day 1
I hate this place. I hate the way it smells and the sounds that I hear when I am trying to sleep at night. I hate it for many reasons that I cannot talk about too. I hate this place.
day 2
I still hate this place but I hate it more than yesterday. But something has crept into the hate and shares a room with it, so to speak. I hate that I hate this place because it is just a place without real reason at all, just a place.
I heard the phone ring and I ignored it. I knew it was you and I didnt want to tell you that everything would be okay, for the fiftenth time.
It wasn't my fault, after all. I just did what was right and you dont know it was me. I know it was me...and it makes me hate this place more.
I hate my toothbrush in the little white canister sitting upon the sink. I hate it because if it had eyes, it would stare at me and accuse me of something I didnt do.
day 3
I heard a knock at the door and I thought it was you so I didnt answer. I could smell men's cologne but I still thought it could be you, so I didnt answer.
I turned on the television too and watched an episode of something. For some reason, I cannot even remember what was on television today. I know that everyone was looking at the cameras like they could see me watching them. There was one girl that looked like you and so I turned the televison off again.
I just sat here for hours and thought about a book I used to read on the War. But then I thought about my war inside, that led me to you. I hate this place.
day 4
I did it again. I checked into my fake account to see if you had left anymore messages but you hadnt. I had this feeling that you had wrote a message to my fake persona and then you erased it. I decided to stay offline for a while. I need to pay my bill so that I can stay online. If I close my account, you will think I am avoiding you and you might call. I really dont want you to call because I wouldnt know what to say to you.
I am sorry, but I hate saying I am sorry. When I say I am sorry, they can see the real me. I cant let them see the real me. I cannot let you see the real me. This place feels like it is shrinking and swallowing me whole. I hate being here but I cannot leave. If I leave, I might see you. I dont want to see you...because I am sorry.
day 5
I didnt get out of bed today because it was raining. I know how much you love the rain adn I thought you might be out and about. I thought for some crazy reason that you might come see me. I cant see you because then I would cry
..because it really is my fault.
day 6
I am sorry that you are there and I am here and I do not see your face anymore. I hope you are well but I cannot call you because I just cant. I have no reason to give you for not calling except that I am a coward. I look aroudn and this place reminds me of you because it is without you. I am without you and probably will forever be without you.
The phone rings again and I hate this place more. I stand and i pace, I stand and I scream. But then I panic because maybe you heard me. Maybe you know that it was my fault. Maybe you will come.
I am scared that you will come and so I climb in the bed adn pull the covers over my head. I head the refrigerator and the noises it sometimes makes. I know you can hear them too...no matter how far away.
I feel your voodoo eye and I start to cry.
please forgive me
day 7
I havent eaten since you left. I hate food. I hate this place. I hate my toothbrush. I hate the phone.
I hate me.
I hate me
I hate me
I am not hungry. I am not thirsty. I try to eat a peice of bread but the noise is so loud that I stop. I think you can hear me. I know it hurts you and so I throw the bread away.
I panic when the bread hits the garbage can and it makes so much noise.
The phone rings and I throw it against the wall. Maybe you were calling. Maybe you heard me break the phone. I hate that phone. I hate this place
I hate you
I am sorry
day 8
I am tired.
I am sleepy
But I cannot go to sleep because then you would come. YOu would knock on my door, ring my phone and then you would scream and cry your torment through the door. I would let you in and I would tell you that I am sorry and then you would forgive me.
But I cannot do that.
Because I am not sorry
I did it
I had to
because I was a coward
day 9
I am sorry
I wish I could take it back
but I cannot do that
but then if I could, I dont think I would
because you would know I care.
but i dont care
i hate you
i hate you
I hate this place
your eyes are in the walls, your eyes are in the mirrors, in my coffee
your blood is running down the walls
I hear you knocking on my door
i hear you ringing my phone
I hear you calling my name
I see you everywhere
I hate my eyes
I hate my ears
please
I am tormented
I am sorry
day 10
I am sorry
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Sunday, July 21, 2013
The horror
It had been more than two weeks inside the cell. I felt the hands that werent really there, I felt them. I knew that beyond the wall on the left was your cell and the one on the right was empty. I heard them talking too, every night I heard them discussing what they were going to do to me when the time came to bring me from the cell. I didn't really care anymore because time in the cell had dried my reserve and taken hope from my basket. But I lie, I do care. I do not wish to suffer, I wish to die.
My hands were tarnished from digging. My nails were broken from scrapping with a broken hair pin that I found in the corner. I dont know which is more broken, the pin or my will. The blood on
my wrists had dried and crumbled in places where the wounds had healed. I felt defeated. Yet, I heard you whimpering next to me through the stone of the wall. And so I whispered to you
lovingly.
"shhh my dear, I will tell them it was me...all me. I will insist they let you go in exchange for my information...I promise."
And you responded with nothing because you hated me. I could feel your hatred as sure and sharp as a knife. I wanted to explain the reasons for my harsh words but I could not. They were just
too complicated. There was just too many wounds to heal and I would soon meet my fate.
"Listen, they will come for me but I will be gone. I have sent them a message that you shall serve as their reason to break these walls. They will come too late, you see. They will come too
late for me."
The tears I should have, I have none. I cried the first 4 nights because you had abandoned me. Then when they found you, I sat by the wall to your cell and just listened. I heard your
prayers....to your family, to your god. I heard your weeping and it seemed distant. And then your weeping coaxed my own tears to come again and I then forgave you for deserting me. How many
times did I forgive you for deserting me. When I was sick, you did not come. When I was lonely, I remained alone in the forest, crying by the old oak next to the cemetary gates. And finally,
when they came to take me away, I saw you put your hand to your face and watch in horror....but you did not help me.
I should be grateful. They say death is a gift for those who live in hell on earth. Maybe this time, when they come for me, there will be death that awaits and not more torture.
I look down at my torn wrists and wish that the stone had been sharper and the earth had been colder. Maybe if death had taken me sooner, I would not feel the hate in my heart, I would not
feel the love in my heart and I would not sit by the wall and try to convince you to take my salvation. But I do this because I have no hope but the hope to save you.
They are coming now. I hear their hard heels hitting the stones and their breath against the cold air. I hear the lock turning and their advancement. I hear them coming for me.
"Hey, stay away from the north wall. They will be here soon, be ready to flee."
.....................
She was there beside me, on the rack. They had done to her what they would soon do to me. She turned with a bloody face and her lips quivered.
"I know what you are thinking." she mumbled. She spoke with all her strength because to her, it was important for me. She felt my inner turmoil which was more powerful than my will to live.
I spoke to her softly as to keep the others from hearing. "what do you mean?"
she smiled a grim and horrible smile. "The other one..the one in the cell beside you. He has forgotten who you are. You arent even a fleetig thought. He weeps and weeps...for himself."
The hurt was enormous but she knew it was all I needed to welcome the pain that was ahead. My will to live was gone. I nodded my head and watched the soldiers walk up to me with their
instruments of torture. I smiled.
The pain would be welcoming to the thing I had inside. The thing that had become nothing.
My hands were tarnished from digging. My nails were broken from scrapping with a broken hair pin that I found in the corner. I dont know which is more broken, the pin or my will. The blood on
my wrists had dried and crumbled in places where the wounds had healed. I felt defeated. Yet, I heard you whimpering next to me through the stone of the wall. And so I whispered to you
lovingly.
"shhh my dear, I will tell them it was me...all me. I will insist they let you go in exchange for my information...I promise."
And you responded with nothing because you hated me. I could feel your hatred as sure and sharp as a knife. I wanted to explain the reasons for my harsh words but I could not. They were just
too complicated. There was just too many wounds to heal and I would soon meet my fate.
"Listen, they will come for me but I will be gone. I have sent them a message that you shall serve as their reason to break these walls. They will come too late, you see. They will come too
late for me."
The tears I should have, I have none. I cried the first 4 nights because you had abandoned me. Then when they found you, I sat by the wall to your cell and just listened. I heard your
prayers....to your family, to your god. I heard your weeping and it seemed distant. And then your weeping coaxed my own tears to come again and I then forgave you for deserting me. How many
times did I forgive you for deserting me. When I was sick, you did not come. When I was lonely, I remained alone in the forest, crying by the old oak next to the cemetary gates. And finally,
when they came to take me away, I saw you put your hand to your face and watch in horror....but you did not help me.
