July 22, 2011
For 15 years or so I've been suffering from depression. It wouldn't be until the last five to seven years that I'd truly experience the abyss. I've been in a constant state of pain, ever suffering, hoping that one day it'd all be worth it. The way my mind works; constantly, aggressively attempting to impose order on everything, in all aspects, to increase functionality, to improve, all to progress forward. It is now that I find myself at a crossroad because of such a trait. Inescapable, I find that the last decision of my life must be made. There is no moving on until a choice is made. A choice that shakes me to the core.
As a child I idealized heroics and drew nothing but favor toward the black and white fantasy. Right and wrong. Just or immoral. Light and dark. Order and chaos. These were the concerns of my youth. It would shape my formation of an honor code which would later escalate to a council of individuals with similar moralistic integrity and finally an alter-ego or perhaps better yet a persona to take refuge in as what was once me became prey to the surrounding darkness and sorrow.
Blessed with the "sight" and an intellectual by nature, machinations and manipulations became common place. An intangible moral barrier was all that could contain such a vastly unique perception. But then he died. And with him, the proficiency to wield such an ability. In his place a hole was left with mechanism after mechanism springing forward to patch it. Me, the other, a being of such fallout. Bordering on sociopath, obsessed and jealous, I clung to his ideals but constantly fell short. Regrets and failures like blinders overshadowed all possible accomplishments.
'What is the point in continuing on?' was the question I fought hard never to ask. The answer, I fought so hard to never unveil. You see there were two paths, to embrace psychosis or to throw it all away. The driving force this whole time was the ideal set forth by a youth. The belief that only one so morally sound and just could defend the world from the greatest of evils. To succeed in some grand end-all battle that would decide the fate of existence. A delusion. A meaning so much greater than one's self it rejuvenates, motivates, escalates, and conjuring all adversities as necessity. Still, a delusion. But, what of the alternative? To have nothing? No reason to continue? To scramble rabidly in search of anything worth holding onto in the hopes that not only such could be found but that it dare be so in enough haste to subdue the already pressing desires for eternal rest? The paths were laid bare before me.
I'm in pain. I'm hurting and see no light of hope or chance. A choice had to be made. I will drink in the sorrow, be damned, and suffer absolute for the ideal. The delusion. I choose this hellish existence all for the slim possibility that fated end prophecised in youth be not error. No more luxuries. I bite down, grit my teeth, and bare it all. Sacrifice, loss, pain, sorrow, isolation, darkness.
The path is arduous and nothing is assured. Though it is not a man that can stand atop at the end and hope to survive. One need be more. The first leg of this new journey is to surpass. To forsake humanity, to strive for something else. Greater. Worse. Saint or perhaps Daemon. There may very well be no peace as reward but as reality continues to warp around me or as my mind eats away at itself, only such an endeavor could contain what's necessary to make living on even feasible.
Hearing: I Felt Free by Circa Survive