I write this blog with literal tears in my eyes. I sit here writing to you from the edge of hell. And I mean hell as dark as a sunless universe for all time. And I found out the most trite thing in the world: There is only love.
I must change in my life. I'm pretty fucking scared. I have no real family, that's all a lie. But that's all I've ever done: protect my lies, not my life. And it leaves you with hands stained with blood - the blood of who you loved - and loved you.
How does one put back together a flower snipped in two?
So I've been forced from my cave of emptiness. I must step into the light and face life. This is the chance this hell has given me. I have brought this on myself. I could have learned in a way of love instead of pain. Learning the hard way really sucks.
I have a suicide post drafted. Who am I? I am Mozart without his music. I am Robert Browning without Elizabeth. I am lost at sea.
The achievements I'm most proud of are meeting Debby and writing my novel. Here's the start link to it here (just keep clicking through to the start page). Einstein here in his infinite wisdom of lying kept it hidden. It's true I had plans for it had I matured as a person, knowing that only then I could be sure of its completeness. I had other dreams as well had I become that person.
It seems I will be trying some group therapy. I don't have high hopes, I have fallen far. I see my myself mocking it in my head the whole time and feeling degraded. My idea of group therapy is this:
There have been helping hands, keeping me from falling into the abyss and you know who you are. But I must be most grateful to the one who's taught me this very hard lesson. To be honest, my chances are slim at carving out a life for myself after doing so much damage. And my self-trust is struggling at this point. You see, there are realities all the prayers in the world can't change. The career of Roy Hobbs, a shadow of what could have been.
But damage has been done and a price must be paid for that. I will try to be as the reformed Scrooge, make what I can of what little life is left of me - all the while knowing it could have been a thousand times more. This trail of snipped flowers I've left will haunt me for all eternity. I'm so very sorry.
Life is in your dreams, not your body.