Meditation brought momentary peace. It provided me with a beautiful way to look at the world. I see now that it was a Trojan horse. I am being destroyed from within. Some will say that all of the emotional upheaval existed, long before I incorporated this practice into my daily life. Reading through my journals, I see how it is easy to arrive at that conclusion. But these words are only a fraction of what I have lived through, and thought, in relation to those experiences. The truth is, there were moments of great happiness, and when that lacked, great hope.
I walk out of my room, wearing yesterdays makeup. My legs are weak, as they have always been. There is a quick collapse, but no pain, despite the hard drop. I crawl through the dark hallway. The rug feels hot, as I push my way forward. After this, there are answers, I think. If there is a way in, there is a way out, I hope. I will find the ray of light.
There can be no revenge, in the absence of hate. This is why the enmity lives on. My father, always my father. I created space, which was furnished with peace, with mercy. It was not my place to do that, not with the mind. It is the heart that must create a new age. But, inside that heart, there are the black markings of grief. There can only be relief through a sense of justice.
My sex is always violent, sinful, criminal. A reluctant masochist, in need of a strong dose of pain. Exaggerated screams, to drown out and hide the discomfort. I am nothing more than an economical whore, changing my name to whatever will please someone best. A Catholic at convenience, looking to fuck Jesus.