I should be grateful. They say death is a gift for those who live in hell on earth. Maybe this time, when they come for me, there will be death that awaits and not more torture.
I look down at my torn wrists and wish that the stone had been sharper and the earth had been colder. Maybe if death had taken me sooner, I would not feel the hate in my heart, I would not
feel the love in my heart and I would not sit by the wall and try to convince you to take my salvation. But I do this because I have no hope but the hope to save you.
They are coming now. I hear their hard heels hitting the stones and their breath against the cold air. I hear the lock turning and their advancement. I hear them coming for me.
"Hey, stay away from the north wall. They will be here soon, be ready to flee."
.....................
She was there beside me, on the rack. They had done to her what they would soon do to me. She turned with a bloody face and her lips quivered.
"I know what you are thinking." she mumbled. She spoke with all her strength because to her, it was important for me. She felt my inner turmoil which was more powerful than my will to live.
I spoke to her softly as to keep the others from hearing. "what do you mean?"
she smiled a grim and horrible smile. "The other one..the one in the cell beside you. He has forgotten who you are. You arent even a fleetig thought. He weeps and weeps...for himself."
The hurt was enormous but she knew it was all I needed to welcome the pain that was ahead. My will to live was gone. I nodded my head and watched the soldiers walk up to me with their
instruments of torture. I smiled.
The pain would be welcoming to the thing I had inside. The thing that had become nothing.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
The condition (the dying process)
And then there was nothing. After I had chosen my words rashly, there was nothing left. I cried the night through without Stephen. It was as any other weekday night that I had endured without him...except this night, he was supposed to be here. I imaged Stephen roaming some dark street somewhere with his cigar dwindling in his hand. His mind must have been a mess with things; things such as why the world was always at its own throat and why its self destruction was ignored by mindless pleasure seekers. I knew he thought about this because night after night, we thought it together. The words that I shouted at him were killing me now. I could not believe that I had commanded him to go away. In my own mind, I thought I had good reasons but it was driving me insane to be away from him. My love did not stop here...it had a section of its own, a part of my brain it inhabited and governed with no remorse for my logic. And my logic waged war as well...telling me that Stephen did not care at all and that I was just there for his entertainment. Maybe I was and maybe I had kid myself all along that he was different, that he stood out from the crowd. Maybe he was just like the others...just a different flavor.
So, I knew he could read my thoughts and that he had come to me before as simply as my thoughts wavered to him. Many times, he had stood outside my window smiling and motioning for me to let him inside. I would run to the door, swing wide tis opening and run outside to greet my lover. He was always warm whether it was summer or winter, rainging or snowing..he was comforting. I found myself feeling the most hollow pain in my chest as the hours passed by and he never came. Then I realized that he had taken my words as the gospel. I told him that I wanted him to go and so he did. When he did not come for me, I walked outside and up the ladder on the side of my little apartment. When I reached the roof, I sat down upon the ledge.
"Hey"
I turned to the voice that had become so familiar over the past months. It was such a voice that my body responded at the tone. I found comfort here and a strange home within his words. I could not explain why he comforted me so but it was something amazing and intriguing. "Stephen, you came."
The man came to stand beside me and then flicked his cigar out and into the street below. I could smell his cologne and it made me feel warm and soft inside....almost pliable. "I wasn't going to come but I could feel you tugging at my mind. I thought that you might seriously need me for something and so I came."
looking up, I motioned for him to join me. He accepted and plopped down upon the ledge right beside me. His hair was a mess and he just couldnt keep his hands out of the mess. I chuckled lightly at the sight of his unkempt head. "I like your hair."
"Ha ha, very funny...I just don't give a shit anymore, Cynthia"
I looked back down at the street and the lights of the city in the distance. "Stephen, I don't like fighting with you. I know you have your ideas and I have mine. Basically, I miss you and I don't want to go for so long without seeing your face. I don't want to see memories of you only....I want to see you before me and I want to reach out and touch you. Even if I can only briefly touch you for a moment, I want this to be sane."
Stephen's blue eyes met mine as we both looked at each other. I saw their depth and many things which hovered there that were unexplainable. I saw my reflection and it was sad. Nothing could tame the beast within Stephen nor coudl it tame the beast within myself. We seemed to be at a stand still and it done no good for my heart. I wanted to weep in his arms and have him to understand me.
"I do understand you, Cynthia. I am just not capable of giving you what you want. I have already lived this sort of life once before and I cannot repeat this poison thing. I am not saying that you are bad or you are not good enough. I am saying that this is just something that is not possible for me to grant to you."
I felt no comfort in his words at all. I felt the lonliness bubble up and sit their congealing in its own ugliness. "Stephen, I don't know what to say. Can we just be friends tonight as before...before it all got so complicated? If you cannot truly love me as your mate, then can you truly love me as....as...me?"
I think Stephen was as confused as I and he rose from his sitting position. He scrunched his face and then dropped it into his hand. "I have to go...I have to leave here."
"Why...what's wrong?"
Stephen looked at me and he looked frightened. "I cannot be a party to what you are thinking, it is ridiculous."
I knew he had seen the picture in my head and I was ashamed. But mostly, I was tired and just wanted to stop feeling.
"I am alone, Stephen. Everything I have done has been a failure. These are things that I never had the chance to tell you. I am strong and they call me angry. I am fun and they call me a whore. Whatever I try to be is what they use to label me incompetent or disgusting. I am so tired...so very fucking tired of it all. Yes, it is true that you take me with you but I want to go away forever and you leave me here alone. Sometimes, I just want to talk or I just want to be silly and free but then you do not come. Those times, I am left with my own devices and ....sometimes, only the ring of my doorbell or the knock at the door, keeps me from putting a gun to my head. I am serious, Stephen."
Stephen's eyes were desperately holding back his tears, they shimmered in the light of the street lamps. "I try to make you feel loved, Cynthia. But, I have a life of my own...my kid...my promises to him...I know you understand....and I am free..otherwise. I have enough responsibilities."
"I do..." I stood on the ledge and looked down at the parked car. I remembered things of the past and things of the present and my mind began to silently weigh living against dying.
Stephen grew angry. "You will not do things like that. I have heard so many things from others over and over again about how they are going to end it all. If you wanted to end your life, you wouldnt' have called to me. YOu would have just done the deed."
"Stephen..."
"yes, Cynthia"
" YOu are wrong...and.I am sorry" The gun was cool to my touch, it wasn't heavy and the trigger wasnt hard to pull... It was easier than my heartache.
Those were my last words and I heard his screaming. Then, in the waking world...the real world..I heard the loud bang and I remember the smell of the powder. And then..my soul was no longer in the waking world.
In one instant, my dreams came true. I didn't have to do that stuff anymore. I didnt have to wonder what was in store for me because I wasnt an issue. I thought wrong, he felt me. I was everywhere. I would swoop down in the air and rest just above Stephen. He would look right up into me and speak.
"Hello Cynthia."
His eyes would fill with tears and he would throw something...he would scream and tear paper from the walls. He is writing this too because he cannot see me. My thoughts roam around and he reads them. He sits and writes what I say to him because he says he wants to put it down so that he can touch the words...so that something of me is tangible. I am everywhere, all the time and forever. He reads the thoughts which flow through my mind. He writes the memories and other various things. He keeps part of me alive as he stuggles to maintain his sanity. This is what Stephen thinks because now, I can read his thoughts as well.
If I try hard enough, I can leave and go to some other far away place and give to him his space. I do this for him. But I return when he needs me. I am free ...truly free...and when he calls to me...i am there.
So, I knew he could read my thoughts and that he had come to me before as simply as my thoughts wavered to him. Many times, he had stood outside my window smiling and motioning for me to let him inside. I would run to the door, swing wide tis opening and run outside to greet my lover. He was always warm whether it was summer or winter, rainging or snowing..he was comforting. I found myself feeling the most hollow pain in my chest as the hours passed by and he never came. Then I realized that he had taken my words as the gospel. I told him that I wanted him to go and so he did. When he did not come for me, I walked outside and up the ladder on the side of my little apartment. When I reached the roof, I sat down upon the ledge.
