Costa Mitchell

David Powlison (1949–2019) once inverted Psalm 23 to portray what life feels like and looks like whenever God vanishes from sight. He called it AntiPsalm 23. —— I’m on my own. No one looks out for me or protects me. I experience a continual sense of need. Nothing’s quite right. I’m always restless. I’m easily frustrated and often disappointed. It’s a jungle—I feel overwhelmed. It’s a desert—I’m thirsty. My soul feels broken, twisted, and stuck. I can’t fix myself. I stumble down some dark paths. Still, I insist: I want to do what I want, when I want, how I want. But life’s confusing. Why don’t things ever really work out? I’m haunted by emptiness and futility—shadows of death. I fear the big hurt and final loss. Death is waiting for me at the end of every road, but I’d rather not think about that. I spend my life protecting myself. Bad things can happen. I find no lasting comfort. I’m alone . . . facing everything that could hurt me. Are my friends really friends? Other people use me for their own ends. I can’t really trust anyone. No one has my back. No one is really for me—except me. And I’m so much all about ME, sometimes it’s sickening. I belong to no one except myself. My cup is never quite full enough. I’m left empty. Disappointment follows me all the days of my life. Will I just be obliterated into nothingness? Will I be alone forever, homeless, free-falling into void? Sartre said, “Hell is other people.” I have to add, “Hell is also myself.” It’s a living death, and then I die.