What's to come...

Golden streams of light blanket the world outside of my shadowed hideaway as a cool breeze carries the sweet lullabies of bird song and life along its playful edge. It attempts to trickle past me, sneaking into the small opening of my darkened corner, but fails to capture my attention as a pair of small ear buds sit snugly within the cupping flesh of my ears, allowing the haunting melodies of my favorite music to distract me from the world itself. The soul igniting title music of Requiem for a Dream. I close my eyes and take a deep breath slowly, allowing the air to fill my lungs, enjoying the way they expand within their large cage of flesh and bone, hold it for a moment, lingering on that odd tightness…then like a shattered levee, I unleash it and feel myself begin to wither as though the emptiness I feel is all that remains. That it’s not merely an expression of emotion but a tangible thing. 

The words flicker and sway through the unseen winds of my memory warehouse as they slip from fingertips to the keys beneath them. Graceful in their movement along the screen, to be understood. To be seen. Wanting nothing more than to rid the self of the heaviness bearing down from within. A spirit weary, a soul crying out for a resolution to the coiling leviathan of pain twisting through the delicate pathways of a wounded heart.

I speak in poetic riddles, my secret language of honesty drenched in melodic prose. Desperate to escape this shell I have unknowingly cocooned myself in. The chrysalis of self-preservation no longer needed. To be like the coming of new life, to be free of what I once was. To emerge like the butterfly; beautiful in its new form and free. But I am no butterfly. I have become more like the Moth; a creature of beauty hidden under a darkened sky. Where the Moon is my goddess and I am a slave to the light despite how it burns me. To want so desperately to be near that warmth, that haunting glow… Only to realize it will be my very downfall.

Try as I may to be like so many that I admire, I find myself falling behind. My footsteps have gone still as I’ve unknowingly traveled along a path that has narrowed. One that no one has walked in what seems like ages. A forgotten path only the bravest or most foolish would venture. One there is no preparing for.

I feel a quiver of cold fear slither through me as I view my future footfalls along this new path; covered in thick, skin tearing thorns. There is no escaping them, no avoiding their razor edges. If I’m to keep going, it will not be easy. It will not be painless. Those thorns will rip pieces of me away as I force my way through them. I will not make it out the other side as I initially began. I know, within every fiber of my being, I will not recognize myself if I make it out alive. You’d think that perhaps for a moment, I would pause and weigh the options and consider the possibility of turning back and finding another way, an easier way. Perhaps it is Pride that refuses to fathom another way, or pure stupidity. I don’t have the luxury nor energy to go back… Besides, every forward movement of my weary form is only than swallowed by the keepers of time.

Sadly, there is no choice. There is nothing behind me but shadows and dust.

Muscles strain for a moment in hesitation before I finally put one trembling foot forward and already a thorn has sliced deeply into my calf; red bubbling to the surface and trickling down the pale flesh in stark contrast. The sting is sharp and immediate, but I don’t falter. I keep going. More cuts begin to cover my legs, more red welling to the surface, the pain a constant thing as I will myself onward. The thorns seem to close in, thicker, higher, and sharper; assaulting my entire form as I take one agonizing step after the next. It feels as though I feel nothing but this excruciating agony as I am now covered in that warm red water. I feel as though I will collapse, my body no longer strong enough to experience this self-induced torture… The echo of red footsteps in my wake…

Eyes closed in an attempt to shut out the agony, the constant reminder of where I am and what I’m doing…what it’s doing to me…

Suddenly, it stops.

Cool air presses gently along the open cuts littering my form and my eyes, slowly, carefully, flutter open.

The monstrous thorn bushes have receded and have faded into the nothingness behind me. Trembling, I suck in shallow breaths as the sting has morphed into a horrific throb along every inch of my bleeding body as I attempt to bring my arms close to my chest; gritted teeth holding back the hiss of mind-numbing discomfort as my flesh screams in protest at the simple action.

I force my tired eyes to focus on what lies before me and realize with an ache of confusion that I’m standing before a wall of thick, unearthly fog. It almost appears to be waiting for me as it swirls within itself like a clouded mirror.

Exhausted, weak and having nothing left to go back to, I take a few tentative steps toward the living mass of vapor. I know I should be afraid but perhaps I’ve experienced too much in such a short period of time for my mind to scream at me to stop, to be cautious. Or I’ve simply become too numb.

The thought of reaching out to investigate this wall of heavy mist dances behind my eyes, but I decide against it. I know what I have to do and trying to delay the inevitable is futile at this point.

There’s no use in trying to make sense of a thing when the world itself is bred of chaos. It is better to simply immerse myself and see what happens.

Besides, I have nothing left to lose.

-To Be Continued-

Where the hell have I been?!

I can feel it deep within churning, unsettled. Seething. There’s a fire beginning to blossom within the inky blackness of my internal warehouse. A soft glowing ember casting gentle rose colored light along cold, gunmetal walls. I can feel something there, hidden inside its growing light. An oddness that becomes ever so distinct. A heartbeat. I can feel its gentle thunder; a sacred rhythm within its shimmering core as the glow begins to swallow the shadows all around it. The beginning of the end… The words play behind my eyes like a mantra as this once soft ember begins growing into a brilliant flame. There are truths flickering playfully along the delicate curves of this dancing light. Old and ancient things only my soul can decipher. Not yet, not yet… The words whisper voicelessly within the endless catacombs of my inner labyrinth made of flesh and bone.

