Predator and Prey

23 Jul

I find myself lying awake, my sleep too troubled by haunting images of past injustice to be able to slumber peacefully. I am wired and agitated, playing Blues and Rock music, listening to angry guitar riffs and wailing harmonicas. I hate living. I hate myself. But, damn, I love the music – a soundtrack to my misery, which I rarely ever play.

When the beat kicks in and the scrape of gravel-dry vocals starts to chaff against the warning, urgent drums, my soul rises like a dragon to exhale fire. Soon, I will be choking on my own acrid smoke.

I am toxic.

And dangerous.

I have been circled and attacked like prey for most of my adult life. The irony is that there is no monster on this Earth more fearsome to myself than my own suppressed being. I know the actions of which I am truly capable. We are all capable of the same diabolical deeds. The beast within wouldn’t hesitate to cast aside duty and whip a blade across my throat. It wouldn’t hesitate to sink a galleon of pills – a cargo promising sleep and freedom. It wouldn’t hesitate to claw off my own skin and carve my heart from my chest until my torso looks like a badly carved totem pole. The monster within doesn’t care about others; it lives only to protect me.

So why do I find myself suffering repeatedly like wounded prey?

I have always contained my predatory instincts and never consciously allowed myself to unleash the evil within. It is there; I have felt its presence become increasingly powerful in recent weeks; carefully forged chains and restraints are slowly breaking and the beast now stirs in anticipation.

Therapy is not helping; it’s too soon, and the limited progress achieved thus far has served to unlock thoughts that were perhaps better left alone. I have been forced to think deeply about things I wish to forget and I know that my life is a lie. There is nothing real within my existence – I have ignored too many negative things in a bid to make myself feel better – particularly about The Forgiven One’s behaviour and cruelty. I do not feel better. I feel angry.

I am angry.

Yet I remain wounded like easy prey. Is it so wrong to set free a predator with the raw strength and hunger to seek justice – not revenge – but the very thing upon which civilised society recognises as integral to democracy and freedom? Is it so wrong to release a dragon to deliver overdue justice and raze the past into acres of ash?

Predator vs. Prey; is that Evil vs. Goodness or Justice vs. Injustice? I do not know, and I cannot promise that I will never find out.

Therapy Homework

21 Jul

I left my therapy session this morning with a homework assignment; a list of daily exercises to incorporate into my routine and hopefully alter my long-term outlook and behaviour. The desired result from these changes is to find myself embracing the future, restoring some self-worth and taking control of my actions, emotions and health.

Last week’s session ended in disaster – I felt so agitated, the effects lasted for the duration of the entire week, creating an abhorrent living environment. An endless detonation of emotional landmines was followed by a napalm attack of abuse – directed at everyone in my wake; myself most of all.

Today, I took precautions by removing myself from the home following therapy, spending my afternoon and early evening swathed in the protective darkness of a movie theatre. Yes, this led to extra expense that could have been spared this week, but it was better than sitting at home to fester on my agitation and anger.

I fidgeted constantly throughout the movie and I could feel all my frustrations circling upon my skin like the teasing of smoke before an engulfing inferno. I have contained my raw emotions all day, re-directing my energy towards placid activities and passive conversation.

It’s a struggle, but I hope to remain strong.

A Lot Changes Within 24 Hours

20 Jul

Yesterday I felt as if I might stand a chance in carving a place for myself in this world. Today, I realise that I’m nothing but a fool – the same dreamer I have always been; too easily blinded by lies and my own stupidity. A lot changes within 24 hours and no matter which way the pendulum swings, time always propels my being towards the same isolation. I cannot wait for the solace of my coffin and the halting of time. It will continue for others, but thankfully not for my worthless life. I am sick of living and trying to belong.

Reminders of the Good in Myself

19 Jul

I have enjoyed the loveliest afternoon with an old friend and been reminded of the good in myself and others.

I am humbled and grateful for all my blessings – those earned and those bestowed by good luck and past deeds now rewarded.

I have no worth but my life is somehow worthwhile to those kind enough to search for the good in not only themselves but also within myself and all others.

Finding a Home

16 Jul

Today I realised that this blog has become my unofficial family: a support to whom I can describe my thoughts and struggles without fear of negative human interaction and, consequently, being judged.

My writings have evolved into my best friends; they know me better than anyone and offer comfort through an endless loneliness.

Occasionally, I will read past blog entries and find myself filled with self-loathing for leading a double life. There is the crumbling, public persona – bold, brash, loud and chatty – and the pathetic loser who cowers beneath the bravado and struggles to face the world each day. I have come to hate them both.

