Fuel

One of the things that I value the most, and that I want the most to find in other people is integrity. Internal consistency and the drive and desire to ensure that this is present and stable across every aspect of a persons' life. This is what drives every inquisition I embark upon. It is what invokes my hatred and what sustains my love. It is what justifies my ruthlessness and what absolves my guilt, and without these unobtainable standards I would not be able to hate myself or love others.

I don't know if anyone else does this, but every time I feel an emotion I freeze. My life is stopped in its tracks as I examine the intricacies of my reasoning: its logic, its motivation, its objective. And if I find that the course of action I am considering is in any way influenced by a strong emotion I almost always put an end to the action all together because I am so afraid of acting out of emotion, and impulse.

The truth is that I view emotion as erratic and for the most part, something to detest. They fly in the face of the characteristic which I desire and respect the most and as a result I condemn the decisions they bring about. But I know that emotion is an integral part of humanity, and there is no way to escape its influence in our lives. In fact, one would not want to escape its influence because that would leave you running forever towards a life you would hate anyway. A life devoid of momentary anything. And yet all this running has lead me into a life where I spend every moment in fear and anxiety, and this has caused me to not be able to view anything with any perspective. It has caused me to detest my feelings of pain and anxiety and it drives me to make decisions that will, without regard for the future benefits, deliver me.

I am stuck in a present which is so caught up in a quest for consistency that in order to ensure it, everything stands still. I live in anxiety, so scared that any decision I make will not be congruent with the rest of my life. So scared that I will hurt. So scared that I will progress emotionally. And the last time that happened I wanted to die so badly that I almost broke a promise I hoped I would never have to confront.

So now I am trying to move forward in a different direction, hoping that if I have a separate life running parallel it will be able to take a different course. One that has no history, one that will be different. But I am scared that it won't be different. I am scared that the DNA that has caused every other aspect of my life to behave in the way it has will be intrinsic in the direction I am now embarking upon, and it too will come to a dead stop as I refuse to move once again.

I have no goals, partially because I have no fuel anyway.

Rivers

Time flows past me like a strong current, lifting my consciousness and quickly pulling me in the direction it chooses. Fighting the momentum my body is accumulating pushes me under where my efforts are hidden from view. All I can do is relax and hope I float.

I don't know what I feel and I don't know how to combat it. This feeling is overwhelmingly familiar but the surroundings are different. What did I do last time? How can I make it stop?

Right now I am just holding my breath but I don't know what I am hoping for.

Someone to Blame

A single flash, the sign of being forgotten. The love I fixate upon is not forthcoming and the blame I dispense is neither warranted nor expendable. Has anything triggered this? Or am I just searching for a distraction? I look at the situation's symptoms for signs of life, and wish I could respond in a satisfactory manner. But the control I crave I deny with everything in me. I am sure this is what is sending the signal I detest.

Half sacrificing, half controlling. Manipulation. The sacrifice is discarded and the displays misconstrued and I am left alone: another cold day.

What do I let go of? What do I hold onto? How can my compromise lead to the relief required? And what of the pain inflicted? The world around me has turned gray, and my point of reference has fallen away. I have nothing.

I wish I had someone to blame.

The Lion in the World

Is this what my life has come to? An existence epitomised by clinical disdain for my surroundings. Contextualised by white letters on a black page that no one reads, and wouldn't understand. I will not be remembered for who I am because there are few who know what that looks like.

Letters do not exude character, and characters on a page is what I have been relegated to by myself, and my brain. The anxiety that enthralls my existence coerces my senses into a coma and I am left with the world outside my realm of understanding. I am the lion and the world is filled with people. Their response does not warrant my recoil but theirs is not warranted either.

All I want is the thorn to go away.

