Ch. 03. Premonitions and Restitution

Man-dark-photo-by-filsinger

Premonitions and Restitution

Looking back now at how far I have come and yet seeing in that time span an equal amount of uneventfulness, I cannot feel anything more than incomplete, unsatisfied and without fulfillment. These past few days inside my mind, when the world has kept its distance, when my eyes have blocked out what exists before me, they have been focused on what other’s cannot see, cannot know, cannot understand.

Someone once told me how great it must be to have a talent such as mine, to write so fluently about my thoughts and emotions; I smiled at them and said, “Yah”. And then I looked away and whispered to myself, “not really”. Even though many people say they know where I am coming from, they really don’t “know” at all or they don’t truly understand. Sometimes I think about what it would be like to have never placed my pen to paper that very first time, I wonder what or who I would be, if no one ever knew the real me or the past I’ve tried so many times to leave behind me – buried along this desolate road.

It never seems to stop surprising me how many times people will read my material, look at me and say, “oh that’s so sad”, or something about pain and sorrow. I don’t write for sympathy, I don’t write for hugs, or to hear anything about touchy-feely hogwash. I don’t want people to approach me and hug me, to smile at me and say everything will be okay, or to ask me how I feel. I don’t write for anyone’s attention.

I write because I have to, I write because if I don’t, all these things will build up in my head until I cannot hold it in any longer; it’s happened before and I know what that entails. I write because I know I’m not the only one who feels this way, the only one to think of these things, the only one who really gets it.

Sympathetic gestures will never change what has been, hugs will never snuff out what was and no additional tears will ever wash away what came to pass. Sitting around feeling sorry for myself, or being on the receiving end of someone’s sympathy will never fix my past, it won’t change who I am and it won’t secure a better future.

These things I know. But knowing what is true and living in that way are not the same thing, they do not walk hand-in-hand. At times it may be easy to know what is right, but it’s not easy to make things right.

Spending too much time thinking about what I should have done then or what I could have said at that moment, living with regret; it’s something I’ve done for a very long time. Letting go of possibilities that had always existed in what was – life altering situations, seems to be difficult for me. Beating myself up over what the right choice would have been, occupies a lot of my head space. It’s easy to say that “what’s done is done and there’s no turning back”, but how difficult it is to really live like that!

I often contemplate what life would be like if I could forget everything up until now, to not have to remember what has been, whether it would make my life better or not. I guess that I’ll never know.

Writing about how people should act, how they should think, what they should do to better their lives and the lives of those around them, a person would think that I’d be able to do that very same thing I speak of. But it isn’t that way at all. I can help other people, talk to them about how to get beyond where they are in life, advise them on how to get up when they fall and yet I am unable to help myself. How ironic that is, how ironic it is to be able to save someone else and yet be completely incapable of saving yourself.

Still, I am not without cause, I am not without choice. I may be in a fight that will last my lifetime, but I am not without allies, not without a strategy, not without a last resort. But the enemy I face is without mercy, without remorse, without limits.

That vulgar fiend in my head is always plaguing me with hopelessness, ever more regret, anger, selfishness, jealousy; it makes me sick and makes me weak. Never-ending is his attempts to take away the only thing he really wants, my life. Forever lasting is his will, unmatched is his determination to make me fail, to make me give up, to make me quit and kneel before him.

I have seen so many fall before me, I have seen so many give in to his demands, like some kind of tyrant, offering mercy for pleas and cries. But never does he fulfill his part of the deal. Never will he subside his tyranny. Hate and fear are the only things that abound under his rule. Vengeful and savage are his ways, this demon of my mind.

Within this wretched darkness, still illumined among the wrath of chaos is one Light. A Light that cannot be put out. A source of hope, an enduring beacon of peace, rest, humility. This single ray of Light grants all who seek it courage, a steadying of the mind, an awakening of the heart, a vision of truth, justice and freedom. More vivid than any dream, so much more than a glance at nirvana; rather this Light is wholesome, pure, eternal beyond the lifetime of the universe. What I wouldn’t give to touch this Light just once, to bear its glory on my flesh, just to taste its effervescent flavor of joy for a single moment in time.

Seeking this Light is all that gives me a reason, the only thing that reminds me that life is worth living, discovering the immeasurable qualities of its greatness is how I find a way to continue. Always I will remember the darkness and it will haunt me without lapse, but in this Light, I cannot be cut, I cannot bleed, I cannot fail, I cannot be lost to the ever-turning pages of time. Blessed am I to stand before this Light, opened and honest, bearing all that I am, vanquishing all that I am not.

Recommended Reading:

Darkness Visible: A Memoir of Madness

The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression


Listen to the author read an excerpt from this writing on SoundCloud: