Prologue

It's one heck of a time down memory lane.

Amiss my confusion I see how things were going to end before it even happened. It was never ironic how the consequences turn out to be. My blogs are my only reference to the past now.

The years have lapsed into moments it seems.

Maybe one day

I'm here again in my isolation box. The only place on earth I can speak from the heart about my worries, fears, doubts, dreams, hopes and everything else that I cannot say out there. Truth is, I already know everything I need to know about myself. It's breaking me when it should be making me. Stuck in my dark world with some faint reminders of who I am. The only time I don't feel quite so lost is when I sense beauty or when I'm driven by it to create. I don't see what other people see, I'm quite blind. But I feel. I get too caught up in my own dark inner feelings. The blind leading the blind. I know at the core, I'm not as bad as what I've lead myself to believe. Everything seems to take such a long time to sink in and I am too keen to force it upon myself rather than letting it come naturally. I choke, and when I do, it's all I can think about because I'm feeling it. I just keep hurting myself and I'm totally helpless. At this point of time, I want to hide.

I just don't see what you do, but I understand it, I know it's true instantly. It takes me a long time to get my head around it to absorb it. I can't absorb anything when I'm panicking.

I came to you in hopes I could comfort you. Although you don't show how you feel you don't need to tell me. When you came in I wanted to hug you, sit down and talk about things properly. I didn't expect you to brush me off and that always sends me off in wandering circles. Why have company in a time of need if your going to be on the defensive. I already knew that I wouldn't be of any comfort to you unless you come to me freely. I was ready, I was open for it. But I knew it would be a battle and you want me to prove to you that i'm a strong enough pillar to support you. I'm not strong in the way you need me. I know it, you know it. But that doesn't stop me from hoping I can comfort you. For whatever you say, I understand it, I feel it then it flows from there. I suppose we give what we want to receive. The only person who can do that for me is my sister. Then when I'm thinking of what you need, I'm being probed and attacked. I really was trying my best up until that point and then I just felt it was never ever going to be good enough. Which was confirmed hearing Aaliyah's crisp voice, seeing her gentle strong spirit and all the strength in dedicated martial arts practice. I wanted to admire it all the way it should be and let it all in and grow with it. I can, but I was so uncomfortable and I knew you was. I wanted to be comfortable but thought how can I, not when I can't even speak to you at this point about your dad, not when you think i'm feeding off you. Then when I awkwardly layed down, I felt such a relief. I was going to talk to you but then thought you need your sleep more than my sloppy explanations. Then for a bit I was thinking I'm a muppet. Then slowly recalled the night trying to make sense out of it. Understanding where I went wrong and why. Then in the morning, I was visualising myself doing forms properly. I really do want to be honest with you, it takes me time to step back from myself and know. Like when the phone rang, I forgot someone was coming, then I thought, i've got to get back or it won't get fixed this week then I thought shit I'm running off from Jason now, this looks bad, then I asked the guy if he really needed to get to my room. Thinking maybe I don't need to go. Even if I explained to him what needs to be fixed is external, I knew he still has to check it. So I was all panicked again but I knew I should go. Then your voice was angry but made sense. I didn't think to ask the guy to call back later. I shot myself in the foot, and all I could think was fuck, fuck, fuck no, I don't know what to do now. Which is why I told you I don't know.

How can I help you if I can't help myself. I feel like a total lost cause and I'm holding you back. I wish I could see straight but my vision is blocked. I try and I just seem to do you and me more damage. The place I see myself happiest is living on a far away hill on my own and maybe one day, stumbling across a mentor to guide and push me to do good. I'll never be great but I can be good. I hope you find someone that treats you in the ways you need. It's not me.

A bitter, ruthless woman's tale

The bandages are unwound after years of containment. The bitter stench of rotten flesh surfaces and then the dried and oozing puss secretes. I've come undone. It's a new pain from the old wounds that were never permitted to heal from my containment. I have concealed my own pain by layering more bandages squeezing it tighter to numb it, learning to walk again and now and again even dress it up deceptively to even look appealing. One man has seen me unbound, he saw beneath the pretty patterns and then the bandages, and braced to look at the rotten ones. But I took off the last scrap of flimsy cloth and we both was aghast. For years, this cripple has fooled everyone and even myself that I am the victim, when all along it has been self-inflicted. I crippled myself over and over again.

To achieve beauty, I maimed myself. The fool they are for believing it was beautiful. More the fool I am for believing that is the ideal.

I am so ugly. You just have to look me in the eyes and I fall apart now we both know the truth behind the facade. In a fake paradise I have rejoiced, with paper made to look like trees, and a UV spotlight. Those I have brought into my world have had shades over their eyes, then I sweep over like a cool breeze, straddle the deck-chair and remove their sunglasses. The light behind me silhouettes my outline and for a time it is good. But the bulb blows, the trees have no roots and swept away with a breath and I have brought you into darkness. "What's going on here?" enters your mind but it's not till you strike a match that you catch the first real look at me. You see the mask of a plastered smile where my face should be, the cracks in the painted sky ceiling. You can't figure it out because now I'm thrusting myself on you. Then just as you go to strike the second match, I've run to the exit. Most men sit there in a daze, waiting in darkness for me to return with some explanation, to shed some light. I've gone to get a better made mask and a can of gasoline. The last match you light. the flames blind you, burn you and peal away your flesh, you run to the sea but never reach it, it was never there in the beginning.

It's no wonder I've been so confused looking back at the past. I could never admit the truth to myself. How could I expect someone else to understand it.

How can I ask for love in this way.

The fortress I have defended , the boundaries I have erected, were to attack from behind as well as to defend. For I have known destruction for so long that I know not of any way to overcome obstacles. I am Frankenstein. Everything I know, has come from a source. How can I learn to love from the emotionally disabled. Addicted to love, this is my biggest downfall because my methods are madness for attaining it.