The words have long since eluded me; flecks of lights drifting into a vast open void of nothingness and creation. Where the shadows dwell. My hidden sanctuary. The place I go when the world is too loud, too bright, too harsh. I slip into that mystic space and feel myself expand. The constraints of reality torn away leaving me weightless, unrestrained. Free. A home where nothing can find me, harm me. The realm of nightmares… My guardians that come at my call. They swarm and slither, their obsidian forms a macabre chorus of beautiful horror only my twisted heart would love. The sound of their soft hissing fills the air as they flood the room. Blacker than the shadows around them; sentinels of my soul.

Peace weaves through me and I am who I’m meant to be. Calm, serene, unafraid. The terrors that would haunt any brave soul are my gentle warriors. My comfort. My family. They surround me, laying before me, around me. Safe.

I am truly alive in the hidden place, where the broken fragments of who I used to be are slowly, carefully, being pieced back together into a better me. A stronger me. Something I can be proud of; no longer haunted by the echoing tragedies of misplaced yesterdays. There is, however, a single truth I will forever live by. I am not a victim. I refuse to ever deem myself as such. Yes, I’ve journeyed through various degrees of living hells that will forever scar the heart held deep within, but I am no victim. I walk with wisdom, with experience. Not with a label claiming I am a porcelain doll. A silent exclamation that I’m fragile and in need of special treatment lest I break. That I’m incapable of being strong enough to drag myself forward, despite how battered and bruised I appear. I am not a damsel, no matter the degree of distress I may be in.

When I find myself feeling the vulnerability of my hidden wounds beginning to surface, I go into the shadow. I immerse myself in their comfort, their safety. To quell the chaos screaming behind my eyes so I can emerge as myself, more or less. It’s the introvert in me. I pull away to suss out my internal damage, seek out the ways of self-healing and when I’m tired of being alone, I return. Simple.

There is much I have discovered while licking my wounds. There are truths about myself I wasn’t entirely aware of, could never truly pinpoint or understand. Now, I have a better grasp on why I act or react to things the way that I do. Also the realization that I am deeply flawed and have a somewhat odd perception on the world around me. I truly do dance to the beat of my own drum. But there is nothing wrong in this. I’m simply me; weird, hopeful and eccentric. Not in the ‘Look at me because I’m soo different and unique!’ kind of way. Dear gods, no. Because I understand that though I walk a different path, there are others like me. Perhaps not many, but they exist. I know better than to assume the ‘special snowflake’ syndrome. Ugh, don’t get me started on how that irks me…

I digress.

My point is, that I’m aware of my quirks. The things that even if I don’t agree with, things that I find embarrassing, they are simply me. I’m accepting every skewed piece of myself. Because this is the only life I have. A short, painful and sometimes absolutely beautiful one that I plan to hold on until I’m finally ready to let go. Which, will not be for a very long time.

I know that my behavior has been somewhat worrying. My distance having been for longer periods of time and when I do return and speak, it’s more cryptic and less the bubbly overly silly expression than before. As though a piece at time, I lost more of that optimistic light.

The part of me that was so enthusiastic. So willing to be open and honest and frankly…vulnerable. After every wall that I’ve hit, every new scar etched into my metaphorical flesh; wounds so deep within my mind they will take a lifetime to heal… I have become so much more reserved. There is still that part of me that wants to burst forth like a solar flare of happiness and joy. To bring warmth to everyone that light touches, regardless of who they are or what they think of me.

But there is a more dominant part of my personality that once was dormant, biding its time in that secret labyrinth where my guardians dwell. A part of me that has no use for such sharing; vulnerability. Leaving me open time and again for attack. No, that is something it simply will not abide. This quiet storm that guards every piece of me fighting to heal into something that vaguely resembles who I used to be. It wants the best for me. Protecting this shell as the soul finds its footing again and relearns how to fill this shattered space.

I will never be who I used to be. That’s obvious. If you were to go back in this blog, to the beginning…you will see the changes happening in every post I typed. You will see how I started to transform and that I was in fact, aware of it. I knew it would come to this. I knew that I would never be the same person I was when I started this blog. Especially when Dad’s illness took hold. That’s when this me now, began to manifest. The life that I had planned, the life I was so hopeful about, the one I was ready to explore…to live in… Was ripped from my hands before I could truly get ahold of it.

It has hardened me. I have no patience for unneeded bullshit. I truly understand this truth, “If you don’t like me, why are you wasting your time telling me? Go use that energy on something that’ll benefit you.” I also understand the complexities of human behavior much more than I ever had. The emotional reactions to situations and how best to handle them. I watch others begin their experience and know that there are many ways for them to handle said situation. For a first time, I know it will not be easy. It will seem catastrophic. They will not react well. It’s to be expected. It’s only those that have gone through it time and again, those are the ones that walk with wisdom. Instead of boasting it to the world and all to hear how much they’ve been hurt, they keep it hidden, keep it locked away. It merely shows that they’ve been through it themselves and know that it too shall pass. No need to waste precious energy on something that will inevitably work itself out.

As I sit here, ready to conclude the thoughts that continue to pour through these fingertips like expert dancers along black keys… My phone is propped up to my left, music playing rhythmically into the air around me, keeping me calm. Background noise to fill the hollow space of my mind, forcing unwanted thoughts to remain quiet as I type.

Know that I am grateful for this ability to use poetic-prose as a means to convey the twisting war of my thoughts in a way that makes sense. That I’m still, in a sense, able to share parts of me even though I’ve grown rather distant and silent in the past few months. More than I ever have been. But perhaps, it’s nothing more than a phase and this is merely the beginning of something new. A better me…from the me I used to be.

On that not, I need more caffeine.

-Adieu