There was this kid who lost his way when becoming a man. Parents should protect their children from the sadness of life, but this child's family just embraced it, wishing to cause him more sadness.
How do you live in a cage? Doesn't it eventually have an effect on you?
Motivation is much easier when you're happy. But being happy always brought out my dark side even more. How do I choose to contain it tonight?
These are just miserable ramblings, me searching to find my voice or an idea to shape. But the evil nature of religion again effects the outcome of my life without remorse or consideration of the fact that I do not participate.
How could my parents let God rape me? Even when I told them what he did they still cling to him, like my sufferring meant nothing.
I wish there was a God, so that he could feel what it's like to be raped.
There is something to be said for physical pain, I hate it. But I much prefer it to mental anguish, as it eventually subsides.
Where do I find these thoughts? Who is having them? Because it is not me. I suppose I understand people with multiple personalities, they are compensating for severe trauma.
I wish my mind was strong enough to protect me from my trauma. Instead I have to live with it every day. The images, screams and crying that echo forever in your brain. Those phrases, like, "he's dead, oh my God, he killed himself, come home now," which actually took forever to say because of the cow-like sobbing. The smell of death, no matter what form. All these are things that you won't ever forget.
I remember the first dead body I saw. I remember what a skull-cap sounds (and smells) like when it's being sawed off. I'll never forget how bad untreated tumors can be. I will always remember what 3 dead cats look like after they've been forgotten about for 3 years, the unmistakable oily outlines they leave on the carpet.
I remember the look on my girlfriend's face when she knew I knew she was cheating. I remember my shocked expression when another girl told me she was pregnant. I'll remember when that same girl later told me she got an abortion. I'll remember the joyless, loveless, meaningless sex I've had with many different people. I'll remember her telling me she "thinks" it's herpes and that she had an abortion because she wanted me. I'll remember that same girl, even though my heart was her's, telling me she didn't really like me.
I remember the way the boy told the lady how he was molested, the horrific nature of what had happened finally surfacing. I remember throwing my guts up when I realized nothing would happen to this lady or any of the other terrible people who deserve nothing but to be locked in a cell for the rest of their lives. I remember looking in another boy's face, apologizing that I couldn't help his little sister even though I promised I would.
I remember the pit in my stomach when I heard my friend was dead (twice.) I remember my parents sitting us down and telling us they were getting a divorce, then remarried, then moving, then screaming at their spouses.
I remember the hatred I felt for my brother, having to always take punches but never give them back. I remember being proud of myself because I could take abuse so well without returning it. I remember never feeling quite good enough, even when I graduated from college.
I remember love, I remember guilt and depression too. I remember hurting people I care about because I was so afraid of getting hurt. I remember the comfort in isolation and I remember drugs :)
I remember falling asleep under stars, I remember kisses, I remember sex (a lot) that was amazing and frequent. I remember happiness and understanding. I remember what someone's hand feels like when you care about them. I remember staying up all night thinking about the possibility of someone. I remember the first kiss I ever had, but that I thought it was kinda gross. I remember the girl that changed my mind about that. I remember thinking I was going to die the first time I got really drunk.
I remember holidays and presents. I remember my patents getting me my first car, I remember the feeling of finally getting free and driving hours and hours mindlessly with nothing to do. Embarassingly enough, I remember crying when kids made fun of me at school or would say some shitty thing about my parents. Especially when it was my girlfriend.
I remember being so pissed off at a old-woman that I really and truly wanted to spit on her. I remember arguing with people even though I knew I was wrong. I remember the feeling of doing something outside my moral code and how exciting and scary that feels.
I remember my best friend getting married, how happy he looked. I remember how weird I felt, because I'm normally so jealous of other people's happiness. I remember how truly good it felt so see someone who actually deserved happiness get it. I remember how much happier it made me, knowing that at least some of the people I cared about ended up where they wanted to be.
I remember everything, yet I remember nothing.
I remember the "aha" moment when religion started making sense. I remember sitting for a tea ritual at a Buddhist monastery and burning icense for the people I'd lost and to those I would lose.
I remember the sound of the tattoo gun at a biker house party that the band played at, I remember the taste of dog and several other odd foods. Tastes can be the keeper of fond memories.
I still feel the buzz from the first time I screamed my heart out on stage (even though it was terrible.) I remember friends and finally feeling accepted. I remember many books, themes and academic garbage.
I remember song lyrics (most of them my own) I remember concerts. I remember being crunched in so many people that I thought I'd pass out, yet letting my weight be supported by the crowd and letting everyone else sway me to the sound of the deafening music. I remember the sweat, tears, spit, beer and glitter that covered my body when the band was done. I remember actually FEELING music.
I remember smells most of all, the way they take you back, away from everything present, to the past memory.
I remember pissing on the American embassy, digging for treasure in Belize, almost being killed by a black Mamba, crocodiles and hippos in Africa. I remember eating at a Domino's pizza across from the pyramids in Egypt. I remember the armed guard who followed us everywhere in Jordan. I remember tiny Chinese pimps in faux cheetah-skin jackets asking me if I want "sex massage".
I remember the nobility of an Elephant in the wild and was ashamed by the pathetic eminence of a captured one. I remember the people who died, who are being tortured, who suffer endlessly through no fault of their own.
But I don't remember me. I don't remember who I was in all these things. I don't remember what I looked like or how I appeared. What am I missing? Why is my story not yet complete?
I'm done with my life but it feels like it hasn't even started yet. I'm torn between finishing the story myself or just becoming someone else, someone new, someone I always wanted to be?
I guess, either way, I'm ok with death again. I wouldn't be sad if I died at any moment. Not because I'm depressed, just because I've filled my cup to the top and I don't wish to overflow.
The best thing I can think of is to simply empty the cup, so that nothing is left and I can start filling it again.
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