reality didn't know me then
Do you ever feel like, every now and then, your life is going backwards?
There was a time when this wouldn't have phased me, a period of my life that stretched across years, and nothing felt real. No consequences for this fake universe, I wasn't exactly free to do as I pleased, it was more like living in a shell of time-and every now and then you would wake up and feel like half your life has been a dream, or nightmare, and when you realize it is the "reality", you return to that numb state of mind that allows yourself to succumb to arising each day to do your duties like a respectful, honest, faithful, virtuoud daughter that you have been taught to be.
Imagine that veil of uncertainty- if this is the real world, if this is going to hurt, if this will make something hppen, does it mean anything? If I push myself harder-could I break open like a twisted trap around some once-gracious animal of the brush? If I make this blunder, will I get away with it, sweeping past authority because I am the "good girl" - if they only knew I was planning chaos under my breath. Chaos of which world-only my own. For I did not want to harm any other person, I knew they had rights to live, the sunlight to love, the grass to touch, the wool to scratch their back in unreachable places.
It was just, I never felt the need to itch that scratch, instead I let it fester, I waited and felt the temptation and ignored it until it disappeared into the flippant universe of flesh that it arose from.
Living for years with out knowing if I was of any good or evil, whether what I did made any sense to any other mind that I was trying to connect to, and whether or not I could slip underneath the comfort of a tangled up series of scars on my legs and hidden portions of my body that no one would ever wish to see because I was defiled, dirty, and used by the worst possible man.
It has been a long time since I have been this conscious. For this year, I have reached the pinncale of pain, and I was in danger of never returning from it. This past September, it was the end of one life. And the blessed beginning of another.
Being reborn, reincarnation within the same shell, has been a hallowing experience. But healed, I am not. For the rest of my life, I will know what lies beneath my skin, I will see the scars on my body and know that it was I that made the choice to inflict them, I will understand that in one portion of my mind-I will always be crazy or depressed or suicidal or irrational.
But hear this, my journal, that this life is no longer ruled by an uncertain mind, by a wavering reality. The haze has lifted, and it has shown a clearer path. This does not mean I have all the answers for my life, nor that there won't be times that I get angry or hurt. It means that when I am angry, or hurt, that it is REAL this time. Ligitimate, solid, and quite valid.
I think I needed to write this because I wanted to feel what it would be like to be uninterrupted, listened to, and believed with a purity that only a journal can truly provide.
And now, to go and have some fun.
There was a time when this wouldn't have phased me, a period of my life that stretched across years, and nothing felt real. No consequences for this fake universe, I wasn't exactly free to do as I pleased, it was more like living in a shell of time-and every now and then you would wake up and feel like half your life has been a dream, or nightmare, and when you realize it is the "reality", you return to that numb state of mind that allows yourself to succumb to arising each day to do your duties like a respectful, honest, faithful, virtuoud daughter that you have been taught to be.
Imagine that veil of uncertainty- if this is the real world, if this is going to hurt, if this will make something hppen, does it mean anything? If I push myself harder-could I break open like a twisted trap around some once-gracious animal of the brush? If I make this blunder, will I get away with it, sweeping past authority because I am the "good girl" - if they only knew I was planning chaos under my breath. Chaos of which world-only my own. For I did not want to harm any other person, I knew they had rights to live, the sunlight to love, the grass to touch, the wool to scratch their back in unreachable places.
It was just, I never felt the need to itch that scratch, instead I let it fester, I waited and felt the temptation and ignored it until it disappeared into the flippant universe of flesh that it arose from.
Living for years with out knowing if I was of any good or evil, whether what I did made any sense to any other mind that I was trying to connect to, and whether or not I could slip underneath the comfort of a tangled up series of scars on my legs and hidden portions of my body that no one would ever wish to see because I was defiled, dirty, and used by the worst possible man.
It has been a long time since I have been this conscious. For this year, I have reached the pinncale of pain, and I was in danger of never returning from it. This past September, it was the end of one life. And the blessed beginning of another.
Being reborn, reincarnation within the same shell, has been a hallowing experience. But healed, I am not. For the rest of my life, I will know what lies beneath my skin, I will see the scars on my body and know that it was I that made the choice to inflict them, I will understand that in one portion of my mind-I will always be crazy or depressed or suicidal or irrational.
But hear this, my journal, that this life is no longer ruled by an uncertain mind, by a wavering reality. The haze has lifted, and it has shown a clearer path. This does not mean I have all the answers for my life, nor that there won't be times that I get angry or hurt. It means that when I am angry, or hurt, that it is REAL this time. Ligitimate, solid, and quite valid.
I think I needed to write this because I wanted to feel what it would be like to be uninterrupted, listened to, and believed with a purity that only a journal can truly provide.
And now, to go and have some fun.