9.16- free Write 2

If You heard nothing else of any night

Know that I didn’t go out without a fight

I’m so sorry I complicated

Sorry I couldn’t make it

You know I saw more of it than they did

But I know that You saw all of it

Don’t banish me away to where I’ve been before

When I’m already dissipating for I could bear it no more

What has befallen me may be just

Or It may be not

But no difference could change the ailment I’ve got

But forgive me at my end

And someone in someplace will win instead

I could love

But not enough

I could trust

But I’m not anyone

Anymore-

I’m just a fading whisper

That You’ve heard before.

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9.16 free write

Miles to go before we can sleep

But when we get where we’re going

There’ll be no dreams

It’s never really fair, the way the cards fall

And so we sit and stare at the clock on the wall

Waiting for an ending

Waiting for a promise

When we’ll stop descending

And finally garner some solace

Time is running out

You just can’t see it now

I did, I was, everything without

Now It’s hard to motivate 

What never seems to change anyway

Can you see and feel

What was never really real

But Times have vanished and now I sleep

With all my damage, having exhausted everything

So lead on, my dead heart to its dutiful place

But after make known to me the length of my days. 

 

9.5 free write

Look what I’ve gone and done once again

I know that it’s wrong but would you understand

I do what I will and feel that I can

But it never quite ends the way I had planned
Look what I’ve gone and lost once again 

The words between us and all indifference 

Losing place of where I had meant to begin

Holding in vain to a dissipating wind
Look where I’ve gone and given up inside 

When I was supposed to hold on and try to live in compromise

I never was well with leave well enough alone

Ever through hell I would cut through flesh and bone
Look who I’ve gone and become in the end

Most often I think I couldn’t have done any different

Look all I’ve gone and fucked up, my friend

Because often I think I won’t come back again
For all purposes yesterday today and tomorrow

I don’t want to hurt you, just to let go of sorrow

So I apologize for all the times

I have do and will

Make it about something I never will fulfill
But I think we all hold a story in our hands

For past present and for all future plans

Something we can never seem to walk away from

Cuz even when we’re done, we still go on and on and on.

P.51 the Last Letters

       3:33. I opened my eyes to the empty bed beside me in the muted light cast upon the brick floor. I felt the air change, and an unmistakable sensation boring into my back. I took a shallow breath and braced myself as I turned to look over at the window. 

There it stood; some eight or nine feet tall, exceedingly broad shoulders, the expected long black hooded robes cinched about a starkly skeletal waist; the contrasting white skull of either a horse or donkey stared back at me, with a stare that was most literally felt, naturally causing every hair to stand on end. 

       “In the name of Jesus Christ I demand you leave.”

 It simultaneously leapt forward at me, hands outstretched for my neck, and vanished the moment it’s hands reached me. 

          No matter how times this had happened to me before, I still often froze for a moment or had to muffle a scream; but I hated to give them the satisfaction of my showing fear. But it had been a few weeks since I’d awoken to a watcher. Usually I would say something they hated, like reciting parts of Revelation 7 or most often simply commanding in the name of Jesus Christ that it leave; which every once in a while took standing up and saying it a few times, but never failed. 

       As a little girl I was of course afraid of the dark, always tucking the covers around me on all sides;  but I swore that I could see things moving about the room, and would hear the ringing of a bell on one of my toys put away in the dresser drawer, or other things moving around. Sometimes I would hear a voice call my name from out of the darkness.  I was told and later in psychology studied that some of this was considered a normal phenomenon, but I never believed that was the case, because typically hypnagogic or other related- type hallucinations were accompanied by sleep paralysis or dissipated upon sitting up. But as I grew older the instances became much more frequent, aggressive, and vivid; until throughout my teenage years I was familiar with three demons in particular that would stand around my bed, which was in a corner. Every night I would open my eyes to find them there, and wonder how long they had been there for, or what they were doing. But each time the three would either lunge at me and disappear until they came back later that night or the next; or they would pull me out of my body and I would physically wrestle with them, but they would make a game of keeping me away from my body, which I would see lying on the bed. When the instances grew too frequent, I would often sleep with worship music or otherwise uplifting music playing; because I concluded they didn’t like that either. 

I hadn’t awoken Melisa. 

      Oftentimes I could feel something in the room that I couldn’t see, or sometimes in various places I went, or even people. I suppose you could say they can speak to you like most any person if you knew what to listen for, but I neither sought this nor ever spoke back to them. I already knew and had been told various times that their assignment was to kill me. Which up until a few years ago made me want to stick around some more just for the sake of saying fuck you. 