"Hey"
I turned to the voice that had become so familiar over the past months. It was such a voice that my body responded at the tone. I found comfort here and a strange home within his words. I could not explain why he comforted me so but it was something amazing and intriguing. "Stephen, you came."
The man came to stand beside me and then flicked his cigar out and into the street below. I could smell his cologne and it made me feel warm and soft inside....almost pliable. "I wasn't going to come but I could feel you tugging at my mind. I thought that you might seriously need me for something and so I came."
looking up, I motioned for him to join me. He accepted and plopped down upon the ledge right beside me. His hair was a mess and he just couldnt keep his hands out of the mess. I chuckled lightly at the sight of his unkempt head. "I like your hair."
"Ha ha, very funny...I just don't give a shit anymore, Cynthia"
I looked back down at the street and the lights of the city in the distance. "Stephen, I don't like fighting with you. I know you have your ideas and I have mine. Basically, I miss you and I don't want to go for so long without seeing your face. I don't want to see memories of you only....I want to see you before me and I want to reach out and touch you. Even if I can only briefly touch you for a moment, I want this to be sane."
Stephen's blue eyes met mine as we both looked at each other. I saw their depth and many things which hovered there that were unexplainable. I saw my reflection and it was sad. Nothing could tame the beast within Stephen nor coudl it tame the beast within myself. We seemed to be at a stand still and it done no good for my heart. I wanted to weep in his arms and have him to understand me.
"I do understand you, Cynthia. I am just not capable of giving you what you want. I have already lived this sort of life once before and I cannot repeat this poison thing. I am not saying that you are bad or you are not good enough. I am saying that this is just something that is not possible for me to grant to you."
I felt no comfort in his words at all. I felt the lonliness bubble up and sit their congealing in its own ugliness. "Stephen, I don't know what to say. Can we just be friends tonight as before...before it all got so complicated? If you cannot truly love me as your mate, then can you truly love me as....as...me?"
I think Stephen was as confused as I and he rose from his sitting position. He scrunched his face and then dropped it into his hand. "I have to go...I have to leave here."
"Why...what's wrong?"
Stephen looked at me and he looked frightened. "I cannot be a party to what you are thinking, it is ridiculous."
I knew he had seen the picture in my head and I was ashamed. But mostly, I was tired and just wanted to stop feeling.
"I am alone, Stephen. Everything I have done has been a failure. These are things that I never had the chance to tell you. I am strong and they call me angry. I am fun and they call me a whore. Whatever I try to be is what they use to label me incompetent or disgusting. I am so tired...so very fucking tired of it all. Yes, it is true that you take me with you but I want to go away forever and you leave me here alone. Sometimes, I just want to talk or I just want to be silly and free but then you do not come. Those times, I am left with my own devices and ....sometimes, only the ring of my doorbell or the knock at the door, keeps me from putting a gun to my head. I am serious, Stephen."
Stephen's eyes were desperately holding back his tears, they shimmered in the light of the street lamps. "I try to make you feel loved, Cynthia. But, I have a life of my own...my kid...my promises to him...I know you understand....and I am free..otherwise. I have enough responsibilities."
"I do..." I stood on the ledge and looked down at the parked car. I remembered things of the past and things of the present and my mind began to silently weigh living against dying.
Stephen grew angry. "You will not do things like that. I have heard so many things from others over and over again about how they are going to end it all. If you wanted to end your life, you wouldnt' have called to me. YOu would have just done the deed."
"Stephen..."
"yes, Cynthia"
" YOu are wrong...and.I am sorry" The gun was cool to my touch, it wasn't heavy and the trigger wasnt hard to pull... It was easier than my heartache.
Those were my last words and I heard his screaming. Then, in the waking world...the real world..I heard the loud bang and I remember the smell of the powder. And then..my soul was no longer in the waking world.
In one instant, my dreams came true. I didn't have to do that stuff anymore. I didnt have to wonder what was in store for me because I wasnt an issue. I thought wrong, he felt me. I was everywhere. I would swoop down in the air and rest just above Stephen. He would look right up into me and speak.
"Hello Cynthia."
His eyes would fill with tears and he would throw something...he would scream and tear paper from the walls. He is writing this too because he cannot see me. My thoughts roam around and he reads them. He sits and writes what I say to him because he says he wants to put it down so that he can touch the words...so that something of me is tangible. I am everywhere, all the time and forever. He reads the thoughts which flow through my mind. He writes the memories and other various things. He keeps part of me alive as he stuggles to maintain his sanity. This is what Stephen thinks because now, I can read his thoughts as well.
If I try hard enough, I can leave and go to some other far away place and give to him his space. I do this for him. But I return when he needs me. I am free ...truly free...and when he calls to me...i am there.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
A letter to the Wolf
1944
The Berghof
Eva Anna Braun
Dear one,
You will not like what I have to say. I know that even if I am correct, you would never admit to your weaknesses and defeat. I have heard so many rumors and they stiffle me. My heart is sick and I am so alone now.
I want to take the pills, all of them, because I have no hope left. You are always absent of me...playing with your war toys. There is no use calling to you, you shall come to me when you are ready. But I am lonely, rejection sits outside my doorway. OH,silly me, I know that you do not reject me but I have such a hollow space inside when you are gone. For when you are here, it is fleeting and filled with laughter of strange men. There are friends who come to dinner, bringing their ridiculous wives and girlfriends but there is little time for us to speak of the world....in intimacy. Do not misunderstand me, my love...I have my girls which keep me company, they play songs and read poetry to me nightly when they are here...but tis not the same and you know this. I cannot bear it much longer. Oh, how much longer do you have to wage this war...it goes on and on with no end in sight.
Something strange is happening. I know you do not tell me the things of your business..Oh, please forgive me. I know that you do not live as the great Furer, the wolf... when you are with me. I see soldiers...just outside the borders of the shrubbery and you pretend as though they are not even there. I saw the captain speaking to you just outside my bedroom and you pushed him away angrily. You will not come in to me either, You wait outside my chamber for moments then you just retire to the library again. Is there something wrong with me? Things used to be different and you used to come to me. Now, we only entertain or we run off to the Obersalzberg for holiday. I love it there but it is always filled with your plans for Russia or your plans for Britain. I feel trapped in my obsession of my dark and handsome suitor. I know you know what,s best for me and so I wait.
I have been punished. Some strange men have come and taken things from my room and things from the Berghoff. I do not know these men and I do not understand. I did pray...I have been praying for so long now and wishing for a way out of this madness...this lonliness. My mood grows unstable again, my love. I am frightened.
I asked God for a way out of my entrapment, a remedy to my illness and he is just in his answer. I do not understand the severity of what he had in store for me but it was just. Of course I feel numb, lost at the moment and in the moment. Tomorrow will be harder, I am sure. Tomorrow there will be responsibilities to face. I will face them. I wonder how I will face them because they seem so daunting. The thing is, I wanted this...I must have. I was stubborn in the face of God and I knew not how to listen...nor I wouldn't listen. I guess that is more of an acurate statement. But I wanted everything...not just a portion, but all of it and God said no.
I felt invincible and I believe that the lesson learned by this is that I am no more invincible than each moment on the face of the clock. Time will pass and this too shall pass, I said. I know I have heard that before but not sure if it is a biblical statement or something from a song. I attribute statements and quotes to many things which have fallen on my ears from various mediums. But no matter where I have heard the sage words of wisdom; time and circumstance devours them all equally.
So I sit here...fighting sleep and wishing for that time machine again. It is the one that I always wish for when I have gone too far. It's that moment in time that I wish that I could redo. But it will never pass over me again in the same place nor at the same time. It is done. The loss of reason and importance weighs heavily upon me. My heart is heavy, my brain is tired..this only mirrored by my aging body. Now what? I ask myself...because I am lost. The thoughts invade my mind and they are many many thoughts which beg to be filed away properly.
And then I know... It is simple, actually. I move on. And it is in a cliche manner. It speaks to me as the rantings and ravings have done in the previous months and years. It is the same words but in different context. This time those thoughts prepare me to heal...in finality. It is like the awaited death of long suffering. It says...."one step at a time". Because, I am wounded...wounded. I cannot stop seeing your face as you had me sent away. I will not lie, it hurt like knives as you waved your hand at me and asked your little foot soldiers to escort me back to the Berghov. Perhaps, I will never understand your reasonings...doesn't matter, I still love you.
