My voice is my weapon of choice
An eye for an eye,
A heart for a heart,
A soul for a soul.
I am fighting baser instincts, I am fighting the urge to lash out, I am fighting the urge to cause great suffering in my storm-lashed wake. What is stopping me is not that I am unable to reach out and cause the pain some parts of me desperately desire. Because that knowledge is there, I could pursue it, I could follow it through the wire and wreak ruinous havoc..if I allowed myself the release of it.
I am telling myself, this is not my path. This is not my place. And it would be the wrong thing to do.
We fight for the dream,
We fight to the death,
We fight for control.
I spent two hours earlier, writing my way up to 341,271 words on the monolithic monster. I finally had to walk away, disport myself elsewhere with other things. Too much time spent writing 'never' and rewriting 'forever' and now, now, all I want to do is clench my hands into fists and strike back.
All the best that we can hope for is revenge
A hostile takeover,
An absolute rebellion to the end.
It's not the words, it's more the emotions behind them. At the time, I was sure all parties involved knew exactly what we were saying. And 'never', well, it's an abstract, isn't it? No one can say 'never' and truly mean it, because we are finite creatures. But we know what we mean when we say it. We mean "I will be there." We mean "I'm not leaving." We mean "We will always have each other.".
This is our battle cry
Oh oh oh oh oh oh
I’m giving you a head start,
You’re going to need it,
’Cause I fight like a girl
People change, people grow, others don't, it's the way of flesh and hearts. Parting is inevitable, sooner or later--if nothing else, there is death waiting in the wings, to claim us all. Nothing lasts. It was never intended to last. By design, by intention, by sheer atomic reality--pick your interpretation, it's all the same.
I’ll get my revenge on the world or a least 49% of the people in it
And if I end up with blood on my hands,
Well, I know that you’ll understand,
’Cause I fight like a girl.
But what is becoming clear, the inescapable, razor reality of what I'm doing with this intense reexamination of my past--is that the past memories don't fit. And I'm not talking just mine, which are transitory at best. My memory issues are rather legendary, among family, friends and random acquaintances alike.
No, I'm saying what was said does not match what has happened. People leave. It's a constant--people leave. Sometimes for the very best of reasons, and I'm not saying I didn't bring enough of those to the table for anyone. But over and over, it was said, it was restated, enough to engrave it deep--that the one to whom I'm bound would never go silent. Lover, friend, or even distant moral support--there was a mention of alliance to my cause, to be very oblique.
He said he would always be there.
And I'm finding that at this point, I'm back to taking his continued absence as a rather personal affront.
We are under attack
What is the body count?
I’ve lost track
At this point, I am wanting to scream, throw things, rail at the perceived injustice, as much as I want to reach out, demand answers, with the expectation of getting them. And what stops my hand from moving, what holds me in place, shaking with the need not to be restrained, is simple: even if I did, there is no guarantee I would get answers. There is no guarantee that there would even be communication of any kind.
After all, there hasn't been so far.
If nobody’s mentioned how this will end,
Then I’ll be the first
there are more of US than there are of you,
So show me your worst
And all that these lashings of impotent rage are doing is upsetting me, quite thoroughly. It's certainly not bothering that one who's stopped talking in the first place. It won't necessarily bother anyone else, because these are the nails still driven into my heart; I can't discuss them without removing them, and I'm not sure I'm up to healing the damage that would cause, just yet.
There is no such thing as justice,
All the best that we can hope for is revenge
A hostile takeover,
An absolute rebellion to the end.
And is all this sudden upswelling of rage just another way to dodge responsibility? Toss aside my own culpability, or the choices I clung to because I wanted to fix things less than I wanted not to make the decision? It's easier to be irrationally angry than it is to accept that a large part of what went wrong was because I made mistakes?
I’m giving you a head start,
You’re going to need it,
’Cause I fight like a girl
After all, we're only human...or mostly...and it is so, so easy to rationalize. "Yes, but, he said--" "Well, yes, I did that, but you don't know what she did first--" "It was just a question, it's not like I meant anything by it--"
And on. And on. And on and bloody on, back to Nod and whatever came before. Love and loss have always been inexorably intertwined, because without understanding another's heart wholly, there will always be blank spaces in comprehension. And even if there was a way to completely integrate our experiences with another's, it still wouldn't work because without being the same person, we can't completely understand that person. There will always be gaps. There will always be room for error.
It’s so easy to kill,
This I learned by watching you
If I have to, I will,
It’s not pretty but it’s true
I am now at the point in reviewing, rereading, rewriting, where I can see the seeds of forthcoming destruction. Greater pain awaits, and I know it; at this point I even know when it's going to hit, though that's no guarantee that it won't hurt just as much going through it a second time. What I still can't figure out is why. How much of it was my fault. If any of it was preventable. If I made the right decisions after being torn apart.
No mercy, it’s a bit too late,
The game is on
Extreme pain, extreme situations, mean extreme measures taken. Sometimes they become extraordinary, exemplary decisions. Sometimes it's just another way to bleed, another way to shatter, and we end up making all new mistakes in quicker ways. Or the same mistakes over again, because we haven't learned not to make them yet.
Don't run, don't hide, don't wait
‘Cause if we’ve got no honor,
Then we’ve got no shame,
If it’s in self-defense,
Then we will take no blame
And even if we don't, the aftermath of any parting is guaranteed to derange. Because 'always' just became 'never'; 'I will always love you' becomes 'I never want to see you again'. And even if, at some later point, there is rapprochement, there is, however strained and uneasy, a meeting of hearts or minds again...it will never be what it was.
I’ll get my revenge on the world or at least 49% of the people in it
And if I end up with blood on my hands
Well, I know, that you’ll understand,
’Cause I fight like a girl.
But...above and beyond all the excuses, petty and noble; above and besides being this angry over an implosion I myself largely started; I have to hold to what is true and good. And if nothing else, if no other reason stays my hand from causing worse pain...well, Sumie wouldn't want me to. She would tell me that, were she still around, and...I can't very well ignore that just because she's gone.
So no dealing pain. No striking back. No yelling, no screaming, because...she would want me to cause less pain in the world, not more. Which, when I set up the new cottage, was rather why I set out her picture. To say hello again; as honor and tribute; and, yes, to remember her example.
So I have to do better. I have to be better. I have to adapt to what I cannot accept, and try not to injure anyone in the process. Because as much as every relationship fails due to everyone involved in it...if I'm part of it, my hand is always on the final knife.
This time...well, I may have used it once already, but...I don't have to pick it up again.
(Nearly all images captured on the Azshra roleplaying sim. (It's very pretty, but it does rate as Adult, for good reason...be aware. And wary, if you go. And the song, of course, is Emilie Autumn's Fight Like a Girl...because in the end, most of us do.)
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