December 28th, 2013

My therapist takes notes, but they are not to detail what I have told her. Every statement I make, leads to a revelation about another patient. At the end of each session, there is a small stack of papers for me to take home. I fill them out immediately, giving little thought to the questions. I answer what I think is most appropriate. We go through the worksheets together, neither one of us really caring for the process. She is incompetent, and I am apathetic.

I am hosting another of the dictator’s relatives. He has heard much about me. I say it hardly applies anymore. I mention that the hellhound has passed away. He looks down, promising to be a gentle guest. He is a man of his word. The discomfort is bearable, but he has taken my voice. No harm done.

The only thing one can say to most people who are a part of their past is, you were not that great. Really, oh really, this should come as a shock to no one at all. We leave those we felt unworthy of, or those we felt were unworthy of us.

December 28th, 2013

November 15th, Year of the Moon

I have this little virus, and it crawls up to my nose, plugging it up. It’s a dictator, shouting things at my body in German. It makes its way to my chest, and kicks at it with steel-toed boots. It plucks at my muscles, exhausting them sore. Up to my neck it runs, gnawing at my tonsils. What a way to say that I am ill.

Children bring many things. You are supposed to say they are worth every struggle. Like planting a seed that will one day grow into something you can admire, or eat. But they may not grow up to do great things, and I can’t very well turn into a cannibal. Still, I say that I am grateful they got me sick. It is said with irony, as I keep looking after my seeds. This will all make me stronger, like a Russian woman who can wrestle bears.

My brain cells are burning up in the fever. I can see them clearly. Just tiny balls of fire, screaming for mercy. The dictator laughs, ignorant of his own fragility. It will soon meet an army of white soldiers. His lips are warm now, but they slowly grow cold. He will fall, and no one will mourn him.

November 15th, Year of the Moon

November 4th, Year of the Corpse

The tools and equipment used to destroy, are the same that are needed to rebuild. It is impossible to resist the urge to cause a collapse. The fire will burn away all injury. It will frighten away any that intend to push their fingers into the wound, into the bone.
It takes a god to rebuild, and didn’t I already establish that I am small. So small.

My mother’s medical tests have shown that there are tumors in her colon. A biopsy is required to determine whether they are benign, or whether she has a battle ahead of her.

My sister’s marriage is disintegrating. While she has not been married long, her husband has already established himself as a ruinous villain. Infidelity, abuse, and lies plague their union. Her husband is incapable of showing loyalty and kindness. My sister is incapable of self-assertion.

Ill with a need to express an affection I still feel for my sister and mother, to provide them with an emotional support they are desperately seeking, but with a stubborn pride that prevents me from moving in a direction it fears will lead to hurt, I was taken to the hospital by ambulance. My heart decided to flutter like a panic-stricken butterfly, growing faint until it was almost undetectable. It was there that I realized that I have spent my life in a hospital, or in need of one.

Joseph comforted me, after I was released from the emergency room. He kissed me so sweetly. I believe almost as sweetly as he kissed another girl later that evening, in front of my home.

November 4th, Year of the Corpse

March 9th, Year 22

After months of numbness in my arms, the feeling has now extended to my legs. This has led me to seek out a medical diagnosis. I went with a great deal of apprehension. They have run a series of tests that will surely leave me in debt. The doctor has informed me that he is considering running additional tests, after I told him that weakness in my legs has caused me to collapse on a number of occasions. He wants to rule out multiple sclerosis.

Long ago, I lost my mind, or it was robbed, or I gave it away to rid myself of all responsibility, and personal accountability. Now, I am slowly losing my body to some kind of illness. All I am left with, is anger and fear. My two loyal companions. They are the only things left to carry me. In the silence, I know I have grown dependent on them.

March 9th, Year 22

February 13th, Year 20

A slow percussion that never builds. The steady, disciplined cadence waiting for the words of an experienced shaman. Instead, there are the ramblings of a fool. The broken guitar strings of a child, that refused to lean how to play music. I am all those things, because we are all those things. A pile of useless flesh and bones. Partial prisoners of genetics, the rest being held captive by experiences lacked, nurturing deprived. The moon is hidden by the eclipse, the sun suffers the same fate.

I am scared of the physical pain. It is enough. There is no dignity to a life of chronic agony. No matter where it attacks, the rest of the body will bend and curve, before its time. Youth will fade with each passing nanosecond. Stolen, like Persephone by Hades.

Not long ago, I was hidden by the weight of a lover undeserving. Under thick blankets, we whispered words, fueled by lust and corrupted love. Oh, that I could mean those uttered phrases forever, each time repeated, increased in value. That some things, when delivered honestly, would become guarantees. That what defined me was absolute, unchanging, and held up by integrity.

I point a finger at a villain that does not exist, or it solely exists within me. Now, I am hidden again. It is the pain that covers me whole, so that the world does not see me. I say, I should have conquered the world, while I had the opportunity. When one is on their knees, defeated and humiliated, one thinks of all that should-have-beens. But, the truth is that the exact combination leading to victory is difficult to hit upon, even with skill.

February 13th, Year 20