..........
But the wound is open, fresh and throbbing...and it will heal. Together with the servants of time and change. I am not sure of past events over the course of the last 4 days but I have my speculations. As I have said, I heard rumors from the staff. There is something deeper to this maybe, or is it my paranoia which keeps pushing me onward? I feel a great betrayal which has sprung from the inability and the fears of a coward. There are thoughts which keep telling me that I have loved an enemy, that I have lain great boughs of flowers around the neck of a murderer. Ah, so many lyrics from songs come to mind as my mind dwells more and more on the probable. I am in remembrance of a saying that I saw just days ago. It said: "I have given to you, the bullets to the gun which has killed me." And this would bring to mind the touches which have injected the poison which in turn would cause my death.
Oh, but do I simply fantasize about such nonesence or is it ...curiously true. The beast which is tantalizing...has it truly made the coward run for help? The beast which knew not that it was a beast to begin with?
Burned at stake, those who are innocent or simply have fallen mistakenly with only the intent to pursue what was right. The fallen....was not the devil himself once an angel? Was not the wounded and inflicted....then the abandoned in their wounds....werent the abandoned seen as the beast which caused their own demise? An opportunity, I say...to rid thyself of thy downfall...at the cost of another's suffering. Had you not looked within at the demon which raged beyond the rib cage, Had you not swept clean thy own soul....then the root would have been revealed. Tis not my weed that grew; it was thine own. My sun may have shined upon the tangled vines....my rain may have fallen upon thy poison flowers and my earth may have cradled thy roots in a bed of my own making....but my hands did not plant the thing which grew.
This too shall return to you and you will know....and you will reclaim an even darker torment..if what they say is true...if what my heart says is true. Not for the sake of my hatred, for I have none for you nor could I ever have, there is only love...but for the sake of the little ones who could not fight for justice.
My Furer... I love thee. And I will die with you as you would die with me. But what you reap...shall you sow. I have seen the truth and it is ugly... it is dark. My love, your power has engulfed you into waters so unknown and I watch you grow more entrapt in the shadows of your obsessions. I watch your face darken and you have changed. Who are you?
24 pills remaining
......
I will wait until your word and your return. Do not stay away for long or shall leave without you.
Your hidden love,
Eva Anna Braun
The Berghof
Eva Anna Braun
Dear one,
You will not like what I have to say. I know that even if I am correct, you would never admit to your weaknesses and defeat. I have heard so many rumors and they stiffle me. My heart is sick and I am so alone now.
I want to take the pills, all of them, because I have no hope left. You are always absent of me...playing with your war toys. There is no use calling to you, you shall come to me when you are ready. But I am lonely, rejection sits outside my doorway. OH,silly me, I know that you do not reject me but I have such a hollow space inside when you are gone. For when you are here, it is fleeting and filled with laughter of strange men. There are friends who come to dinner, bringing their ridiculous wives and girlfriends but there is little time for us to speak of the world....in intimacy. Do not misunderstand me, my love...I have my girls which keep me company, they play songs and read poetry to me nightly when they are here...but tis not the same and you know this. I cannot bear it much longer. Oh, how much longer do you have to wage this war...it goes on and on with no end in sight.
Something strange is happening. I know you do not tell me the things of your business..Oh, please forgive me. I know that you do not live as the great Furer, the wolf... when you are with me. I see soldiers...just outside the borders of the shrubbery and you pretend as though they are not even there. I saw the captain speaking to you just outside my bedroom and you pushed him away angrily. You will not come in to me either, You wait outside my chamber for moments then you just retire to the library again. Is there something wrong with me? Things used to be different and you used to come to me. Now, we only entertain or we run off to the Obersalzberg for holiday. I love it there but it is always filled with your plans for Russia or your plans for Britain. I feel trapped in my obsession of my dark and handsome suitor. I know you know what,s best for me and so I wait.
I have been punished. Some strange men have come and taken things from my room and things from the Berghoff. I do not know these men and I do not understand. I did pray...I have been praying for so long now and wishing for a way out of this madness...this lonliness. My mood grows unstable again, my love. I am frightened.
I asked God for a way out of my entrapment, a remedy to my illness and he is just in his answer. I do not understand the severity of what he had in store for me but it was just. Of course I feel numb, lost at the moment and in the moment. Tomorrow will be harder, I am sure. Tomorrow there will be responsibilities to face. I will face them. I wonder how I will face them because they seem so daunting. The thing is, I wanted this...I must have. I was stubborn in the face of God and I knew not how to listen...nor I wouldn't listen. I guess that is more of an acurate statement. But I wanted everything...not just a portion, but all of it and God said no.
I felt invincible and I believe that the lesson learned by this is that I am no more invincible than each moment on the face of the clock. Time will pass and this too shall pass, I said. I know I have heard that before but not sure if it is a biblical statement or something from a song. I attribute statements and quotes to many things which have fallen on my ears from various mediums. But no matter where I have heard the sage words of wisdom; time and circumstance devours them all equally.
So I sit here...fighting sleep and wishing for that time machine again. It is the one that I always wish for when I have gone too far. It's that moment in time that I wish that I could redo. But it will never pass over me again in the same place nor at the same time. It is done. The loss of reason and importance weighs heavily upon me. My heart is heavy, my brain is tired..this only mirrored by my aging body. Now what? I ask myself...because I am lost. The thoughts invade my mind and they are many many thoughts which beg to be filed away properly.
And then I know... It is simple, actually. I move on. And it is in a cliche manner. It speaks to me as the rantings and ravings have done in the previous months and years. It is the same words but in different context. This time those thoughts prepare me to heal...in finality. It is like the awaited death of long suffering. It says...."one step at a time". Because, I am wounded...wounded. I cannot stop seeing your face as you had me sent away. I will not lie, it hurt like knives as you waved your hand at me and asked your little foot soldiers to escort me back to the Berghov. Perhaps, I will never understand your reasonings...doesn't matter, I still love you.
..........
But the wound is open, fresh and throbbing...and it will heal. Together with the servants of time and change. I am not sure of past events over the course of the last 4 days but I have my speculations. As I have said, I heard rumors from the staff. There is something deeper to this maybe, or is it my paranoia which keeps pushing me onward? I feel a great betrayal which has sprung from the inability and the fears of a coward. There are thoughts which keep telling me that I have loved an enemy, that I have lain great boughs of flowers around the neck of a murderer. Ah, so many lyrics from songs come to mind as my mind dwells more and more on the probable. I am in remembrance of a saying that I saw just days ago. It said: "I have given to you, the bullets to the gun which has killed me." And this would bring to mind the touches which have injected the poison which in turn would cause my death.
Oh, but do I simply fantasize about such nonesence or is it ...curiously true. The beast which is tantalizing...has it truly made the coward run for help? The beast which knew not that it was a beast to begin with?
Burned at stake, those who are innocent or simply have fallen mistakenly with only the intent to pursue what was right. The fallen....was not the devil himself once an angel? Was not the wounded and inflicted....then the abandoned in their wounds....werent the abandoned seen as the beast which caused their own demise? An opportunity, I say...to rid thyself of thy downfall...at the cost of another's suffering. Had you not looked within at the demon which raged beyond the rib cage, Had you not swept clean thy own soul....then the root would have been revealed. Tis not my weed that grew; it was thine own. My sun may have shined upon the tangled vines....my rain may have fallen upon thy poison flowers and my earth may have cradled thy roots in a bed of my own making....but my hands did not plant the thing which grew.
This too shall return to you and you will know....and you will reclaim an even darker torment..if what they say is true...if what my heart says is true. Not for the sake of my hatred, for I have none for you nor could I ever have, there is only love...but for the sake of the little ones who could not fight for justice.
My Furer... I love thee. And I will die with you as you would die with me. But what you reap...shall you sow. I have seen the truth and it is ugly... it is dark. My love, your power has engulfed you into waters so unknown and I watch you grow more entrapt in the shadows of your obsessions. I watch your face darken and you have changed. Who are you?
24 pills remaining
......
