Hello

You might've noticed this whole blog has been in the third person so far. In case you were wondering, which I doubt you were, 'cause no one seems to read this anyway, it was this way because I wanted to distance myself from the part of me that felt all those things.

This has been my venting blog for a while now, it's just that the venting takes a different form from F###F###F###F###!!! though that would be nice. I just can't make myself say the word unless I'm really sad or angry. Comes of living with your grandparents for too long, I guess. :D

Why, then, am I taking a break from the third person? Maybe because I want to make this my main blog. Maybe because the last few weeks have been difficult, and I want to connect with something, even if it's just a blog.

So, since I'm starting over, I thought I'd say hi. So. erm. Hi. *awkward wave*

I'm tired, I'm sad, I'm hurt. And I know I have to keep pretending nothing happened so I won't worry my family. I'll figure this out. I know I will.

The Darkness Returns

She doesn't know how to begin. She takes a deep breath and tries to start over, but none of it makes any sense. She can't remember how this happened. How she ended up here, surrounded by people, feeling all alone again. She thinks it's funny that she's feeling this way, because all she remembers is a warm, fuzzy feeling of happiness, belonging... and then this.

She knows it's her fault, whether she did it consciously, or whether her subconscious was trying to re-create the environment which it'd been in most of her life. But she can't remember why or what, it's all just one huge blur. The wrong choices, people hurt.

She remembers pain. Overwhelming pain. Drowning in it, the flood consuming her, seeping through her, welcoming her back. She caused pain and that pain caused her pain. The knowledge that it couldn't be changed, that sometimes, there's just nothing for it but to leave, sinking in finally.

Revisiting

She stands back, apart from herself, watching the thoughts coalesce. She sees them as she would see someone else's life. Scenes - colourful, picturesque events - happening as though they were a movie with a narrator talking unceasingly about one character's thoughts, feelings and motives.

One character. Herself.

She's not sure she likes this blend of her past and present. It's discomfiting, the way everything seems to flow so easily together until it's all a blur.

She wishes she could pause, let one idea roll around her mind, taste it and absorb it before moving on, but it refuses to be stilled, flowing seamlessly into the next image from something so irrelevant that it's a strain to try and find logical sequences in this train of thought.

Faces of old loves flash through her mind, sharing space with the awkward fumbling of lust-driven caresses. She remembers trying to stifle her laughter at the ridiculousness of the whole thing, knowing that she wouldn't be able to deal with the hurt and lack of comprehension in his eyes.

She sees it all again, as she did then, detached, aloof, refusing to surrender all of herself to the heat, the sweat, the urgency of the moment. She watches herself watch them, a story within a story.

She hears the commentary in her head and wonders if it's like that for him. Evaluating it critically, she doesn't think so. He appears lost in the growing tension between them. She knows she's in control and doesn't want to be. She wants him to force her out of herself. To make her stop thinking, stop judging them, debating the rights and wrongs of what they're doing - just to force herself to let go and to drown in the mindless passion that should be consuming them both.
She feels the tension growing, drawing her inescapably toward climax and wonders how she can still think -why she still can't let go. And then it's done.

Physically sated, she's still left with a gnawing sense of discontent - a nagging sensation that something wasn't quite right.

The thoughts run on, exploring other avenues, digging up old questions. She can't sleep.

She wakes...

... to shame, guilt and fear.

Shame that she could forget herself, her values, her God.

Guilt that she could hurt those she loved. And enjoy it.

Fear that dreams will haunt her waking.