it-is's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Rekindling or death I died. Ten years ago, fifteen. I starved myself to death and wandered empty until now; I only just realized it right this moment. The gnawing ache of jagged rock day-to-day mundane drudgery has grown so loud, like a scream that never stops, icy cold and rotting, that I spend most days holding back tears. Over nothing, and everything. I want to weep forever, mourn everything I have lost, until I am done for good. But you can't live like that. I can't live like this, not anymore. So I begin the last experiment I will ever undertake, to find out if the starved core of me can be revived. Otherwise, I am a walking corpse anyway and the effort of remaining upright serves little purpose if I am not going anywhere. Can I even still eat? Small bites are required, I think. I don't know that I could handle much else. My focus has collapsed, my memory fleeing from a sinking ship, my beliefs and hopes flattened on the city street seven stories below, driven over and spat on repeatedly. I can only blame myself, no one else stole the fuel and fire from inside me. I starved it to to exorcise the demons I'd inherited from my father, and thus life began again, bland and quiet and small, and I thought I couldn't survive any other way, but surviving is not living, and I feel like the walking dead without my flames. The fire hurt, but this hurts worse, and the fire had an outlet. There is nothing to express of soul death, just mindless distractions and superficial comforts. So I will take small bites, and see. Maybe, hopefully, the coals are still warm. 12:57 a.m. - 2022-05-03 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||
|
||||||