I will wait until your word and your return. Do not stay away for long or shall leave without you.
Your hidden love,
Eva Anna Braun
Sunday, July 7, 2013
The condition (The suffering)
There were no more trips to the AA sessions for me. In fact it really didn't cross my mind much at all anymore that we were flawed. Drink after drink, we paraded across roofs, danced the night away in strange ballrooms and drove recklessly down lonely desert roads at midday. We were something else then. Stephen carried me home after weekends of wild excursions around the city. There at my doorstep, he smiled at me and told me not to think on such things as I was thinking. He said that everything would be alright and there was no reason to worry about the other part of the world. I think he made appearances at the AA just to appease his wife. But that was how Stephen was, not necessarily a liar, per say; but he was not going to give something up if he could help it. Yes, he would make it appear like he was giving those things up but he was really just painting a picture for someone else in order to have his freedom and have time with his child as well. For me, it was different; I had no one to answer to but myself and my job. As long as my sobriety made an appearance at work, I was doing okay. It was the world of my day job and the world of the other people who lived on the norm. I had to face them every week when Stephen would leave me. I did not know where he went but he disappeared for days. I might recieve a strange call where Stephen would start talking about something and he would never start with hello. It was as if we had never parted and the conversation was going on and on with no end. At first I felt irritated by his lack of responsibility and his dis-regard of time; but then his voice would captivate me and hold me hostage with its kaledoscope of various information that most of society found to be irrelevant. Most people that I worked with would never find the information that flowed from Stephen's mouth to serve any purpose at all. I was balancing things it seemed. I had to keep my job. But by Friday I found myself growing anxious and waiting for my mysterious friend to appear and whisk me away to some unknown destination so that we could continue our debates and colorful rants.
We were like the characters that most dreamt about. The free ones, the ones who ran ahead of the others in search of divination. I saw the world in different ways and with different eyes. The colors of existence were prisms and hues that couldnt have been explained by the most learned of artists. With Stephen, there was no time nor space that we did not belong but yet, we did not belong to anything or anyone. It was pure, it was. It was untainted in its brokeness.
But we rarely even touched. A pat here and a hug there and that was all. We were curiously intimate and yet, we still were not lovers...not at first. It was odd to say the least. You would think by now we would have fallen into the trance of tangled bodies and eager lips; but it was not true. We were as innocent babies with the minds of the aged wisemen.
But it changed. I found myself wanting more as humans are want to do. I don't know why it happened or how. But at some point, I saw him differently. I started to notice the way his hair was a mess when he was angry. I started to notice how his face flushed when his passionate rants got the better of him. I started to notice vulnerability and he let me into his innermost sanctuary of thought. I cannot catalog the exactness of what happened but i remember when my thoughts shifted and I started to welcome the butterflies into my chest. It was like a raging monster and yet it was simple and comforting. And then, within my mind,the finality of it became so true and stark.
One day while waiting on Stephen to come for me, I started to contemplate what it would be like to kiss him. Before the great window in my apartment, I watched my reflection as I run my fingers across my lips. I imagined Stephen's lips against mine with thier taint of Whiskey or Tequila. I imagined the scent of him and his skin hot with passion from his rantings and ravings. I discovered then that I wanted him.
When he came to my home that night, he didn't come to my door. He appeared through the shrubbery and walked right up to the great window and starred at me. His blue eyes were leathal and unknown. I almost did not recognize him anymore as Stephen. He did not smile and he did not speak...he stood there on the other side of my window and let the rain drench his black hair plastering it against his forehead. I felt him...and I cannot explain it more than that but I felt his intensity. I ran to the door and swung it open. The rain pelted my hair and my skin as I ran to where he stood. Stephen turned and smiled at me.
"So...are you sure?"
I was slightly confused but not much. After all this time, I had learned to read him with my eyes. I coudl not yet read his mind but we had developed a code of eye movements, nods of the head and shrugs that made our words sometimes completely unnecissary. I looked into his eyes and my breathing grew rapid. My heart raced and then I smiled. This time I wanted to speak. I wanted to hear my own voice to be sure of my decision.
"yes"
Stephen took my face in his hand and kissed me. He kissed me softly and tasted every part of my mouth. In the downpour of rain, in the front of the great window of my apartment and in front of the night creatures....STephen made love to me for the first time. Then he left with no more words spoken.
It was understood that there was nothing to talk about and that he would be back when I was ready. Because...even if I didn't know it yet, things were different.
...........
"You lied to me, Stephen." I spoke to him when he appeared outside my door.
Stephen stepped inside and looked around. "What did I lie about, exactly, Cynthia?"
"You said we were different. You said that we did not think like they do and that is not true." I fell into the chair by the door and he just kept standing. His frustration was a thick cloud.
Stephen did not speak for a while. He just stood and looked around my apartment. Then with trepidation, he spoke.
"I asked if you were ready and I guess you were not. I cannot give you what you want and I thought we were clear on these things. We have talked and talked the night through and you know I cannot stay here all the time. I cannot hold you every night like the others can."
I grew angry at his ability to read everything about me. Suddenly, my admiration changed to a hideous hurt that I could not conceal for the life of me. "Stop doing that. For one moment, stop reading me. It really isn't fair."
But I knew it was fair enough. Why should I have the ability to lie to him? He knew every emotion and every frustration that grew within me before it was there. His eyes starred into mine as I struggled not to cry.
"Don't do that! Do not cry! That is the thing that is not fair. I give you every stimulation that your mind needs. I gave you every part of my physical being when you crave it. I am here whenever you call to me...so why is it so hard to accept the fact that you cannot own me, you cannot contain me? I am not something in which you can hold down with your thumb, Cynthia. I sometimes wish that ugly part of you would just die. It grows like weeds among the beautiful flowers of your soul, Cynthia." Stephen turned and punched the wall and then kicked at it as well. "I hate them for what they have instilled in you at such a young age. Cynthia, you do not need me to justify who or what you are! Just as I do not need you in order to have the order in my existence. I do not need you....but I want you."
His face grew soft again and he came to stand before me. I felt a strength that no other man had ever shown me. He clenched and unclenched his fists in frustration. I would not look up at him. I was angry and hurting for what I knew that I could not have. A part of me wanted him to go away while a part of me wanted him to never leave. I was conflicted and he felt the conflict coursing through every part of my being. I knew this because he then squatted down before me. With a shaking hand, he reached and brushed the hair from my face.
"Cynthia, you are giving me mixed signals. It has never been this hard to read you."
I looked up and into his beautiful blue eyes. They were horrible and beautiful. I saw his deadly gift and I saw what he really was. He was free. It was something that I had longed to be for years but never truly knew what it meant. It was a wild freedom. It was pure in its cruelty.
"Cynthia, what is happening? I cannot read your thoughts." Stephen suddenly looked sad.
I glared at him in hatred and spoke through my clenched teeth..."Good! Now get out!"
We were like the characters that most dreamt about. The free ones, the ones who ran ahead of the others in search of divination. I saw the world in different ways and with different eyes. The colors of existence were prisms and hues that couldnt have been explained by the most learned of artists. With Stephen, there was no time nor space that we did not belong but yet, we did not belong to anything or anyone. It was pure, it was. It was untainted in its brokeness.
But we rarely even touched. A pat here and a hug there and that was all. We were curiously intimate and yet, we still were not lovers...not at first. It was odd to say the least. You would think by now we would have fallen into the trance of tangled bodies and eager lips; but it was not true. We were as innocent babies with the minds of the aged wisemen.
But it changed. I found myself wanting more as humans are want to do. I don't know why it happened or how. But at some point, I saw him differently. I started to notice the way his hair was a mess when he was angry. I started to notice how his face flushed when his passionate rants got the better of him. I started to notice vulnerability and he let me into his innermost sanctuary of thought. I cannot catalog the exactness of what happened but i remember when my thoughts shifted and I started to welcome the butterflies into my chest. It was like a raging monster and yet it was simple and comforting. And then, within my mind,the finality of it became so true and stark.
One day while waiting on Stephen to come for me, I started to contemplate what it would be like to kiss him. Before the great window in my apartment, I watched my reflection as I run my fingers across my lips. I imagined Stephen's lips against mine with thier taint of Whiskey or Tequila. I imagined the scent of him and his skin hot with passion from his rantings and ravings. I discovered then that I wanted him.
