. Godly enough." And thus began my ever upward climb for perfection, and the pattern that developed: strive, fail, become defeated. I would work hard, but not hard enough, and spiral deep into depression whenever I did not succeed. I want to be loved. Liked. Thought well of. So I keep my mouth shut. I stay seated. And I stay safe.

I am obtuse. I know what I should say, but I don't say it. I know when I should rise to the defense of the defenseless, but I keep my eyes down and pretend not to see. I am obtuse. 

But obtuse is not me. 

I will fail, not once but many times. Probably daily. But the only way to truly fail, is to give up trying altogether. I will not let myself give up. I will cease to be obtuse. 

Instead I will be acute. What better way to be? 

So this goes out to You. If you're reading this: I'm sorry. I'm sorry because I've failed you by not speaking up. And You, I'm sorry because I've failed You by failing to listen. And You, I'm sorry because I've failed You by failing to defend myself against the stones you throw. And You, to You I say I'm sorry because You've given me everything I need and I do not heed Your advice. 

And to You: I am sorry for not giving back, after everything You have given to help me succeed. 

Lastly, to You. Because I have not remembered Your words, those special words You sent me on the night I needed them most.

"You are the light of the World. A city on a hill cannot be hidden." ~Matthew 5:14

So no more hiding in the winepress. 
I will no longer be obtuse. 
And obtuse will not be me.