I ended up making friends with someone from my past again. He's shed off the cloak of oppression and in a completely chance like nature, we struck up a conversation. I apologized and my past was forgiven. But in all of it. It's forced me into looking into the past again. A painful reminder of what I am and how far I've come since then.
A relationship is a connection. A temporal bond between one or more entities in this great cosmos. As I consider each of these bonds that I've had. Each formed by chance encounter, sparked further by a hand outreached, one offering compassionate words; a friendly smile; that possibility for something more. I need to realize that they are and will forever be something that I can only try and move forward from.
They've changed me. For better or worse. Each of these relationships is a facet of a stained glass window that sheds light on my fears, dark desires and unrelenting thirst for something. Something I've come to realize is acceptance. I crave that approving nod, the hand gesture that means you're someone... All of it. If I was to think of it from a psychological point of view. I'd have to say that this mentality was sparked from my childhood. One that was not so unlike most peoples. I wasn't the best of children and would get my fair share of beatings. But after a bit, I simply realized that most of my life my parents simply ignored anything I accomplished. It didn't matter what I did. I could have been crowned prince of a foreign country but it wasn't good enough for them. And so I would attempt to sate that hunger from other sources. Friends, Teachers, Strangers. I'd put on a facade. A mask of a caring, smug bastard. One who wants nothing more than to grovel before the world.
I guess it's largely because of that I feel so hurt at times. Each time I finally think that the amount of my heart and soul I've dedicated is enough, Fate comes by and disapprovingly looks at me. He grasps a fine blade and severs my bonds, dropping my chains closer and closer to the dungeon that is hell. Why yes even if I'm not religious I believe in the concept of a hell. Though for me there is no fire or brimstone. Hell or Hel as I view it is more similar to the Norse perception. A frozen dungeon, The dead are not punished with pain and torturing. They are forever cast into a lot where they must relive their past. Each negative action that hurt them to be perceived from every angle, each idea that difference could happen forever consuming the damned. Yes that is my Hel.
And though I've all but slipped into it. I yet am alive. For some crazy reason I'm on this planet still. I haven't gone mad, I haven't sunken into myself and I haven't taken my own life. Been close to it several times. Why yes. But no I haven't. Too fucking logical for my own good. I've wanted to die so much sometimes. Just a slip of a knife I'd think... One too many sleeping pills with a glass of wine. But calculations came into place. WHAT IF WHAT IF WHAT IF.
That madam is the reason why I'm alive. The fucking what ifs of the world keep my alive. What if the knife isn't sharp enough, I'd collapse from blood loss long before I finish myself off. What if the pills are too old and thus ineffectivated by time?
I guess it's Fate's purpose for me then. That I must continue this existence. And so OK. I'll be here, existing. Fulfilling tasks and quests, purposes. Each a means of excelling to the next expanse. A means by which I can become more attuned with myself. If I am to remain, then I must find a means to function. I am alive and yes I am here.
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