What will happen tomorrow? This feeling is so transient. The pain is so far away. I feel like moving my body. I feel like its powerful, flexible, and beautiful. I feel energetic and focused. I don’t feel like I have to escape my very being, tear myself away from the rotten, suffering core of my existence. My consciousness wants to hide. It can’t bear the burden of my own existence. I’m constantly hiding, fleeing. I’m tired of fighting, enduring. I want release, escape, sweet escape. I don’t want death, I want escape from this existence. I need to exist on a different place, a different consciousness, free from this suffering, doubt, anger, tiredness. The tiredness is soul deep. I wake up wanting to sleep more. Sleep is resltess, full of nightmares, but still I don’t have to move, choose, act, go through the charade of caring, being normal, functioning, smiling when I want to float away. I’m tired of the act. My entire existence feels like a game, a play, the lines are well practiced, so hard yet so easy after so long. They come naturally, sometimes even when I want to stop.
Today, right now, I’m feeling better, drug induced My pain is coated in sugar and kept apart from me. I feel free, I feel more like myself than I ever do. I remember being a child, I remember my dreams, I remember things I want, things that are important to me. The entirety of my consciousness isn’t occupied trying to force away the muck - the creepy, crawly, clinging, clawing, memories of my past. The past isn’t over, it’s living, breathing, thriving, destroying, within me. Its dynamic, vivacious, consuming, to the extent where I think it is me, not just something’s that’s infected me, injured me, changed me. But at moments like this, when I’m on drugs, and my past can be isolated from the rest of my being, I feel like I’m wrong. The past isn’t me. If it were then it couldn’t be separated by anything. I don’t know where the barrier lies, what the difference is, but the different exists. My past, my pain, my pervasive desire to die, escape, none of those are inherent, defining, essential parts of who I am.
But does this realization help me? Tomorrow I’ll feel like that again. This feeling of lucidity is short lived. Tomorrow I can still know this when I think back on how I felt today (or read what I’m writing right now) but that won’t change the fact that I’ll still feel the soul wrenching, pain, confusion, the reflexive desire to shield myself, to run, to hide, to cease to be. Tomorrow won’t be any different from the years before where I’m suffered, desperately looking for a solution and finding only blank walls, false hopes, dead ends, temporary highs. I need to find something that will bring about a shift in my existence. A lasting, sustaining change. I don’t even know if that’s possible.
My boyfriend tells me it is. He thinks a profound shift is attainable, but I’m not so sure. I’ve lived with this pain for so long, I’ve hoped and been disappointed so many times, that I can’t feel like my future holds the person I want to be. Everything is transient but my desire to stop.
I’ve found permanence in the constant, nagging, grating, desire to stop. I’ve been blessed with life, consciousness, but such gifts are wasted on me. I am willing, more than willing, even desperate sometimes, to throw away the greatest gift in all of creation (or so it seems to me. What can be more beautiful than the ability to perceive, choose, create?). I am a waste of a life but I don’t want to be, perhaps that redeems me a little, or so I hope. I want to appreciate life, I want to live, but I can’t.
How will any of this help me tomorrow when I’m suffering? My future is confusing. I’m adrift. I don’t know where life will take me. The sands of time are blowing away, I’m just a speck, tumbling around, lost, pathless. I have a vision of the person I want to be - free, on fire - and I feel like that sometimes when I’m having a good day but they are too rare, too transient. I can’t envision anything happening in my future to make that state of being the norm - not even now when I am so far from pain. It just seems like simple fact to me that I’ll be caged and tortured forever, my dreams slowly getting smaller and smaller till one day I’m too old for their to be any hope of fulfilling them. I’ve already seen many dreams die that way.
I wanted college to be more productive. I wanted better grades, I’m blessed with enough intellect to excel academically more than I have. I wanted to be more disciplined, more productive, more efficient. Instead, I slept and moped away most of college (and most of my grades). I’m gifted with many talents but not the emotional countenance to make any use of them.
Compassion is the key to a good life. If I can’t answer what my true passion is right now, what I really am meant for, then spending my time doing something that’s helping someone else is a worthy, healthy, fulfilling way to used my time. I should try that instead of going in circles about what I will truly find fulfilling right now.
The existential burden of facing a blank slate in life, to face alone, to trudge through by myself, shouldering the burden of every choice alone, taking blame and credit alike, bearing the risks, walking alone, takes more courage than I seem to have. I need a shirt to bury my face in, to look away, to be pushed forward, guided. I need to share the burden of responsibility with another consciousness another guiding force, creator. I need validation for my choices, I am not self actualized enough to be my own validation.
Is it pain I’m hiding from? Or procrastination, delay, inaction? Its inaction that I abhor, that eats at my soul. But action requires energy and concentration, two things I lack. My body betrays me, its tired, lethargic, sleepy, fidgety, full of nervous energy but no directed force. My mind is fragmented, not focused, easily distracted. When I’m on drugs I don’t have to force my consciousness out of hiding, it doesn’t feel like an effort, a destructive, painful effort, tearing through my mind, ripping it violently from the rock its leaching to, hiding under, but more like a free flowing river I’m guiding. My mind is free on drugs, not stuck, in pain, hiding, forever cringing in memory, spent completely from the trauma of forcing its body through rape. I will never make myself do anything that hard to myself again, or apparently anything at all. Effort itself is a trigger for those hours, mainly those moments when I first impaled myself on his dick, his ultimate control over me - not to take me by force which only conquers and breaks my body, but to make me choose to inflict the worse physical pain I have ever (and hopefully will ever) feel on myself, ripping my soul to shreds, doing the worst thing I could imagine to myself. That is how he conquered and broke my body, mind and soul. He was truly a master of domination.