The Pyramid

I'm tired of hiding from my mind. It attacks me from the inside and my only defense is to run and find another dark hole to explore. It is like a pyramid, it's mistaken beauty as much the fault of the perceive as the liar, but the explorer is the one in true danger. Every door leads to another dark passageway, and as the torches burn the oxygen hope of an exit becomes more and more distant. The markings are as daunting as the prospect of backtracking, and the ripples a mistake would create will be echoed in eternity.

The air gets thinner and thinner, security becomes the enemy as the memory of the past becomes as imposing as the steps taken forward. The symmetry which was once thought of as a reference point lies more than it should. It's honesty more confusing to the teller than the hearer, and as the goal posts shift the plan to survive depletes fulfilled promises of their worth.

Maybe there is no exit. Maybe I didn't even enter. Maybe this is where everything has ever transpired. This is what I have been relegated to and there is no grace for relief.

The Walk in Hell

I despise myself for the promises I have made. My relief is never present and it's promises are an act of betrayal away. My integrity is worth more than the life it protects and less than the reward it reaps. I don't even know if I want the reward today.

If I could leave my loyalty at the door, and walk through hell I would. I am no longer alone but the call of the white light is far more appealing than ever before, and the tunnel grows shorter by the day.

Am I walking towards the light, or is the door behind me just closing? Will it ever open again, or will the light in front of me provide the freedom from expectation I crave? This middle ground has become a compromise between hope and commitment and neither is worth the work.

Contrast is a funny thing. Life has taken a turn for the better but it has also made the depths of my mind deeper and darker than I have ever experienced. It wasn't worth it before and the situation has maintained equilibrium.

Take hold of my hand, for you are no longer alone. Walk with me in Hell.

Repeating Yesterday

The past and what I remember are all melded with my dreams. My future is part of the present and subsequently inconsequential and vague. My consciousness is lost in the flood of my subconscious and the emotion which ensues only lasts as long as my energy survives. As quickly as it surfaced it sinks in to the murky trenches of failure and disappointment that makes up my perception of my efforts, and I am left with the bitter taste of guilt that I did not do more. Guilt's companion is self doubt but neither stays long enough to ward the numbness off for a consequential amount of time.

Emotion abandons me to intellect and I am left to question what today should be, what yesterday will be and what tomorrow won't become. The questions are secrets and the answers don't exist today. Like a flooded mountain, my character is hidden by the murky water and all that is left is a vacant reflection.

Humanity Lost

Humanity sold for an imagined experience. Respect lost by all parties involved. Your corpse is not worthy for the dogs to feed on. Even they realise that.

Your ideal is something your soul detests but your desire out weights your very character. Cunts and tits, their scent the driving force for the pain you inflict upon yourself. This self created obsession will never subside, its fire ever yearning for more of your fibre. Feeding it rots what is left of your being, but its worth had deteriorated beyond redemption. The remains of your soul choose not to resist the disappointment it now relies on.

You are less than nothing, and I am hurt by your condition. But the scarring pain is that which you cause the one I love. Their lives mean less to you than the body you sacrifice and for this you should never recover. Neither will I. I only pray they will.

Hate isn't enough to describe this. I am somewhere between screaming and crying.

God Forgive Me

I don't know what this is. I don't know what I feel; what the world around me looks like. I don't know how to respond to it and I wouldn't know what my response looked like if I acted.

"The world around me has taken a turn for the worst,
I'm left alone crawling through the dark.
Should I jump, should I stay, can I make another day?
Should I jump, should I stay?
I am the one who's wrong.
God forgive me"

I don't remember what is around me, and the memory of the light only serves to show me more darkness. The light which is present brings more uncertainty that the hope of a future and as it fades the certainty that none of this will pass becomes the hope a future should never provide. This hope has become part of what I am, and the fear it brings has defined my sanity for longer than I care to admit.

But at least I'm sane. This comfort afforded me is one I will never forget, but the comfort I will never be able to repay is the true tragedy. This comfort I speak of is the one of knowing I am not alone, that she is with me. I don't know what that means a lot of the time but the knowledge trumps any hope I could ever desire to experience.

