4.09 - Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down
Since my exile and, to steal a splendid Amish expression, shunning, I've been a wreck. Emotionally, mentally, physically, in every respect that a person can go down, I've been going down. What's worse...I'm beginning to lose hope that I can bounce back from this.
My mantra has essentially been "Just keep doing what you're doing, don't lose it, wait for spring break, then you'll sort it all out." I don't think I'm going to make it. For the first time in a damn long time, I don't think I'm going to make it. I see my future as a spectacular explosion, the tragic end to a promising career. In the flames, I see the faces of those who got what they deserved and those who I've disappointed in my obsession for vengeance. The cost of vengeance is what? I can't let this alone, it isn't right, but what can I do?
I've noticed also from recent interactions that my emotions have not cooled. This situation hasn't defused, no matter how anyone might paint it, it isn't over. Some people may be done with me, written me off as dead, but I don't give up. Even if death is the natural ends, I'm going to fight until that's the last avenue. I will fight to survive until I'm dead. And pride being what it is, I'll orchestrate my own destruction before I let someone else have the pleasure. It's a pleasure I know many people out there covet, seeing me crash and burn. Well, get out your popcorn makers, I have the feeling that this may be it.
I'm still molten, filled with liquid anger that continues to plague me day after day. I'm so lonely, I have no one here at the end of the day. Maritza, James, like so many others are at the other end of the phone, but I need someone here and now to grab me and pull me back down. I am defying gravity and it's nothing like Idina Menzel described. It's floating away, rising away from the sense of civilization, flawed though it is, moving to something much more existenital and frightening.
I've never been this uncertain. I still retain control over all of my faculties and have a time share control of my life, but I feel it slipping away. I hear the voices calling me, waking me only to drown. What the hell was that about anyway? Damn you, T.S. Eliot. All I know is that I've been trying everything I can think of and nothing appears to be working. As someone told me lately, it's still fresh, raw, has yet to heal properly. That's the saving grace of the present, the fact that there are still a select few people on this campus who I can trust to tell me when the sky is falling and when it's only raining. And it rains a lot.
The bottom line here is that I am stable, for the moment. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? I could wake up cured tomorrow for all anyone knows. Or I could rise to find the last shred of restraint gone, melted away like the residue of dreams. We'll see, when all is said and done, it'll come down to my character and fortitude. If only I was sure of that myself anymore, then we might be in a position to start salvaging and moving on. As for now, I'm stuck, wedged in anger and sorrow, slowly losing my mind.
My mantra has essentially been "Just keep doing what you're doing, don't lose it, wait for spring break, then you'll sort it all out." I don't think I'm going to make it. For the first time in a damn long time, I don't think I'm going to make it. I see my future as a spectacular explosion, the tragic end to a promising career. In the flames, I see the faces of those who got what they deserved and those who I've disappointed in my obsession for vengeance. The cost of vengeance is what? I can't let this alone, it isn't right, but what can I do?
I've noticed also from recent interactions that my emotions have not cooled. This situation hasn't defused, no matter how anyone might paint it, it isn't over. Some people may be done with me, written me off as dead, but I don't give up. Even if death is the natural ends, I'm going to fight until that's the last avenue. I will fight to survive until I'm dead. And pride being what it is, I'll orchestrate my own destruction before I let someone else have the pleasure. It's a pleasure I know many people out there covet, seeing me crash and burn. Well, get out your popcorn makers, I have the feeling that this may be it.
I'm still molten, filled with liquid anger that continues to plague me day after day. I'm so lonely, I have no one here at the end of the day. Maritza, James, like so many others are at the other end of the phone, but I need someone here and now to grab me and pull me back down. I am defying gravity and it's nothing like Idina Menzel described. It's floating away, rising away from the sense of civilization, flawed though it is, moving to something much more existenital and frightening.
I've never been this uncertain. I still retain control over all of my faculties and have a time share control of my life, but I feel it slipping away. I hear the voices calling me, waking me only to drown. What the hell was that about anyway? Damn you, T.S. Eliot. All I know is that I've been trying everything I can think of and nothing appears to be working. As someone told me lately, it's still fresh, raw, has yet to heal properly. That's the saving grace of the present, the fact that there are still a select few people on this campus who I can trust to tell me when the sky is falling and when it's only raining. And it rains a lot.
The bottom line here is that I am stable, for the moment. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? I could wake up cured tomorrow for all anyone knows. Or I could rise to find the last shred of restraint gone, melted away like the residue of dreams. We'll see, when all is said and done, it'll come down to my character and fortitude. If only I was sure of that myself anymore, then we might be in a position to start salvaging and moving on. As for now, I'm stuck, wedged in anger and sorrow, slowly losing my mind.