My death and resurrection
by, 08-Oct-2013 at 02:01 (373 Views)
Everyone always says Hell is full of fire and brimstone, but they're wrong. It's as cold as the furthest reaches of space and beyond. And it's not an afterlife. It's a state of being, so achieved when you go through what I've been through. I'm cold and numb inside, and it's so uncomfortable that I can't bear to face it. I act nice and giddy and happy when I'm out in public and with others, but in reality, there's a black hole inside me that I cannot seem to mend at all.
I tend to put my problems away because I don't think they're worth acknowledging, not just because we all have problems, but because everyone around me seems to have such a great life, getting everything they want, not having a care in the world. Life is handed to them, and they don't have to face the undertow. I want so badly to point my anger at them and to give them a reason to see what I see, to know the true tests of life and death, but what's the point? I'll only come off as a lunatic.
It's happened before, too, coming off as a lunatic. When my sister developed some form of extreme psychosis, I hid and let the anger and pain grow. I told no one for a whole year what I had to go through every goddamn day, to see my sister, whom I love and cherish for her bright smiles and unconditional laughter, slowly fade away into the background of darkness. The only thing I could possibly do was listen to what the wise teachers of Tool taught, and to do something about it.
So I took up angelic magic. I needed something to help me through, and I wanted to escape into a reality that I could only call my own, and I did just that with Enochian magic. It was the imaginative side I lost when this all started, only it was more real than what my dreams and fantasies were made of. It felt good to access this different realm, and to talk to the sentient governors of my imagination. I got addicted for a little while, and I lost contact with reality. If you've ever seen drawings of oracles with glossy eyes, you can then imagine how I felt. I had nothing to live for in reality though, and exploring the vast knowledge and potential of space and time was heavenly for me.
I let that knowledge and experience become who I was, and what I based my ego off of. Unfortunately, when you're in this state of mind as a young adult, a majority of your peers will not know how to react to your new syntax, and the pervasive connotations of words that reek with the essence of an immortal, all-knowing being. Plus, I was starting to become pompous and boastful, which was my way of exuding my anger at all the people who didn't care to ask what I was going through, despite some obvious hints at my disparaged state. Long story short, with the help of my bitter rage toward religion, and the fact that most of my friends were Christian, I lost most of my friends at my own will.
I was alone with the angels, and there wasn't a single goal that was in sight for my life. Now that I look back on it, the complex I engaged at this time, that said "I don't like this depression I'm in," helped cover up the fact that I was literally dead inside. Were it not for the magic I dabbled in, I would have lost myself to insanity. And still, high above the waters of pain, I eventually stagnated. I was stuck in this world, in my own realm in which no one else existed but me. When I saw the end of my high, I fell even harder.
But not before I met a woman named Meg.
I had asked the universe for months to send me someone who would accept me for who I was, and who I could always confide in, someone who will help me wake up. And that it did. Meg was, and still is, a friend of the psychotic sister as aforementioned, and she came to visit our abode one weekend. The first night she was here, her and I talked for HOURS in the basement, about everything I was going through (she knew my sister was going through a lot at the time), and about how I coped with it through knowledge from angelic beings, some of which I shared with her. She was astounded at how much I knew, and at one point, she teared up in sympathy for my sorrow. She mesmerized me from then on.
But it all went wrong after that...she left, and I wanted desperately to keep in contact with her, only because she was the one person who seemed to genuinely care. Little did I know, that's not how friendships work, and in my frenzy to keep her at my side, I threw theories and conspiratorial events and many other things her way, in hopes that she might see what I was trying to do to balance the scales, even though my interpretation of this balancing was perverted and demented. I eventually saw that she was gone, and what's worse is the knowledge that her being scared and chased away was all my fault.
I didn't want to face that just yet. Instead, I blamed it on her, saying to myself how she's a horrible friend. But after a while, the shame was too much to bear, and this was the sign that said "I have to change myself." My wish was fulfilled.
And change I tried, and change I haven't. Not yet, at least, but I am improving at a snail's pace. I am trying my best to be a better person, to hopefully mend this hole in my soul, and it's been done through endless meditation sessions in which I cried harder than I've ever cried in my life. I'm trying not to be so narcissistic and egocentric, which was the damage done after losing myself in Enochiana.
Overall though, my sister is improving, and the extended family (an issue that I didn't bring up here but was just as prominent) is more or less okay, for which I am eternally thankful. But the last piece of the puzzle is an apology to Meg.
I know I abused her emotions, and I know I neglected her, and I can't stop hitting myself over this. Had I a clear head when she came into my life, I would have showered her with affection and love just like what she offered me. I don't know how to say it to her, especially considering that I think I was in love with her. Just the thought of that fateful conversation gives me anxiety...but it has to be done.