And yet his darkness is worse, and the pain I cause unforgivable.

I will forget my darkness, and shun my light to stop this pain.

God forgive me.

First Encounters Assault Recon

I felt myself begin to break. I felt the stress and I saw the fractures turn into cracks. My mind began to exhibit the strain I struggled to hide from the people I never turn away from. I counted the days until my return to sanity and security, and when the number was up so was mine. Home had deserted me, its comfort has dissipated like the mist on a winter's morning leaving the bite of the cold, and all around me are the bodies of the battle urging me to press on. Has this work been in vain, or am I simply too selfish to give up on a dream I never carried as my own?

As humans we are told we can do anything we want, we are equal to all around us and we must choose our paths. We are told to celebrate our accomplishments as they are what defines us. But if we can all do anything we want, shouldn't we all be doing everything we can? I think that the thing that separates us from the people around us is not our accomplishments, but rather our fears. It is our fears that drive us in a direction because that is all we have left. It is the only way out and the only way in a direction we convince ourselves is forward. But publishing my fears is not what scares me. My failures are the things that I want to keep under wraps, they are the things that I want to keep away from the rest of the world. Because my failures are what show me and everyone around me that not only am I not moving forward, I'm not moving.

Maybe this is my fear.

Crude Honesty

"Artists use lies to tell the truth, politicians use them to cover the truth up."

There is something refreshingly honest about crudeness when it is a lie. I think people tend to hear things that are crude and write the person off as being an idiot, or not worth listening to. But those are the people who are being most honest. They are saying the things we all think but are too afraid to say, and they are the ones who we should be paying attention to.

But when those people's crudeness is a lie, that is when their true feelings come out. That is when their souls are exposed instead of their honesty cast out to the world, and therein lies the beauty of a lie. The perception their language creates is the defence their frail characters crave and the safe haven they run to when their need for vulnerability overtakes their terror.

I have a friend who really likes a girl. She really likes him but because of how things have worked out up until now they can't be together. Not now anyway. But they behave as if they are. The other day they were lying in bed watching tv. She was talking about something and he was sick of it. He turned to her and said "Can't you just shut your mouth and open your cunt."

She of course burst out laughing, and wrote it off as him being crude, but this was him expressing his soul's desire. He doesn't want to fuck her, but he does want to tell her he loves her. He wants to tell her how much he wants to be with her, and he can't do it. So he disguises his love in an attack.

But this attack is a lie, the words were a lie. The emotion was not. And I am convinced that her laugh was a lie too. But the interesting thing about a lie is that it provides the teller a picture of honesty they would have never come by any other way. The reaction and emotion invoked by the lie is what the teller is after. And that is worth all the stigma in the world.

Update

So, for those of you who don't know I have had a bit of a rough time of late, and I am still trying to figure out what is going on in my mind on most levels. But I have been writing quite a bit, but haven't put any of it up for two reasons.

The first is that what I have been writing of late has been rather morbid and dark, and people probably wouldn't be able to understand most of it without wanting me to be put under suicide watch or something so I thought that the best way to avoid a lot of misunderstanding would be to not communicate at all.

The second reason is that whenever I write something, before I put it up I read it a few times, and I decide if it is what I am wanting to communicate, as objectively as possible. But the truth is that when I am feeling emotionally thin and overwhelmed I struggle to objectify the things around me. So, I felt that I wouldn't be able to objectify what I had written, and rather than trying to and failing I just left it all.

But I don't know if this was the correct approach. So what I am doing now is putting up a lot of what I have written over the last few weeks because I always want push myself to continue writing and being honest with everyone around me. I have taken a lot of it out, because it was very dark, and I have also left quite a bit out because I didn't finish writing it. These are what is left after I finished, and I hope that you can gain a bit of insight into my mind and what I have been thinking, and I hope it will help you in whatever you are trying to figure out.

Jeb