When he came to my home that night, he didn't come to my door. He appeared through the shrubbery and walked right up to the great window and starred at me. His blue eyes were leathal and unknown. I almost did not recognize him anymore as Stephen. He did not smile and he did not speak...he stood there on the other side of my window and let the rain drench his black hair plastering it against his forehead. I felt him...and I cannot explain it more than that but I felt his intensity. I ran to the door and swung it open. The rain pelted my hair and my skin as I ran to where he stood. Stephen turned and smiled at me.
"So...are you sure?"
I was slightly confused but not much. After all this time, I had learned to read him with my eyes. I coudl not yet read his mind but we had developed a code of eye movements, nods of the head and shrugs that made our words sometimes completely unnecissary. I looked into his eyes and my breathing grew rapid. My heart raced and then I smiled. This time I wanted to speak. I wanted to hear my own voice to be sure of my decision.
"yes"
Stephen took my face in his hand and kissed me. He kissed me softly and tasted every part of my mouth. In the downpour of rain, in the front of the great window of my apartment and in front of the night creatures....STephen made love to me for the first time. Then he left with no more words spoken.
It was understood that there was nothing to talk about and that he would be back when I was ready. Because...even if I didn't know it yet, things were different.
...........
"You lied to me, Stephen." I spoke to him when he appeared outside my door.
Stephen stepped inside and looked around. "What did I lie about, exactly, Cynthia?"
"You said we were different. You said that we did not think like they do and that is not true." I fell into the chair by the door and he just kept standing. His frustration was a thick cloud.
Stephen did not speak for a while. He just stood and looked around my apartment. Then with trepidation, he spoke.
"I asked if you were ready and I guess you were not. I cannot give you what you want and I thought we were clear on these things. We have talked and talked the night through and you know I cannot stay here all the time. I cannot hold you every night like the others can."
I grew angry at his ability to read everything about me. Suddenly, my admiration changed to a hideous hurt that I could not conceal for the life of me. "Stop doing that. For one moment, stop reading me. It really isn't fair."
But I knew it was fair enough. Why should I have the ability to lie to him? He knew every emotion and every frustration that grew within me before it was there. His eyes starred into mine as I struggled not to cry.
"Don't do that! Do not cry! That is the thing that is not fair. I give you every stimulation that your mind needs. I gave you every part of my physical being when you crave it. I am here whenever you call to me...so why is it so hard to accept the fact that you cannot own me, you cannot contain me? I am not something in which you can hold down with your thumb, Cynthia. I sometimes wish that ugly part of you would just die. It grows like weeds among the beautiful flowers of your soul, Cynthia." Stephen turned and punched the wall and then kicked at it as well. "I hate them for what they have instilled in you at such a young age. Cynthia, you do not need me to justify who or what you are! Just as I do not need you in order to have the order in my existence. I do not need you....but I want you."
His face grew soft again and he came to stand before me. I felt a strength that no other man had ever shown me. He clenched and unclenched his fists in frustration. I would not look up at him. I was angry and hurting for what I knew that I could not have. A part of me wanted him to go away while a part of me wanted him to never leave. I was conflicted and he felt the conflict coursing through every part of my being. I knew this because he then squatted down before me. With a shaking hand, he reached and brushed the hair from my face.
"Cynthia, you are giving me mixed signals. It has never been this hard to read you."
I looked up and into his beautiful blue eyes. They were horrible and beautiful. I saw his deadly gift and I saw what he really was. He was free. It was something that I had longed to be for years but never truly knew what it meant. It was a wild freedom. It was pure in its cruelty.
"Cynthia, what is happening? I cannot read your thoughts." Stephen suddenly looked sad.
I glared at him in hatred and spoke through my clenched teeth..."Good! Now get out!"
Saturday, July 6, 2013
The Condition (contracting the disease)
The condition wasn't really rare at all; it was something that many of us suffer with. The human population struggles daily with different conditions including this condition that I speak of openly. There are those who hide their sickness of heart with smiles and play faces; but there are those who struggle openly with the problem making them look like raving lunatics. I guess I fall somewhere inbetween in the scope of things. I guess I am one of the few who develop others to fight the condition. I know how difficult my language must be to understand but it is the truth. This is how I deal with the pain of my heart. This is how I kill that which has infected me.
I always thought that to love was something great, something monumental in thinking and feeling but love is not all that simple nor is it so great. I find love to be the most complicated feeling in all of existence. When there is love eminating then there is none returning to me. But when there is no love eminating, then there is too much loved baraging me...driving me inward. It is never consistent and it is never reciprocated in its strenth and intensity. I hate love, actually. Love has caused more pain for me than a hot knife or a blinding blow to the head. I should know for I have experienced them both and woke reeling much less than when love wounded me.
So, how...how did I come to such a negative perception of this 'loveable' emotion?
I did nothing....nothing but stand there and watch him approach me. I did nothing but smile into his face and listen to his words. I did nothing but hold him in my arms and let his disease soak into me like moisturizer. I was open and inviting to love and I did not wage war with the substance.
"Hello" the stranger spoke to me in a soft but masculine voice. His smile seemed friendly enough and very genuine.
I smiled back at him and tilted my head because...that is just what I do when meeting someone and sizing them up. "Hello."
"My name is Stephen, I have an alcohol addiction." The man looked ashamed and dropped his face.
He was staring at his hands which wrung together like worms trying to get back under the earth. He exhaled deeply and then faced me once more. He pursed his lips.
I smiled bigger and then reached out my hand for a handshake. "My name is Cynthia, I also have an alcohol addiction."
Chuckling, I shifted in my seat and leaned in to see his face more clearly. "I think that none of us should be ashamed of what we are or what we have been through. It's okay, you are new here...it will get better."
Stephen seemed relieved and so he smiled again and reached into his pocket. "gum?" He handed me a small red packet of Big Red and flipped open the flap. I declined sweetly and turned to face the speaker that had just walked into the room. Before she started to speak, I turned to Stephen and noticed that he was looking at me. He smiled and put his packet of gum back into his pocket.
He never stopped looking at me until I said "What??"
He then told me that I was very beautiful and he turned away again. He didn't speak another word the rest of the session and then left through the side door with no more words. I didn't think much about it that day; but when Stephen missed the next three appointments, I assumed he had quit the AA group. But I knew that was just the way of it and so I didn't think much more beyond that.
A week later, Stephen came back and he looked pretty rough. I assumed that he had fallen off the wagon and he was coming back for help. I decided to walk up to him and welcome him back to the group.
"Hey there...how are you?" I spoke in a very cheerful voice. I even held a hand out for Stephen but he did not return the jesture. But he did speak back to me.
"Hey beautiful, I am okay...just...you know...I didn't do so well these past weeks." Stephen looked ashamed of his faltering. He dropped his head again and looked off to the side at some of the others in the room. "Something is very very wrong with me...that is what they say, anyhow."
I looked up and under at his face and offered him another genuine smile. So much smiling...surely it could help with something. "Stephen...it happens, you know. We all have our weaknesses...that is why we are here....right? Let me tell you something, an addiction can be many things...drugs, alcohol....people. It is called an addiction because of the fact that it digs its claws into you and pulls you, binds you to it and makes you something that you are not."
Stephen frowned and starred into my eyes. His eyes were beautiful but they were also very strange and intimidating. "I do not think that the addiction makes you into something that you are not, Cynthia. I think the addiction makes us what we really are and we are coming into being as the thing takes hold of us. I know my ideas are weird and strange but I see things in a different way. I think we are all such self destructive beings that our addictions are the vehicles in which we will annialate ourselves. Only when we are completely destroyed can the real ones be born beyond the addiction, inside the addiction....masters of our thinking...completely."
"oooooh...I see..." I noticed that I was backing away from him as if he was batshit crazy and so I stopped myself. " I just never saw it that way. I never saw it as an addiction at all when I was drinking. I saw it as an escape from reality...a way to forget about how screwed up my family was. I didn't think about the abuse, I didn't think about the neglect and I didn't feel those things at all for a moment.
