Lord, give me the strength to do what I need to do.
I awoke today with the Sight. I looked into myself today and saw a roiling, seething mass of Rage, barely held in check by manacles of rusted iron that were once shining titanium that had to contain the slightest bit of anger. The Light inside myself, once bright enough to shine, bright enough to burn even has been reduced to a flickering, uncertain shadow. This Rage is masked by a veneer of stoicism and nobility, a rigid facade that stands like steel. Yet how long before it cracks? This is killing me, piece by piece, bit by bit. Happiness is so rare now, glimpsed like a pale sliver of a moon through dark, thick clouds. Not even sunshine like it once was, only a pale echo of times past, dimmed to the taste of ashes and the sight of sepia toned moonlight.
I've always been the implacable pillar of strength, the indestructible one with boundless strength to lend to those who needed it. My friends have always come to me for someone to understand, to support them, even to fix things for them and I've never failed. I've withstood the emotional torture of a drunken wretch of a stepmother through most of my childhood with an absentee father who was there only as a specter of discipline and, I'll admit, Love when I really needed it. I had sources to draw upon then, my grandmother, my mother and even to a degree, my father. And of course, I was in Church then. I had my Faith too.
Now my grandmother has Alzheimer's, my mother is still there, but she can't help, and my father has turned against me. My world is turning in on itself and I'm teetering on the brink of a black abyss of despair, held up only by the Rage I've embraced. The anger inside me fuels me to fight, to stand strong,and to not give up ground until it is taken inch by bloody inch. Responsibilities are like burdens, anchors tethered to my soul, tainting the light there and reducing it to the shadow I feel. Keeping my father from being too lonely, keeping my sisters from the full brunt of the knowledge that their mother abandoned them by giving them the love I can, and even shielding them from the harshness of my dad's girlfriend by drawing her ire upon myself.
As it stands, I'm cut off from all support, my light a mere flickering shadow, every iota of strength I draw from rage darkening the abyss I'm on the edge of more. I don't know how much longer it will be before the ground on which I stand widens into that abyss and I fall. I have to cut these tethers, these barbs within me and trust that things will work out without me, and I have to let myself go into the storm that surrounds me and hope that my flagging strength will be enough to withstand it's fury so I can make it on my own to a place where that light that's now a glowing ember to reignite and burn away the shadows and heal the wounds from these anchors, and banish this abyss back to where it belongs. Until then I will continue to die, piece by piece, killed by these circumstances that have an entropic decay on the world around me. All that I am is being drained into this void and I cannot stand it much longer. I must break free.
When everything you know is gone, and everyone you know is in danger of being lost to you, there is nothing left but war. And none can fight but me. I stand alone.
Remy
I awoke today with the Sight. I looked into myself today and saw a roiling, seething mass of Rage, barely held in check by manacles of rusted iron that were once shining titanium that had to contain the slightest bit of anger. The Light inside myself, once bright enough to shine, bright enough to burn even has been reduced to a flickering, uncertain shadow. This Rage is masked by a veneer of stoicism and nobility, a rigid facade that stands like steel. Yet how long before it cracks? This is killing me, piece by piece, bit by bit. Happiness is so rare now, glimpsed like a pale sliver of a moon through dark, thick clouds. Not even sunshine like it once was, only a pale echo of times past, dimmed to the taste of ashes and the sight of sepia toned moonlight.
I've always been the implacable pillar of strength, the indestructible one with boundless strength to lend to those who needed it. My friends have always come to me for someone to understand, to support them, even to fix things for them and I've never failed. I've withstood the emotional torture of a drunken wretch of a stepmother through most of my childhood with an absentee father who was there only as a specter of discipline and, I'll admit, Love when I really needed it. I had sources to draw upon then, my grandmother, my mother and even to a degree, my father. And of course, I was in Church then. I had my Faith too.
Now my grandmother has Alzheimer's, my mother is still there, but she can't help, and my father has turned against me. My world is turning in on itself and I'm teetering on the brink of a black abyss of despair, held up only by the Rage I've embraced. The anger inside me fuels me to fight, to stand strong,and to not give up ground until it is taken inch by bloody inch. Responsibilities are like burdens, anchors tethered to my soul, tainting the light there and reducing it to the shadow I feel. Keeping my father from being too lonely, keeping my sisters from the full brunt of the knowledge that their mother abandoned them by giving them the love I can, and even shielding them from the harshness of my dad's girlfriend by drawing her ire upon myself.
As it stands, I'm cut off from all support, my light a mere flickering shadow, every iota of strength I draw from rage darkening the abyss I'm on the edge of more. I don't know how much longer it will be before the ground on which I stand widens into that abyss and I fall. I have to cut these tethers, these barbs within me and trust that things will work out without me, and I have to let myself go into the storm that surrounds me and hope that my flagging strength will be enough to withstand it's fury so I can make it on my own to a place where that light that's now a glowing ember to reignite and burn away the shadows and heal the wounds from these anchors, and banish this abyss back to where it belongs. Until then I will continue to die, piece by piece, killed by these circumstances that have an entropic decay on the world around me. All that I am is being drained into this void and I cannot stand it much longer. I must break free.
When everything you know is gone, and everyone you know is in danger of being lost to you, there is nothing left but war. And none can fight but me. I stand alone.
Remy
VIEW 12 of 12 COMMENTS
dasha:
Well that's what you do, right? I call em' how I see it. 
dasha:
You oughta get those headaches checked out. 