       Oddly enough, I was afraid of the dark until the day we moved out of that house when I was 19; only some time later did I realize my instantaneous cure of it. As though some affirmation that I had not been simply hallucinating all those years, the buyers later contacted us to say that there was a voice that had been calling their names in my old bedroom, moving things around, and other such behavior. And that day I knew I wasn’t crazy. Not in that regard, that is. They followed me back and years ago however. I suppose like cockroaches; until the trash is cleaned out of the mess that has become my life and my health, It was no wonder to find them coming back again to watch. I still however wondered what it was they really did while I was sleeping. I still was a stubborn fuck and would never give up my territory though. 

I went back to sleep, drifting into a world where perhaps someday color would mean something to me. 

P.50 

        When I checked back the next night, 3rdEyeOfHorus had replied within only a couple hours, with a mini- novel; of which I was further intrigued. We sent a few messages of equivalent length back and forth before concluding we obviously vibed inordinately well and exchanged cell numbers. I had my usual reservations about becoming potentially involved with any romantic expectations, but figured I wouldn’t get ahead of myself and should at least try talking to someone other than a therapist.

Only things went much differently than the norm I had expected;  I actually started caring about using my phone during the three allotted evening hours, during which we talked the entire three hours each night via text; things got intense very quickly, along with the whole finishing eachother’s sentences, feeling as though you’d known them for the longest time, and all of those other cliches that usually made me rather nauseous. We talked like this for just under a week, until one night he never replied.

          I waited- rather aware that I was being ignored, but figured there was a reason; I wasn’t angry, as in my life I had been forced to grow very, very good at waiting. But I wondered in a somehow tormented silence if I had somehow managed to say something wrong, despite that I had still been rather vague as to the true nature of my life. He knew I was in treatment but as usual I downplayed how bad things were. I worried in a manner so highly uncharacteristic of me- had I scared him away, did he think I was crazy, or what in the hell was the deal when we seemed to be getting along so supernaturally well.

I felt foolish and childish, I felt that I had grown already somehow attached to this person who was barely more than a stranger. What the hell was going on with me? I had always been so great at not minding anyone or being ignored; how could this person’s doing so hurt so much? Was I becoming obsessed? I usually didn’t even give a shit if people liked me. I had no idea what was going on with me. I felt mixed up since the first day we spoke; like my insides had been ripped out and set on fire, but in a way that simultaneously felt as wonderful as it did hellish; like everything was wrong and right at the same time.

         I heard from Jacob a bit over three days later, of which he said that he had needed some time alone to “think things over;” Things I wasn’t exactly sure what.  He said that he was confused because he was always one to be very careful and reserved to not get carried away in mere childish infatuation, but that he felt he was in love with me. At first I was so surprised I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t exactly know if what I felt was love, lust, a bit of both, or simply getting too caught up in a chemical cascade; but there was definitely an undeniably compelling  attraction- a thing I had never as much as felt before in my life. I was pretty sure I’d never even been “in love” before- much less one to prematurely assume such- but ventured to say that I loved him too. And that was when the fighting started.

….

P.48

I ascended the flight of steps and rung the doorbell, to which Tom answered, obviously very surprised to find me there- as we were strictly disallowed to ever be in the front yard unsupervised. He actually looked surprisingly angry, which was out of sorts for him, usually being one of the more timid and reserved day staff members. Tom was a quiet man of likely 60 years of age, of whom most of the residents didn’t particularly like, for reasons difficult to specify; perhaps he simply didn’t know how to deal with most of us, or was overly careful with his words- but he tended to unintentionally get walked all over around here. He turned out to be one of the most sensitive of the staff- in a good way- but we never really got around to talking much at all until the very end of my stay. I guess he was trying to put his foot down with me or something, but he did not believe my story about the owl and the raccoon, thinking that I was trying to play him and avoid consequence- of which I urged him to go look for himself. I stood in the lobby for a few minutes, so as to not drip water all over the house while I watched Tom go out the back door, and then quickly come back in the house, with an “oh” look on his face. “That’s a big raccoon,” he admitted. Apparently this bitchy racoon was having at the lemon tree, and made a show of charging at Tom as well. I felt a bit foolish for being chased off by a raccoon, but I’d seen what one had done to my dog as a kid.

Leaving an adequate rain puddle in the middle of the foyer, I went into the living room to watch the five of them crowd around the window seat, trying to find the raccoon as though it were some terribly interesting spectacle. The TV was still terribly loud, and the movie was then in the middle of the part the company wakes in Lothlorien and Frodo is speaking with Galadriel.

              “I give you the light of Eärendil,” she said.Our most beloved star. May it be a light for you in dark places, when all other lights go out.”

I realized then that I was a nerd with too much free time as a kid when I could quote most of her speech; but that line in particular had long stood out to me.

