I had heard a lot of talk thoughout the years of in death seeing a little white light through the blackness. I guess mine was just a train after all.
I don’t remember a whole lot after that moment. No angels, a few demons; but no evidence of hope or meaning. All I know is that night was when I first found out that life isn’t so simple, forgiving, or easy to escape. It was just another beginning-still outfitted with all the same old contingencies and prices.
It was then that I started to feel less like a soul, and more like a pawn on a chess board meant for begrudged service and flames either way.
Also therein was that which I had learned most intimately in my first couple times around- that everything had its price. For every seeming benefit or advantage of another’s that I had been tempted to look at and covet; each eventually came to me in its own time and acquainted me with a different flavor of disappointment. Don’t get me wrong, I have my preferences for which are more or less tolerable- but at the end of each, always the same cavernous emptiness remained; The same inescapable feeling that I was trying too hard, all to get nowhere.
I reluctantly subscribed that there really was nothing but subjectively fabricated meaning, and the tireless endeavor of mankind to try and help others’ suffering, so that their soul may move on to the next one. It’s not that I have no heart for others suffering, or wouldn’t help whomever I could- but there came a point at which it all turned into absolute overwhelm. Put out one fire and surely enough two more would crop up in its place, such as to imply that it was better to never sweep out the house in the first place and that human suffering was inexhaustible and inalleviable.
There was a saying at one point around here that love was the most important thing in life, made the “world go around”, or was the answer to “absurdity.” I believed it for a couple turns, but eventually somewhere (in my possibly hollow chest) conceded to the conclusion that it was fear that drove most things in this world. Fear of pain; of loneliness, rejection, poverty, failure-suffering. Love was a proposed salve. I had thought that at least once a couple lives back I had experienced, or caught sight of this elusive, idolized concept- at least in the sense that humans revere it.
I remember it the most vividly among the countless things I had ever claimed to memory.
But regardless of such, the sweetest things are often the most short-lived, whilst the most excruciating last; marring everything the eyes can possess, and enduring long past the test of time.
I’ve had plenty of tries to learn how to live with the darkest, most ignominious, hidden part of myself. I’ve had nothing but time, trial, error, and reproof to grasp how to not allow these things to destroy everything that I reach for to attempt to make a life worth living. Yet every time around I’ve somehow inadvertantly managed to always end up back in the gallows; the edge of one blade to another- or pistol, rope, needle, bottle, bag; famine, the murky depths, or the company of another Black Widow to kill the time in between any other blissfully lethal overdose I could find in a similar chemical.