"Exactly, my dear. You were destroying who you used to be and becoming something better...something invincible." Stephen laughed and then his eyes grew saddened. "I guess you must think I am a horrible person and you wonder why I am here...since, I believe differently than these people. Thing is...I was forced to come here...coerced maybe. If i don't show up...my ex wife...she gets my kid."
I was no longer impressed with Stephen and I wanted to walk away. I saw him differently suddenly....a dead beat father....no, a drunken father who never spent time with his children, neglected his probably sweet wife and someone who drowned his responsibilities in the bottle. He, all of a sudden, didnt' seem like the perfect guy with the nice eyes. I wanted an excuse to severe the aquaintance. "Well, Stephen...I have go and talk to a friend of mine in the back. She and I have some plans to make concrete for the weekend. I will talk to you later then, huh?"
Stephen nodded his head and looked away again. "yeah...I gotta go do something...uh, over here...talk to some guys...and stuff." He put his hands in his pockets and clicked his teeth together. "It was nice meeting you, Cynthia, I hope everything works out for ya." And then he walked away.
...........
He came to some of the sessions and I wondered what it really meant to him. At first I pretended not to care so much because I didn't have to make a fake conversation to seem like I was being nice. I will be honest, it was never my thing to think beyond what I thought was morally right. In the past, I had seen those who shirked their responsibilities and it seemed that STephen was only attending his sessions to put on face. AFter all, he didn't believe any of the things that were said in the meetings...he told me so. AFter entertaining this thought for a while, my mind began to pick at the lesser known corners of my consiousness. Was I playing the devil's advocate now or was I just trying to be fair. I think the most appropriate cliche statement for this instance was the little quote about 'thinking outside the box or something...hell, I don't really know. I was just winging it. If Stephen was really shirking his responsibilities then why did he go to the trouble of coming to the meetings. Obviously he loved his kid because he did as his ex wife had requested. So what now...had he failed in his attempts to do the right thing? Was he drinking again?
After many sessions, I decided to speak with Stephen again and see if there was more than meets the eye to this stranger. Little did I know...I should have left well enough alone. But I didn't and I walked right up to him as the last speaker left the podium.
"Hey there..long time no speak to." I smiled down at him and thought about how tired I was getting of flashing a fake smile. This time, Stephen didn't smile.
"Aren't you getting a little tired of flashing that fake smile, Cynthia?" Stephen then flashed a genuine smile and offered for me to take the seat next to him which had recently been vacated. I sat down and wondered if I was going crazy considering the fact that he had just apparently read my mind.
"I am very tired, Stephen. I am tired of being fake and tired of struggling for control...actually, I am tired of flashing that fake smile." I pushed the tendril of auburn hair from my eyes and licked my lips. I had no more words though and so I sat there looking at my perfectly manicured toes in my sandals. I realized that not one thing was out of place...I was prim, propper and all put together. I was plastic. I felt so judgemental suddenly and so I turned to Stephen in hopes that he would read my soul again.
"Stephen, what am I thinking?"
He was caught off guard suddenly but rebounded nicely enough. His eyes dilated. With one of his thick rough hands, he patted my knee lovingly and let out a long tired breath. "You hate what you are...you always have. Right now, you do not feel real and you want to feel something...something incredible and real. You are so very tired of being fake...putting on faces for them." Stephen motioned toward the crowd in the AA hall. Some of them were talking loudly, laughing and it seemed that life was some wonderful thing. Some of them were sitting alone playing on phones and ipads. Some seats were empty, their inhabitants long gone back to their homes.
"They are oblivious to the end that is coming for them. They say they know..but they do not understand the whole of what is coming for them. They never knew and they will never ever know. When it happens, they will cry like babies and they will rage against the finality of the beast. But for now, they will pretend that in their little groups....they are safe from the monster. Little do they know..it is so close that it is already eating away at them...at us. You are not immune to this and neither am I...but you see it...you do not close your eyes to its finality.you have potential."
I didn't understand what he meant but I loved the lyrical quality of his voice. I loved the smooth lilt that made his words seem logical. I just listened and sometimes during the conversation, I lost the meaning of what he was saying but I knew....I knew in my heart...that something was happening to me. I did not see love then...I saw confusion. But it was already happening and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
..........
So we drank again and we left them behind. The ones who said they sought to help us were now our enemies. Although we drank our poisons, we attended the meetings to make face for society and for Stephen's kid. On the rooftop of the Kennedy building, we sat for hours and discussed the universe and the scale of what we thought it was. He read my mind and answered every question that I kept sheltered in my soul. Each and every time he told me what I was thinking, I would get quiet and I would devour his words...his interrpretation of what I was feeling and what troubled me. Stephen would light up his cigar, run his fingers through his short black hair and then he would gaze into the starry sky. There in that dark and beautiful place something would fly down into his shell and animate him.
"You know what really confuses me...I mean, what really drives me beyond insane..as your 'norms' would call it?" Stephen let the smoke billow from his lips as he squinched his beautiful blue eyes. "If we are all the same thing...then why the fuck are so many of us so damned incompetent? I mean, do we have lame parts....is it a weak muscle in our body that will somehow betray us? YES! that is it...those who have not found their conciousness will betray us...much like judas betrayed the Christ...true?" Stephen then took another long draw from his cigar and looked at me. For a moment, Stephen appeared to be the child who hadn't found any eggs on Easter. He seemed wounded and betrayed by the older child that laughed and brandished his loot. "But, Cynthia...Judas was no fool. I think the ones who seem lame...maybe they are the best actors. Maybe they lie in wait for us to let our guards down so that they can steal the throne for themselves. Doesn't it frighten you to think that they may be smarter than we are? OH, dread the thought. We must plan for this!!! I tell you, we must sleep with one eye open!!!" Stephen would then jump from the ledge of the building and run across the roof brandishing his whiskey and taking huge swallows of his poison. His rantings grew louder as he drank even more. I sat nursing my bottle of wine as thought fought one another for the limelight. Just as they surfaced, Stephen would pluck them from my mind and create great stories of their substance. "Oh, and by the way...my dear Cynthia...I always found the most eggs on Easter...what a silly thought you had."
I was growing to love Stephen. Something was horribly wrong with him, he was broken and he was something that could never be explained. But one thing was certain...he had tapped into something that many others would never experience. I didn't understnad how he read my thoughts but one thing was certain...There was nothing I could hide from him.
I always thought that to love was something great, something monumental in thinking and feeling but love is not all that simple nor is it so great. I find love to be the most complicated feeling in all of existence. When there is love eminating then there is none returning to me. But when there is no love eminating, then there is too much loved baraging me...driving me inward. It is never consistent and it is never reciprocated in its strenth and intensity. I hate love, actually. Love has caused more pain for me than a hot knife or a blinding blow to the head. I should know for I have experienced them both and woke reeling much less than when love wounded me.
So, how...how did I come to such a negative perception of this 'loveable' emotion?
I did nothing....nothing but stand there and watch him approach me. I did nothing but smile into his face and listen to his words. I did nothing but hold him in my arms and let his disease soak into me like moisturizer. I was open and inviting to love and I did not wage war with the substance.
"Hello" the stranger spoke to me in a soft but masculine voice. His smile seemed friendly enough and very genuine.
I smiled back at him and tilted my head because...that is just what I do when meeting someone and sizing them up. "Hello."
"My name is Stephen, I have an alcohol addiction." The man looked ashamed and dropped his face.
He was staring at his hands which wrung together like worms trying to get back under the earth. He exhaled deeply and then faced me once more. He pursed his lips.
I smiled bigger and then reached out my hand for a handshake. "My name is Cynthia, I also have an alcohol addiction."
Chuckling, I shifted in my seat and leaned in to see his face more clearly. "I think that none of us should be ashamed of what we are or what we have been through. It's okay, you are new here...it will get better."
Stephen seemed relieved and so he smiled again and reached into his pocket. "gum?" He handed me a small red packet of Big Red and flipped open the flap. I declined sweetly and turned to face the speaker that had just walked into the room. Before she started to speak, I turned to Stephen and noticed that he was looking at me. He smiled and put his packet of gum back into his pocket.
He never stopped looking at me until I said "What??"
