"I start to think there really is no cure for it, that happiness is an ongoing battle, and I wonder if it isn't one I'll have to fight for as long as I live. I wonder if it's worth it."~Elizabeth Wurtzel
I live in a prison that has windows, no locks, nor keys. My prison stops me from enjoying life. It encompasses me, preventing me from having hope for the future. It chains my dreams with fear. It warps my thoughts with gullibility, innocence, and naivety. It surrounds all of my actions with guilt. It prevents any pride I might have, reminding me that I am broken.
I am the outcome of my life and my life is the outcome of me. I have no strength to fight for myself. I will take all the responsibility. I will take all the heartache. I will take all the resentment. I will keep it in my heart, though I know it not. I will care for it. I will cultivate it in my memories. It will replay like a soundtrack, over and over again. It corrupts, it taints, the vision of myself.
I must see the world through rose colored glass. I must replay those things that drown out the illogical, the confusing, the normal. If I do not, then I will have absolutely no hope. It is only in the ideal that the world is better than I know it, can I persevere in my existence. No one else is broken, what can I not touch like the others. Vague shadows of what I should be like haunt my dreams. They isolate me from those around me. No one is as bad as I. For my sins, I have no excuse. I am broken. How will I be fixed?
Sloth, confusion, anger, sadness, rejection, stupidity, regret, loneliness, filter through my heart like a looped Mp3, daily. There have never been floodgates to my memories. Those things I wish would end, never have. Any purpose for me has long been murdered. The only glimmer of recollection comes from the salvation I offer others. I must not allow another to be damned the way I have been. The only rest my mind finds is in the stringently familiar.
When I needed parents to cherish me, I had none. When I needed someone to protect me from the violence, there was no succor. Crying out in my pain, the fates exchanged one pain for another. The relief of one agony was exchanged for another.
The resentment, the prejudice, the physical abuse was exchanged for the sexual abuse. The sexual abuse was exchanged for the neglect and physical abuse of the foster care system, just to return back to the deception and abuse from my parents once again.
All of my experiences, all of my pain, replay through my life. The actors have changed, but the script remains the same. My life has corrupted my actions; my actions have corrupted my life. I do good deeds not for unselfish reasons. I do them in the hopes that my act will prevent others from living what is my existence. I strive to help the needy. I work to comfort the broken hearted. I try to give companionship to the lonely. Yet, for all my effort, there are many who have thanked me, but there are none who comfort me. I am abandoned, cast aside once again, like so much litter on the street.
There is no such thing as love. Men have no honor. The truth that is proclaimed has no facts, only distorted opinions of the selfish and fearful. Mankind talks of hope. Hope for good, hope for salvation, hope for tomorrow. There is no hope. Hope is the greatest lie conceived by religion. To have hope is to relinquish the responsibility of personal choice in your own life.
The only faintest truth to hope is in regards to the action that you do this day, this hour, this minute, and this very second. The decision you make this moment will dictate what decision you will make an hour from now. If you choose to follow down the path of bad decisions, then you will be caught in the net of despair. To climb out of the net takes an amazing force of will. That will, all men have if they see fit to make the changes to their lives.
The local drug dealer, the car thief, the drunk, I can easily look to them and excuse their behavior. It is in the prostitutes and the forgotten children of the world that I find purpose. They all have reasons for their confusions, their distortions, and their emotions. Some sort of abuse, a past trauma, that has taken a perfectly meaningful life and destroyed their vision, starved their hope, and ruined their personal salvation.
I cannot let anyone in my life. Those who I have in the past have found fault with me. As my wife went out the door she made two remarks that still pain me greatly:
"I do not even know why I stayed with you this long. You’re boring. Instead of going out and having fun, all you do is work on the computer and watch the same anime. You are too shy. You only know how to speak about work. Besides, why would I want to stay with a loser like you? You probably won't live past 40 anyway with your medical issues. I still have plenty of living to do then to waste it with someone who won't be with me when I get old."
Her comment echoes through my head like a mighty oracle. Each minute brings her prophecy about my life closer to fruition. Fleeting are the joys that we had shared together. I had always thought she enjoyed going to the museums, restaurants and downtown life of Seattle. I was never one for dancing; I am more of a ball room dancer. Something much more intimate than gyrating my hips with every other person in the group.
The years of abuse I took from her, and the way I abused her back through my neglect still weigh heavily on my conscience. I did not mean to neglect her; I only sought safety from the illogical, the unexpected, and the uncontrollable. Thoughts, emotions, changes, the randomness of life constantly bombard, assail, and distract me. What do I do when I am not prepared? What does it mean to be prepared? What if I think I am prepared but I am not? What will I do?
I have no family, no friends, no wife, no loves, no one to express my heart the passions that burn within my breast. So I continue on, showing my love on a limited basis to those that need it most. It is in the helping of the abandoned that I can find the only purpose for continuing my sad, lonely, isolated existence. There are none that want me; there is none who will have me. I have not yet learned how to love myself. At least, I can love others.
"For everything you have missed, you have gained something else, and for everything you gain, you lose something else."~Ralph Waldo Emerson