So often I would sit and wail about "why"? The frustration unending, the obsession ongoing, a gut wrenching demand to understand that in itself kept me from the knowledge, the peace I sought.
Sick in the head druggie, psychopath, crazy as a shit house rat, lunatic, insane, addict, "something's wrong with that kid" -
I tried to own those labels make them something to be proud of. I tried doing that, by doing all the things I imagined people with those labels would do. I followed that up, by demanding that I not be persecuted, not be judged, not be looked at differently, though I had just behaved in a way that demanded all those things happen.
Now I come to terms, sit with the idea of peace, find pride not in my actions but in the understanding that awareness and acceptance bring. To know that I am not an actor playing out roles, that I lost myself, but I am a survivor, no longer needing to play the role of victim or perpetrator anymore.
It's a small thing, Which means so much to me. To be able to introduce myself, engage in a conversation, with confidence. Know that I accept who I am as a being, that I no longer let labels define who I choose to see myself as, act as a script for my identity, or be my scapegoats when I screw up.
That like so many others, I am the hero and the villain, of my own story. That my abnormal mental states, my addictions, all the resulting experiences, are gifts to allow me opportunities, to shine my brightest against the backdrop of adversity, and decide just how much of it there would be.
To know that there are others out there gleaming, and if we encounter each other it could be in the form of respect and love, admiration for the battles fought, no matter whether they were felt won or lost, an opportunity to compare notes and grow.
I'm not ashamed of who I am, or where I am today, I am disappointed in many of my choices but they have been mine to make, and they were made. I used to have a vision of the perfect person, someone that I would measure myself to and inevitably fall short.
Today I am me, released on the world perfectly defective, beautifully abnormal, gifted with challenge and capacity for growth.
All of it, so that I have a chance to become an oh so slowly evolving, human being.
Despite every frothing nuanced prayer that initializes my psyche, the distorted grimace of broken promises and lost understanding, perched atop a wistful hallucination, a misted and cloaked recollection of the past run doggedly down by the present pretense.
If ever there was something akin more to the listless and forgiving welcome end of the fight with the embittered arrogance of senses beguiled by a world at odds with the wasted conviction that drives each of us to draw determined store each day.
I don’t want to see that shit.
It’s going to remain a figment of some darker god’s plaything.
Poor darlings chained up until the scent of dread and hate and playful desperation and longing and weakness and fear cum resignation. Soaks the fingers loose from greased clasp on steel.
Fucking breaking would be the sweetest of releases.
To find forgiveness in deceit , blunder through fields of denial, laden and swollen deep with the putrid rage at self and world.
Just take one more day beautiful.
I’m begging through this weakness and shame of my indignant mistrust.
Please show me I’m crazy enough that I won’t die in my hate lust that these fears have spawned.
I’ll be your puppy faced joker.
Your sterile cat of misapprehension.
Feed me your sin to mirror mine and kiss these wounds to sew them shut against a clot of your mercy. The sheen was lost so long ago and hasn’t been a clean reflection since you woke me to a world of normalcy bathed in the crackled genius of the wounded.