That, I believe, is a huge problem.

Yet, both characters are accepted and welcomed within my retreat of blogs. They dwell here freely without fear of persecution; parading their flaws and exposing their shared vulnerability. If I belong anywhere, it is here within the kingdom of words and the domain of expression. I have felt like an outcast for so long yet perhaps I have merely travelled from one world to another. Here, within the universe of my blogs, I have finally found a home.

Plan of Action

16 Jul

A list to remember and strive to achieve:

1. Generate a permanent, ongoing income
2. Look after my family and loved ones
3. Smile more, even when I want to die
4. Push through chronic pain with grace
5. Become a better person in my own eyes
6. Lose some weight
7. Be more assertive and try to help others
8. Accept my flaws
9. Embrace and conquer loneliness
10. Accelerate, run over and reverse back over anyone who tries to backstab me again. Twice.

Why Does a 9 Year Old Girl Want to Die?

15 Jul

There are too many things to induce weeping at this time in my life but none more upsetting than news of a nine year old girl who has tried to take her own life. I know this child; she is such a lovely little girl. She is kind, polite, hard-working and humble – despite being musically gifted beyond her years.

Watching her perform at school concerts has been genuinely inspiring and uplifting. I am heartbroken that she has tried to take her own life. I feel engulfed by grief and I find myself shedding as many tears for this poor little girl as I have for my own mother since she was diagnosed with Cancer.

She may not be my own, but I long to help this vulnerable child and to find a way to wipe away her pain, even if it is not my place to do so. I have no right to interfere nor comment, yet I cannot switch off the desire to hug her incredibly tightly and tell her not to give up because I will fight for her life even if she won’t or can’t. I will stand up for her if she needs strength; I will shield her if she needs protection; I will battle for her if she needs an army. I will do anything to help her but I shall probably never have the chance because I am not supposed to know that she attempted suicide.

What should I do? Do I try to help anyway or act as if nothing has happened and respect her privacy? How can I stand back and deliberately not help this child? She is too young to want to die. I know that grief so well – we are so intimate, our fingers entwined in an unbreakable clasp that no power can hope to break. I know so horribly well exactly how this anguished little girl felt before trying to extinguish her short, barely-formed, life. It is agony to imagine her tiny soul so savagely engulfed by desperation and misery.

I would do anything to turn back time and pay her more attention. Were there signs I failed to see, too wrapped up in my own agonies to register another’s pain? Did I fail this child as I have failed myself? My heart weighs too heavy with sorrow and questions to formulate any answers. I feel so sad that this has happened. She really is such a lovely, talented little girl and has already offered so much to this world. She brings joy to so many, yet somehow not to herself. It is unbearably sad.

I cannot stop crying – not only for her but also for her devastated parents. This situation will affect them in ways they are yet to comprehend – the aftermath will be an agonising experience of raw pain, intense fear, crippling guilt, self-doubt and horror. I hope the relief that their child is still alive will provide ongoing comfort through the darkness ahead but I know all too well how it can obliterate even the brightest light; I have been lost in the dark for too long.

Children should be happy and carefree; none should want to die and take their own lives. Childhood is supposed to be the golden era; the period of joy and wonderment before the complexity of adulthood clouds every situation. A nine year old should be happy. A nine year old should be excited. A nine year old should be alive and safe, shielded from harm.

Of all the awful things that have transpired within the past two years, this is perhaps the one that I will most struggle to accept and understand. I feel the most worthless by being unable to help this child. I know in my heart that respecting everyone’s privacy is the right thing to do; imparting the news that we all know about her actions could tip this fragile little girl back over the edge. I cannot risk that. All I can hope to do is somehow find a way to act as a guardian angel from a distance; to keep her safe without ever revealing my intentions.

In the short term, I can help to rebuild her self-worth by celebrating her life. I can let her know that she is gifted, loved, liked and irreplaceable. She is worthy. She will never grow up to be as worthless as myself; she has never been, and never will be, expendable. I have to help her to recognise that in any way I can. I have to show her that she has a place in this world and shouldn’t want to die. I have to give her friendship and support, without attaching it to her suicide attempt. I have to show her the reality of her existence; she is loved.

I cannot bear the thought of this child feeling alone and suicidal. I just can’t bear it; it’s too painful and heartbreaking. This shouldn’t have happened. It’s overwhelmingly sad and wrong – so very, very wrong. Why did this happen? Why? I can’t bear it.

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