I have ignored this page...its that dark cell at the back of my head.
It charts the hurt, the grief, the rage, the darkness that clouds me. Down that rabbit hole of destruction.
Its unbelievable to look back all this time and think that I survived.
I survived that death by a thousand cuts. Made it out. Barely or am I still within that heart of the beast.
My ability to write however has probably taken a massive beating, sentence construction gone, ability to visualize emotions are gone. Lost... How fucking annoying.
I'm interested in understanding what these 2 years have done to me. Mind, body and soul.
I know I was fucked but am I any better now... OR more fucked than ever.
I seriously fear and hope its not the latter. Fuck! I daren't even peer down that well. I HATE my guts that threaten to spew.
Normality seems to be the perfect cover for me nowadays, but I do hope I am normal. Maybe lying to myself hard enough and numerous enough a time will make me happier.
GOD!! Tell me that being normal means hiding one's sense of lunacy. I hope everyone is mad and that it just happens that I know better than the next guy, that we are all fucked over.
We're mad, we're sick, we're alone, we're fucked.
This madness reeks of rot... We slave to feed this madness, there is no purity in this madness, this is what takes this psycho crap to a whole new level. Pure madness is the man you see at the roadside picking at his own maggot infested wound and feeling no pain. The urban madness that I feel is the vacumn I have inside my being, not my soul but my very existence. The emptiness left by a love one leaves a cold space, the sharp edges fill up my insides and stabs me gracefully.
I bear this burden, my pain and grief may no longer be as pure a rage as before. It's more like a million embers that burn deep within; unwilling to surface, unwilling to die out.