You Are The Only Exception

I am afraid I have lost my belief in love.

All because I wanted to believe, I fell for the same lies over and over. I got hurt time and time again because after all; they were lies. And even though love has been the one thing I've yearned for my whole life, I think I might just give up.
I will never find what I am looking for.
It's best not even to let others know the desire is there. Not let people see the real me order understand me as I have wanted. Things will be so much easier that way.

Maybe it will suffice, if I allowed myself to become everything to someone else. They can place all the burdens of fear unto me, and I will bear them. They need not know of my fears. They need not know my weaknesses or my wounds. I will be what they want of me and I will never allow myself to feel as though I can open up again.

I don't know if this is a choice or if it is something that I've just become.
But I will never love that way again.

Written

I have a paper journal.
It has often been against my code to keep something of the sort. I have always believed, never write something down unless you fully expect for it to be read. But I realized long ago that it doesn't really matter to me if it is read. People can know the truth about everything if they want, that part doesn't bother me much. They can read the words even if they are not meant for them. The part that bothers me is what might come after. Where they will try to understand, or think they do. When they tell me what my words mean or how things happen when they don't know at all. When I hope, that from reading it, they will know me. And they don't. People always fail, and that is why I take refuge within myself and within these words. I cannot fail myself in such a way.

I told myself that after a year I would turn back and read the whole thing. Then I told myself that I would not read it, that I didn't need to. And now here I am, reading through the hastily scribbled pages, and understanding myself as before. Seeing the way I change and the way I felt - and the way I still feel. I am happy after all, that I decided to write it down. Now I will not forget the way I felt or the things I have done.

How do you get a crazy person to leave their house at midnight?

Do anything.

It's been over a year since the whole "fiasco" went down. To me, it seems obligatory that I make mention of it somewhere. Though it hardly seems like an obligation to my past anymore. It hardly seems like anything at all. I wonder if that is a good, or bad thing? I wonder if I am different in some incurable way, now?
It is hard for me to remember it at all, really, even if only to give nod to the fact it existed. It took long even to remember enough to know it happened over a year from now. It seems like no time has passed at all, and yet so much has changed. The past won't help me now, oh no, it would really only make things worse.
But that is not what this post is about.

I want to welcome you back to the present with the sentiment that I am still absolutely insane. And for all my talking about not living in the past, there are certain things I cannot let go.
It started with a melody, if it could even be called that. Musical notes, heard out the window. I should not have to explain what comes next, I'm sure you know, but it seems I've resigned myself to relating every painful detail.
I couldn't not go. That was really, just out of the question. But when I had gotten out there, the music had stopped. Then started a game I know all too well.
"Play it again. Play it again."
But I think that, I knew he wouldn't.
I walked on, begging for any sign, any at all.
I heard churchbells.
I walked, and I ran, to where they were coming from. There was a light shining, outside the church.
I walked slowly towards it, heart caught in my throat. Head whirling in hope and fear, already planning out what it was I would say to him. One wonders if I would have been able to say anything at all, if I truly did see him there.
I did not.

I walked further, hoping, praying, begging for any sign at all. And none came, as I should be used to by now. I wonder, if I ever truly expect to find him there in the middle of the night. But I remember that feeling in my chest and I no longer have doubts.
I ended the journey as I always do, hissing out into the night, "Come and find me."
I always mean it, at the time. And yet, in the middle of the night, I am unable to stop myself running out at any sign. Clinging at any chance.
Not just for him, but for all of it. I do wonder how long I would have to consider it before agreeing to go back.
My answer is always different.

I think that inside everyone there is a profoundly different world, something that though we may want to share it, may not be able to be shown to anyone else. As if it could possibly be understood. Being as I am, I want to learn these worlds and know them. But I must ask myself if I would be so forthcoming at the ends of someone else's inquiries.
Thinking about what I know, what possible harm could come from someone misusing, or misunderstanding that information?
That answer is always different.

These Foolish Games

Its a rare time when I can look back on everything, on my past - that past - and only feel the slightest wish to have those days again. A rare time when I look back fondly on it all and realize the beauty that it was. And a part of me realizes that a part of the beauty is in the fact that it is the past, and that it can't be again.

I won't blame it on so called "human nature" that I do still long for it sometimes, though.

