Just now I was writng something, a reply to a thread online, and I was writing along and then got a little stuck and paused, and as I was trying to get a sentence composed in my mind I felt this presence, this encouraging presence, a female it felt like, brunette, for some reason it felt like that, too, though I don't really care about that, whether it's accurate or not, what matters to me is that sense of someone reading this as I write it. And them feeling like we were teaming up, that they were part of this.
So I want to take these minutes out of my life and devote them to you, to talking to you, whoever you are.
You seem to feel that we're doing this together.
I want you to understand this, so I'm saying it as simply as I can. When I see an opportunity to sabotage what I think you want I'm going to take it. Including myself, including life itself, that urge is overwhelming now, and every one of you adds to it every day. I will become a monster if you don't leave me alone, I am a monster, I've become that, and you're intensifying it, you're making it worse.
Every day now, as I write things, there are moments when I feel a path branching out from what I'm writing that would go to something higher, something more healing, stronger, more beautiful, more graceful, and I don't take it.
I'm training myself to hold the mediocrity, to be dull.
Because you're here.
It really is that simple.
I hate you, it's overpowering, how strong that emotion is.
Neither one of us can say for sure what I would write if you weren't here, but my feeling, and it is my writing we're talking about, is that without the hatred you cause in me I might find something strong and healing to say, I might feel able to say it, and be willing to say it.
But not now. There's nothing here that will change that as long as you're around.
Leave me alone.
Your dim view of the real means you can't be felt, or I can't know for sure. Or worse, and more condemning, you're experimenting on my life. To prove whether or not I can tell.
I can though. And I not only feel your presence, I hate you more than I love anything, because you stand with the people who did things to me I still can't remember consciously. I am no longer even a little interested in bringing that to anyone's attention. I have no faith in any organized group or body that would be able to do anything about it anyway.
You build on what they did.
I could vent for an hour and not be purged of how angry you've made me.
Understand this:
I am not sharing my life with you, you're taking it from me. It's a violation as intimate and as damaging as rape.
And when I see a way, I'm going to make you pay for it.

put here 3:23 PM

archives