He then told me that I was very beautiful and he turned away again. He didn't speak another word the rest of the session and then left through the side door with no more words. I didn't think much about it that day; but when Stephen missed the next three appointments, I assumed he had quit the AA group. But I knew that was just the way of it and so I didn't think much more beyond that.
A week later, Stephen came back and he looked pretty rough. I assumed that he had fallen off the wagon and he was coming back for help. I decided to walk up to him and welcome him back to the group.
"Hey there...how are you?" I spoke in a very cheerful voice. I even held a hand out for Stephen but he did not return the jesture. But he did speak back to me.
"Hey beautiful, I am okay...just...you know...I didn't do so well these past weeks." Stephen looked ashamed of his faltering. He dropped his head again and looked off to the side at some of the others in the room. "Something is very very wrong with me...that is what they say, anyhow."
I looked up and under at his face and offered him another genuine smile. So much smiling...surely it could help with something. "Stephen...it happens, you know. We all have our weaknesses...that is why we are here....right? Let me tell you something, an addiction can be many things...drugs, alcohol....people. It is called an addiction because of the fact that it digs its claws into you and pulls you, binds you to it and makes you something that you are not."
Stephen frowned and starred into my eyes. His eyes were beautiful but they were also very strange and intimidating. "I do not think that the addiction makes you into something that you are not, Cynthia. I think the addiction makes us what we really are and we are coming into being as the thing takes hold of us. I know my ideas are weird and strange but I see things in a different way. I think we are all such self destructive beings that our addictions are the vehicles in which we will annialate ourselves. Only when we are completely destroyed can the real ones be born beyond the addiction, inside the addiction....masters of our thinking...completely."
"oooooh...I see..." I noticed that I was backing away from him as if he was batshit crazy and so I stopped myself. " I just never saw it that way. I never saw it as an addiction at all when I was drinking. I saw it as an escape from reality...a way to forget about how screwed up my family was. I didn't think about the abuse, I didn't think about the neglect and I didn't feel those things at all for a moment.
"Exactly, my dear. You were destroying who you used to be and becoming something better...something invincible." Stephen laughed and then his eyes grew saddened. "I guess you must think I am a horrible person and you wonder why I am here...since, I believe differently than these people. Thing is...I was forced to come here...coerced maybe. If i don't show up...my ex wife...she gets my kid."
I was no longer impressed with Stephen and I wanted to walk away. I saw him differently suddenly....a dead beat father....no, a drunken father who never spent time with his children, neglected his probably sweet wife and someone who drowned his responsibilities in the bottle. He, all of a sudden, didnt' seem like the perfect guy with the nice eyes. I wanted an excuse to severe the aquaintance. "Well, Stephen...I have go and talk to a friend of mine in the back. She and I have some plans to make concrete for the weekend. I will talk to you later then, huh?"
Stephen nodded his head and looked away again. "yeah...I gotta go do something...uh, over here...talk to some guys...and stuff." He put his hands in his pockets and clicked his teeth together. "It was nice meeting you, Cynthia, I hope everything works out for ya." And then he walked away.
...........
He came to some of the sessions and I wondered what it really meant to him. At first I pretended not to care so much because I didn't have to make a fake conversation to seem like I was being nice. I will be honest, it was never my thing to think beyond what I thought was morally right. In the past, I had seen those who shirked their responsibilities and it seemed that STephen was only attending his sessions to put on face. AFter all, he didn't believe any of the things that were said in the meetings...he told me so. AFter entertaining this thought for a while, my mind began to pick at the lesser known corners of my consiousness. Was I playing the devil's advocate now or was I just trying to be fair. I think the most appropriate cliche statement for this instance was the little quote about 'thinking outside the box or something...hell, I don't really know. I was just winging it. If Stephen was really shirking his responsibilities then why did he go to the trouble of coming to the meetings. Obviously he loved his kid because he did as his ex wife had requested. So what now...had he failed in his attempts to do the right thing? Was he drinking again?
After many sessions, I decided to speak with Stephen again and see if there was more than meets the eye to this stranger. Little did I know...I should have left well enough alone. But I didn't and I walked right up to him as the last speaker left the podium.
"Hey there..long time no speak to." I smiled down at him and thought about how tired I was getting of flashing a fake smile. This time, Stephen didn't smile.
"Aren't you getting a little tired of flashing that fake smile, Cynthia?" Stephen then flashed a genuine smile and offered for me to take the seat next to him which had recently been vacated. I sat down and wondered if I was going crazy considering the fact that he had just apparently read my mind.
"I am very tired, Stephen. I am tired of being fake and tired of struggling for control...actually, I am tired of flashing that fake smile." I pushed the tendril of auburn hair from my eyes and licked my lips. I had no more words though and so I sat there looking at my perfectly manicured toes in my sandals. I realized that not one thing was out of place...I was prim, propper and all put together. I was plastic. I felt so judgemental suddenly and so I turned to Stephen in hopes that he would read my soul again.
"Stephen, what am I thinking?"
He was caught off guard suddenly but rebounded nicely enough. His eyes dilated. With one of his thick rough hands, he patted my knee lovingly and let out a long tired breath. "You hate what you are...you always have. Right now, you do not feel real and you want to feel something...something incredible and real. You are so very tired of being fake...putting on faces for them." Stephen motioned toward the crowd in the AA hall. Some of them were talking loudly, laughing and it seemed that life was some wonderful thing. Some of them were sitting alone playing on phones and ipads. Some seats were empty, their inhabitants long gone back to their homes.
"They are oblivious to the end that is coming for them. They say they know..but they do not understand the whole of what is coming for them. They never knew and they will never ever know. When it happens, they will cry like babies and they will rage against the finality of the beast. But for now, they will pretend that in their little groups....they are safe from the monster. Little do they know..it is so close that it is already eating away at them...at us. You are not immune to this and neither am I...but you see it...you do not close your eyes to its finality.you have potential."
I didn't understand what he meant but I loved the lyrical quality of his voice. I loved the smooth lilt that made his words seem logical. I just listened and sometimes during the conversation, I lost the meaning of what he was saying but I knew....I knew in my heart...that something was happening to me. I did not see love then...I saw confusion. But it was already happening and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
..........
So we drank again and we left them behind. The ones who said they sought to help us were now our enemies. Although we drank our poisons, we attended the meetings to make face for society and for Stephen's kid. On the rooftop of the Kennedy building, we sat for hours and discussed the universe and the scale of what we thought it was. He read my mind and answered every question that I kept sheltered in my soul. Each and every time he told me what I was thinking, I would get quiet and I would devour his words...his interrpretation of what I was feeling and what troubled me. Stephen would light up his cigar, run his fingers through his short black hair and then he would gaze into the starry sky. There in that dark and beautiful place something would fly down into his shell and animate him.
"You know what really confuses me...I mean, what really drives me beyond insane..as your 'norms' would call it?" Stephen let the smoke billow from his lips as he squinched his beautiful blue eyes. "If we are all the same thing...then why the fuck are so many of us so damned incompetent? I mean, do we have lame parts....is it a weak muscle in our body that will somehow betray us? YES! that is it...those who have not found their conciousness will betray us...much like judas betrayed the Christ...true?" Stephen then took another long draw from his cigar and looked at me. For a moment, Stephen appeared to be the child who hadn't found any eggs on Easter. He seemed wounded and betrayed by the older child that laughed and brandished his loot. "But, Cynthia...Judas was no fool. I think the ones who seem lame...maybe they are the best actors. Maybe they lie in wait for us to let our guards down so that they can steal the throne for themselves. Doesn't it frighten you to think that they may be smarter than we are? OH, dread the thought. We must plan for this!!! I tell you, we must sleep with one eye open!!!" Stephen would then jump from the ledge of the building and run across the roof brandishing his whiskey and taking huge swallows of his poison. His rantings grew louder as he drank even more. I sat nursing my bottle of wine as thought fought one another for the limelight. Just as they surfaced, Stephen would pluck them from my mind and create great stories of their substance. "Oh, and by the way...my dear Cynthia...I always found the most eggs on Easter...what a silly thought you had."
I was growing to love Stephen. Something was horribly wrong with him, he was broken and he was something that could never be explained. But one thing was certain...he had tapped into something that many others would never experience. I didn't understnad how he read my thoughts but one thing was certain...There was nothing I could hide from him.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)