I should go ahead and warn you, this isn't what I usually do.
If you're hoping for something that isn't going to complain, don't read this. And I mean it. It isn't interesting; it's just broken.
Take One, Action: I want this to be healing for me, not fuel a self-pity party, so I'm going to honestly try. When I came home from church today my fathers car wasn't in the driveway. That never means something good. I sat there in the dark, it was a little past 10, I had just gotten home from Midtown. Ted had left earlier, this weekend I cherished every second I had with him. Love is strange, sometimes you know it, and sometimes you feel it. It's a lot like God in that aspect, it's a lot of work, but Ive never regretted it. This weekend God let me feel it; I think he knew I needed to. Well when I walked inside out of the dark, my mom was sitting alone on the couch watching TV and drinking wine. When I asked her where dad went, like I couldn't have guessed, she only said, "the hospital." I knew from the awful awful stillness in her voice, that stillness only someone who has been broken by their environment can have, that my brother was the blame... again.
I'm filled with rage, anger that is so foreign to me save these past few months.. or years, it all starts to blend together. I wasn't born with anger like my brother, I was born with an allure to sadness. This rage in me, it is something deeply and darkly acquired. It is a demon now working in alliance with sadness and I am without restraint, without human boundaries, without ambition. Those few moments I am filled with hope are ripped away by the haunted walls of which I call 'home'. I saw a child with a gun and I shot back because I can't excuse him for his age, and I can't let him win. While he is laying in a hospital bed having calming drugs pumped into his veins, as they put him to rest, I hate him. And I'd call it something else less harsh if it weren't that, but I hate him, because he didn't just hurt us, he's hurting us. Nine more months of this.
It's all my therapist wants to talk about. I hate it because its such an cop out. It's such a easy way to talk about my pain without ever having to talk about me. Is my brother part of the problem? Yes, I couldn't fool anyone by saying otherwise, but there's so much more. He's just a cherry on top of it all. I guess it isn't just one thing it's an accumulation of things. Stress from school and work is a big one. College, the future. Fighting the perpetual and piercing loneliness. That lure, that hook in my lip, that metallic shine; the sharp sting that makes it fade away. It feels like every composition I craft doesn't mean a thing and I'll never be apart of Lexington though they say I'm left here for a reason. And guilt; that's a big one. When I hurt, it hurts everyone else. I just want to be happy for their sake. But I don't want to lie about it.
I feel like I'm losing control and I just want so badly to reason this out. Somethings don't make sense and that isn't something I like to accept. Knowledge has become my religion and... and I can't in my small frame of reference justify why this is happening to my family. My parents deserve so much better and it is not just, it is not fair, and God is somewhere, too far away, with or without condolence and doing nothing. I'm so angry with him. And my therapist is a moron, she can't help me, she doesn't even know me. She thought cutting was just a bad habit and once I 'stopped' that I was cured. If it weren't for my panic attacks I would have 'graduated'. She has no clue, and I'm angry with her too. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if God had intervened eleven years ago. Or three years ago. Or two summers ago. Or this past July. Or Friday night. Or two hours ago. Or right now.
When God and the Devil are sleeping around, and my shoulders are worn from their angels and demons, I will be doomed to pay for my years of silence. And I will have deserved every pang of solitude and morsel of brokenheartedness that the world would deem fit, because I should have saved them in the first place. I should've wanted to.