And all I can think about is the peaceful white light that come with rain.

It is strange to think, that right now I am very happy. Compared to only a month or so ago when I might have considered death better than the situation I was in.
Constantly I am aware of Her beauty all around me. The beauty in the fact that, had I taken my life on those various occasions that I was so inclined, that I would not be here right now, and I would not be experiencing the things I am. I would not be writing this. But it just goes to show how little we know when we think we know everything. It just goes to show how things can change.

It comes down to a choice, again. I can't recall how many times I have forgotten and re-learned this lesson. There is always a choice. So long ago I remember, when I first realized there was no point in remaining sad. When I realized one has to move on from things and notice all the things around them that they are blessed with. Inside the darkest cave, a seed still sprouts and grows. If a small seed can do that, then surely I can too.

And at this point it is not at all crazy to believe that all the things I had there I can also have here. There was rain and white light. That is not something...monopolized, by another world. There was a man who felt differently towards me than he does now, but it is not something to be mourned. It is something to be celebrated. Something to be soft about. To smile about with half-closed eyes. And deep inside I'm sure he understands this as well. And I know that others will, one day. I do not worry for them. They are in good hands.

Horrible Sanity

I seemed to have lapsed into madness for a few hours about a week or so ago. Bear in mind I am writing this a while after the fact so things might be blurry, but perhaps more in focus.

By madness, I mean, a glimpse of my former self. The former self that I'm not entirely sure is a good idea, but that I miss none the less. In the end, I might just berate this self with mentions of "madness" to hide the even more horrifying truth - that this is me, perfectly sane, and not crazy at all. If one does not recognize madness, it is a sure sign that it is there, after all.
I'm sure I've gone on and on in the past about my continous search for another world, whether mine own or someone else's, for some secret doorway or portal. A search that goes back to even my childhood days. I've often attributed it to madness, though I know it is truth. And it continues even today, it would seem.
Three weeks before this excursion, while closing my window, about to go to sleep; I noticed a blinking red light in the distance. An air control tower to most people, most certainly. But I froze in my tracks and spent the next hour blinking a flashlight back towards it, and trying to catch a glimpse with binoculars. What if it were him? What if, somewhere, he is flashing that light, knowing I'll recognize it as him? But I couldn't go out that night, or the next, or the one after that. So on it goes until that night when I finally decided to go and meet this light.
You are crazy, you are absolutely insane. My mind chants as I walk to the destination in the dead of night. Its somewhere I've never been, and all I have to guide me is a flashing light on the horizon.
My heart is pounding and my head simultaneously building me up and shutting me down by the time I reach my goal. A tower rises into the air, larger than imagined, and cables clank in the breeze. The occasional car passes. I see nobody but can't give up.
"Drayc?" I call out, as loud as I can bear - which is not very loud. No answer. I pray for a sign, refusing to let it go. Desperately following after any sound. I give him a choice - stop playing games and show himself or I go home.
I end up going home.
But what if he had been there, that first time? And I missed him? Because I couldn't get myself to leave the house. What if I failed him once again.
At the same time, none of it could be real. But, you and I both know, that's not the case.
I went, in the end. I had to, or it would have haunted me forever.
But it left me with more questions than answers.

The Things We Forget

I need to tell you something that I have never told anyone before, not even the counsellors. I need to tell it now because I won't have the courage later (and even now saying it seems harder than I had imagined). I need to say it because it worries me, makes me worry about my judgement and the things I used to justify over and over and the things I might continue to justify (although I'd like to think I wouldn't, I would have liked to think I wouldn't have made an excuse for the first time.)

It only happened once.

We were lying in her bed after "it" had happened, and I was laying on her chest. I felt happy because this time she had really kept up her end of the deal and held me after, so that I didn't break. For the first time I had felt truly safe, and at peace, I had thought maybe we could really have what Drayc and I had. The kind of thing I was longing for.
I thought how fully and truly I trusted and could trust her.

and almost immediatly after that thought went through my mind,
I was pinned against the wall.
Her forearm was pressed against my throat, harder and harder. I gasped and choked. I pulled hard at her arm and it wouldn't leave. Eventually it did. I started crying and she couldn't understand why. Even after apologizing she acted as though it were a joke.

