Skip this if you're not into my cryptic melancholia
I've been presented with some rather disturbing facts vis a vie my past which I have apparantly supressed somewhere deep within my subconscious.
For anyone who was wondering... I am an evil person.
That may sound melodramatic, but trust me. Whilst others we know and love say it in jest, I truely am condemned - by deeds done and undone.
I have often flattered myself by thinking I was a reasonably empathetic person. I have often thought wrong it would seem. When something stands before you in plain view for years without your notice and your gaze is finally turned to it by another, you can do but two things: deny it's prior existance and continue your folly or acknowledge that you do indeed lack vision.
I lack vision.
Outward and inward vision both.
Tonight I saw that I have been the sculpter and the clay. Or rather a clay which sculpts (no suitable metaphor avails itself sadly).
I am the architect of woe, both mine own and that of them who surround me. I am he who we read about and lothe. I am he who is scorned and shunned.
But am I that still? In short, yes. I will always be what I have been, and can be again, for if it was within me once it is within me always. It is important to know who you have been so you can find the way to that which you desire to be, and yet without a certain knowledge of what I would be, can I help but fear falling back to the old?
I have worn too many masks. I have lived too many lies. I have never lived the truth as I have never known my truth. Will I ever? I know more of it today, but the new is but a small part, significant, but small.
I wish that I could starve my conscience.
For anyone who was wondering... I am an evil person.
That may sound melodramatic, but trust me. Whilst others we know and love say it in jest, I truely am condemned - by deeds done and undone.
I have often flattered myself by thinking I was a reasonably empathetic person. I have often thought wrong it would seem. When something stands before you in plain view for years without your notice and your gaze is finally turned to it by another, you can do but two things: deny it's prior existance and continue your folly or acknowledge that you do indeed lack vision.
I lack vision.
Outward and inward vision both.
Tonight I saw that I have been the sculpter and the clay. Or rather a clay which sculpts (no suitable metaphor avails itself sadly).
I am the architect of woe, both mine own and that of them who surround me. I am he who we read about and lothe. I am he who is scorned and shunned.
But am I that still? In short, yes. I will always be what I have been, and can be again, for if it was within me once it is within me always. It is important to know who you have been so you can find the way to that which you desire to be, and yet without a certain knowledge of what I would be, can I help but fear falling back to the old?
I have worn too many masks. I have lived too many lies. I have never lived the truth as I have never known my truth. Will I ever? I know more of it today, but the new is but a small part, significant, but small.
I wish that I could starve my conscience.