Set Free

 That night, it went away.

  God, I'm so tired of feeling like this

It's just what you deserve, if not less than what pain you shall recieve

 Take it away! I know it's not you

Never accept a gift you can't justify

WHY IS NOTHING FAIR HERE?

This death you feel, this is what's fair

No... No, you're not real.

Then what is your pain? Give me a name.

God, I don't want to feel this guilt

TAKE YOUR PUNISHMENTS!

I WANT TO! I'M TRYING! KILL ME, I JUST DON'T CARE ANYMORE!

 And so, the demons flooded over the gates of my mind, scorched me with an obsession that could never be fulfilling.

But I found the truth that one night.

  I was praying for them again. It had been another night of forsaking myself and thus beating God's daughter. But it had come to the point where at least I could get over how much I hated myself and start ripping parts of myself out and handing it to my friends.

 I'd been paying off debts that only I believed existed. When somebody did me right, I did all I could to justify it. Make them do me wrong. But compassion is one thing you can never pay back. And it's also impossible to generate if you're trying to pay your dues.

 To me, it didn't matter that everyone was okay with me treating them like crap, and it didn't matter that God had forgiven me, because there was still a voice calling me back and sucking the life out of me.

And the voice was inside my head.

 This isn't to say I'm schizophrenic, because I'm nowhere close. I just couldn't live with myself.

When I was sad, I felt guilty because I had no reason, so I tortured myself.

When I was happy, I felt guilty because I didn't deserve it, so I tortured myself.

I couldn't win this game I played.

As I prayed for them, a voice not so mysterious reminded me to look at what I was doing.

It hit me.

My eyes grew wide, my heart pounded, and all I could do was step back and sob into my hands, because I had been set free. What I was doing was soulful. I learned how to love. I learned how to sacrifice myself. That must have been when I woke up from the nightmare and realized that I turned into something beautiful. I was finally happy.

Hospital Flowers, man. Hospital Flowers.

God.

That Awkward Moment

 Somewhere between lack of inspiration, laziness, and overall scarcity of the ability to update, I've spent the last 11 days incognito (or at least as Matrill, the legal identity was visible).

 So now I get back on here and I see something I never see. Comments

Well, I get one like every six weeks or so. But that's clearly not a lot to crow about.

And now I've decided since there are probably fewer than thirty people that actually will read this whole post thingy, I guess I can single people out all I want.

 Sometime in the later half of 2010 (I seriously don't even remember when) I stumbled upon a blog credited to the author Dyanova. This happened because I'm an avid reader of the Owl City blog, of which he commented on. Out of what I guess was completely random curiosity, I followed the link to the blog.

 I still don't remember what made me talk, but I'm pretty sure that somewhere in the post I read there was something written among the lines of it being sort of a ghost town of a blog where nobody visits but those who are encouraged to do so. Being the weird person that wanted to give off a warm fuzzy that could have easily come off as an awkward slimy, I replied in some way containing the idea like "Well hey, I found it... And... It's nice."

 I don't even know.

Anyway, now that I've returned from some weird unannounced hiatus and Dyanova's been trying to contact me. And I'm happy that there's actually someone out there that kinda cared. At least a little.

Is it sad that I'm waaaaay more friendly, polite, extroverted, and sociable on the internet when I'm using a made up name? Probably. Oh well.

So yeah. It's nice to know that... Well, that you even remembered me. Or checked out my blog. You know.

Aaand I hope this isn't too weird.