The Confusionist God

Posted: January 4, 2009

the kid…

 I was raised in the corner of the room. Backed up against the wall. Isolated. Tormented. Dominated. Intimidated. I was cared for but not cared about. I was loved but I was not wanted. I never really questioned it. I knew from an early age that my parents had no hold over me. But that didn’t stop the physical and mental devastation from taking my mind. I spent years trying to annihilate myself and rebuild my soul only to find it shattered and alone again. The true outcome of my decision to experiment with chemistry, deprivation, and excess are untold as of yet but I feel them daily as I try to keep my life in order. I am consumed by time. I never have a moment unaccounted for. I move quickly from one obsession to the next throughout my day, in varying degrees of tunneled thought. I have no other options before me, I am a driven force. I will go until I am stopped. 

 I hold no grudge against my parents, they are good people. The way they raised me made me a survivor and in these days nothing else could be more important. In my darkest hour my Fathers’ will held me up when I had nothing else. There has never been any doubt that they loved me just that they had some strange and cold technique. 
 When I hold a grudge, when I feel that someone has done something that is unforgivable, I will never let it go until my or there demise. I do not hold weak grudges. The ones that I keep in my heart are there to stop the bleeding. I think of them everyday and I wait until my an opportunity presents itself and then I act decisively.  My doctors have told me over the years that I need to let go because of the internal damage this type of strife can cause, I tell them to stay out of it and not to fuck with me.