And honestly I had always believed that she never meant to hurt me in the ways that she did, that they were all just accidents, all just caused by the best intentions. But this is as candidly as I have talked about it and probably the only time that I will mention it this straightforward. Now I cannot imagine what and idiot I was at that time. Believing that it had only been a joke, though it was one of the times out of many that I was truly afraid of her. A part of me hates myself for being so hopelessly feminized (and another part of me hates myself for believing females make themselves the victims of violence and abuse). Of course at the time I was bound by my word and whatever she had wanted to do she was allowed, but it doesn't change the fact that she shouldn't have wanted to. And yet a part still wonders if she really did want to.

I don't think I could ever feel right referring to her treatment of me as abuse, although a logical part of me, and the counsellors, and the brochures, all say that it was. I like to believe she never meant any of it to hurt me. Because I don't want to think that one human being would hurt another on purpose. I don't want to believe that.

But there you have it, and you know.
This was not as well thought out or carried out or anything as my other posts, and I suspect the next time I do so, things will have gone back to normal.

You Were The Same As Me...

The past might be nice sometimes but

it's a Hell of a place to try and live

I can't stop myself thinking of that world. At this point I'm not necessarily seeing that as a problem but then again, when you want something you won't see it as a problem whether it is or not.

After all these years I haven't changed one bit, it seems. All sorts have things have happened in between and all sorts have thoughts gone through my head, but now...all that might as well have not happened.

The only thing I can see is myself. This is me as a being and this is me on the inside and this is how I view this world and so on and so on...Once again I do not view myself as a part of this world, but only as a visitor here. Only searching for my next way back home. Always the same wish on 11:11. Just to leave here and get it all over with.

I can hardly bring myself to bother with things that supposedly matter in this world, knowing that I don't belong here. That I'll be going home one day. It won't be long before my voice changes, probably. But until then I wonder if there will be any outside signs at all.

And its not that I'm depressed. Like I said, I do not see this as a problem. And I do not feel like I should be unhappy, since that is a waste of time. I do like this world and I do think its beautiful. But it is not mine and it is not my home. So I am still searching for a way back - whether that's the best thing to do or not.

After all these years I haven't changed one bit.

Midnight Coward

I needed to write this down, or I would be going over this post in my head all night, only to forget it after having woken up.

For a while my personal studies were going well, I was diligent and learned quite a lot. I took notes and began to see parallels and make deductions of my own accord. Then, I found an answer to my problems. Or, part of one at least. I found my answer in Hermetic law, which told me what it was that was wrong with me and at least a vague outline of what I should do to fix it. Here I ended my studies, having found the answer. Problem solved? No.

What good is an answer if you do nothing with it? What good is an epiphany if it does not implement anything? Time and time again I find the answers to my problem and just stop with them. Without even trying to do anything in response. It is not enough merely knowing what I must do but it should in fact be done as well.

This is a side note but it is in fact connected to what I am speaking about. I've broken a promise to a man. A promise I've broken time and time again. Which really makes one wonder why I have continued to make it in the first place. I believe by now he's lost all faith in me, as is his right, and I have not seen him in at least months, if not longer. In fact there is no reason for him to come back to me and I'm aware he does not love me and it is unlikely he ever will. He is also in an unofficial relationship with another old friend of mine who I knew before she came under unfortunate circumstances. But, I digress. I believe making and keeping this promise is an integral part of finding my own answers but with no one to answer to it is highly doubtful that should come to be. The saying goes that I keep all promises, except for the ones I always intended to break. Why it is that I could not succeed in this for him I will never know, but it seems now is the time to make the promise for myself, which will prove all the more harder than keeping it for someone else.

Anyway, back to the topic at hand. I was a fool to have ended my research on the discovery of a small tidbit that rang true to me. I need to find something that works and I need to find it soon. While my general mood is greatly improving, I still lack a zest for life. Well, most of the time. I suppose you could say I am looking for a passion in life which can fill me wholly. There are many things I love and enjoy doing, and yet when I have the spare time, I spend it on things I don't particularly care about and that leave my soul feeling even deader than before. I suppose the new question is now, "What can I do to get myself to participate in the things I love?" and "If these things keep my spirit alive, why can I not motivate myself to do them?"
However, I'm unsure if questions like that can ever really be answered by research. Unless this research is in my own mind. Something I seem adverse to doing at the moment.

In any case, recognizing there is still work to be done is half the battle. I will, at some point, remedy this. Perhaps at long last.

This World

tsuyogatte, kizutsuita, kokoro sukashita you ni

All these thoughts of "going back" are beginning to weigh heavily on my brain. I long for some sort of passion to fill me as before, yet instead all I feel is pain. Or something worse. I still can't remember, but then again, I still haven't tried.
I've been looking for something good about this world that I'm stuck in. Honestly, I've been looking for years. And many times I've found it. Something wonderful. But its always fleeting, only for a moment. I'm not only talking of love - I've learned since there's more to it than that description. I feel like I've learned a lot yet still know absolutely nothing.
I just want to go home. But, barring that, I want to find something in this world that is worth standing and fighting over. Something that's worth giving up everything for. Some sort of release for all this energy inside me, left over from my time in my homeland, now trapped in the body of a human.
I can no longer feel passion for the things I used to, though it is the one thing that could save me.
I long for camaraderie, yet I'm too afraid to ask outright for it. Too afraid to seal another bond in case it is broken once more. All the things I had at home, all the things I miss, I am too afraid to have them here. This place is so different. And yet other times, I have found myself wondering, "what if Harrow is this world?"
I don't feel able to discuss it, or anything else with those around me. If I open myself up, others might open themselves up, and what if I don't like what I see? What if it is just one more disappointment after another?
I feel like giving up, and yet at the same time I feel like grabbing hold with all I have, and becoming how I used to be. Becoming my past self and then becoming a new and better person on top of that.
But I need to consider whether I'd be better off doing that alone...or if I should take a leap of faith and reach out.

Memories

I'm hoping this entry isn't as disjointed as I think it is going to be.

Something strange happened to me today. I was reading a book - one that I think will effect me greatly - and somehow I just slipped away. "Disociative state" is all I can think to describe it, but who knows if that is the right term or not. It felt as though I were falling back into a memory, or an experience, but for the life of me I can't figure out what it was. During that moment it was as if the world was bending, as if I wasn't quite...in the same one. It all looked the same, and yet wasn't. As it slowly shifted away from me, it seemed as though the only one in this "other world" was me. That brought some kind of fear, as, I was being taken away into another dimension and no one else around me was aware of it (not that I knew those around me, or even specifically wanted them to intervene).
Things like this have been happening to me more and more lately. I am worried for myself - though it seems as if its the type of worrying of a bystander looking in. A passing thought, not really integrated with my own mind. I read the term "passive suicidal" and I would like to believe this is not what I am, but a part of my worries because I am growing more and more like I was a long time ago.
It is not so much that I would like to die, but moreso that I would just really like to go home. Granted, the only possible way I am aware of to get there is by dying. This isn't something I tend to bring up a lot because I feel as though, even though they might listen and sympathize, no one will really understand it (and the one person who would, I can no longer talk to about it). From so long ago I can remember hoping, praying, wishing on stars - doing anything possible to get someone to take me from this world. To bring me home. No matter what it was always my wish.
Though, for some reason I can hardly remember those times (whether its just bad memory or me forcing myself to forget I do not know), I know this feeling all too well and that is part of what is stopping me from acknowledging it - trying to make myself forget the feeling even now. But I can't deny that I have been calling to him for help again. He visits me, every so often. Maybe he's given up on me because I keep pushing all thoughts out of my mind - I won't let myself remember or introspect or try at anything that could bring up stuff that is painful. But I call out to him. Please please please, just let me go home.
But as usual, there is no answer. Or rather, the answer is no.
I know I might benefit from trying to remember, from trying to talk to him, to them, and work all this out, but I'm so afraid of the pain. Maybe I'm not meant to remember. At least that is what I tell myself.

Yet I don't want to become my old self. I liked what I had become, but it seems to be crumbling away, and my fear won't let me do anything about it. I pray to go home instead of fixing my world here. (and a part of me asks if I even have a world here?) And I want him to talk to me like he used to, but another part of me won't let him because I'm afraid of what he might say. I'm instrumenting my own undoing, I just hope I can snap out of it before things go too far south.