I decided to take another quick look on the computer at the message I had previously received, and I guess because the power had gone out so suddenly, I hadn’t noticed another few messages. I sorted through a handful more, but was particularly intrigued by the profile of one by the username “3rdEyeofHorus”.

“Black isn’t your natural hair color is it?”

Ok, so it wasn’t exactly the most brilliant starter line, but it was sure more decent than most of the others; but most notably, the length and inordinately intricate nature of his profile self- summary and question/answers showed that this was a deep- thinker and a highly-detailed individual; lots of esoteric references, a decent mention of God; A late- August Virgo- like the last 5 or 6 people I had met up with from the site- with long jet black hair and an apparent penchant for writing and music. I figured what the hell, worst case scenario I could ghost him and disappear like I usually do with anyone I talk to, so I ventured sending him a quick reply, and a simple question or two about his hobbies; then logged off for the evening.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

P.46

I remained in my room for some time, contemplating the message, and the odds of its having been sent within hours of my writing that whiny long-ass prayer that night in Alhambra. I only wished that I had the journal to look back and see exactly what I had said; because from what I remembered conceptually, most of what the stranger wrote could very well fit the theme of what I asked in that black journal, now lost in the abyss of a notorious psych ward.

I was reminded of the red journal, so I scanned back through it. Though I would still be waiting for the other unfulfilled requests; I decided to write another very simple petition.

“Dear God, please let me remember exactly what it was I said that night when I was again so pitifully drunk on sorrow.” I scrawled, again sealing the last three words with drops of blood; then turning over to an early sleep.

Dreams that night were short, I remembered  walking down the middle of a dark hallway, precariously on a thin balance beam between two bottomless chasms on each side. When I got to the end of the curved winding hallway, I came to a circular room, of which the minimal light revealed the vague outlines of  thousands and thousands of books stacked to the ceilings all around- as though it were all the knowledge in the world. but before I could touch a single one, I was grabbed from behind by a dark entity, dragged and held to the ground; as had been customary for many, many years. I awoke bolting  upright in bed, quickly muffling the beginning of a scream before it woke Melisa.

In the glow of the moonlit window, I saw a parcel of mail by my bedside. I guessed that it had somehow been overlooked on the porch the day before, of whom perhaps Andre put it there late last night, because anyone else would have put it in the office for clearance. It was from Alhambra. I bit though the grey plastic bag to find my black journal inside. “Holy Hell”, I muttered in disbelief. Well those awful people had just redeemed themselves. I opened it to look back at the two red letter entries. And there was my whiny long-ass prayer.  Written just under three hours before the stranger’s message, It read:

“(Dear God)
Do you truly even see or feel the depths of the terror, desperation, and anguish within me? I thought that perhaps You had heard me that morning on the end of the bed, that perhaps You would in the near future consider my plea. I’ve been well past my breaking point and I grow increasingly terrified of losing my precarious grip on sanity as I continue to experience an exponentially deepening darkness and constant sense of an inexplicable doom and dread. I am with people but I feel alone. I feel abandoned and that you don’t care for me anymore. I speak so simply now and I can’t get these words to form the proper feeling or meaning; as I can’t speak concisely or eloquently for emotions that are so very un-containable. I feel that I’m slipping farther away everyday from everything and everyone. I can no longer breathe, nor sense Your presence. I need Your peace, for I’ve none of my own anymore. I wish to die, and You know that my words are no show, that I indeed have sought death for all this time. Why do I still draw breath? I never could have though that anything could hurt so much, or that I would ever feel so trapped and desperate, or so much as though suffocating in small increments. Where are you when I cry out, afraid? My strength has all dried up, my will to live dissipated, and my hope is gone. what purpose could my life possibly hold from here on? Please take my life! Do you even hear me? Have you stopped caring about me, as I’m afraid everyone else will- who has not already? I’m sick and tired of myself. Are You too? The only one I speak plainly to? I have been reduced to such an elementary, insecure, and convoluted being and I am filled with so crushing of a shame and embarrassment. Please let me know that You’re still there and there is still compassion left somewhere that I can find within myself. Forgive me for taking the fleeting moments of peace or happiness my life had known, for granted. Forgive me for not being able to appreciate the times and the life that are now gone, even more than I already did. I’m sorry for failing any purpose You may have had for my life, for I’m not strong enough to carry on any further in any semblance of normalcy; and everyone will soon see what I have become when I can no longer hide behind the lie. Have I disappointed You? Please bring my life to a close, I beg. Please bring the pain, fear, torment, and hopelessness to an end.”

“Well that was a lot whinier than I remembered…”I laughed to myself. Oh well, I guess it got the job done.