Epiphany.
First things, first: I am deeply apologetic for the post I sent last evening. It was most shameful. I use such profane language when intoxicated.
Now, for a possible explanation:
I finally realized what seems to be occuring here. I am not certain yet, but the Host made mention of it and the comment struck me in such a way that I knew I must be true...or, at very least, very plausible.
The Host has not been in any danger--perceived or otherwise--for quite some time. There are "issues", and "incidents"...even miniature crises once in awhile. But nothing like before. I have always been so hypervigilant, my anger a sheild and my hate a weapon, always at the ready to take down some unsuspecting would-be perpetrator. Without those perils, however, I am merely keeping things in order, it would seem. Therefore, as I am no longer busying myself with the same intensity my duties formerly required...I am not certain how to but this into words.
The rage simply does not work anymore. The stoicism has ceased to bury emotions and, instead, only makes them that much more unpredictable. And inebriation...that solves nothing, truth be told. The only thing my "precious" bourbon provides is a loss of control, a myriad of shameful and regretful acts, and the miserable experience of a mighty hangover. I cannot hide from this any longer. I have spent the majority of my existance holding others' pain, and I cannot do it any longer.
It shames me to even say this: I am grieving. All the negative emotion I had been holding at bay for so many years has finally been unleashed; the sluice gate not only opened, but destroyed. This is a different sorrow, however. It is cathatic. Cathartic, and yet much deeper.
Please, someone tell me this is normal. Tell me it is not selfish to feel this. Tell me I am not doing anything wrong by admitting I was hurt, really admitting it, and further admitting just how deeply that realization pierced me. Tell me this weakness is temporary, that I can still be an adequate Protector. Tell me I am not alone. Please.
Now, for a possible explanation:
I finally realized what seems to be occuring here. I am not certain yet, but the Host made mention of it and the comment struck me in such a way that I knew I must be true...or, at very least, very plausible.
The Host has not been in any danger--perceived or otherwise--for quite some time. There are "issues", and "incidents"...even miniature crises once in awhile. But nothing like before. I have always been so hypervigilant, my anger a sheild and my hate a weapon, always at the ready to take down some unsuspecting would-be perpetrator. Without those perils, however, I am merely keeping things in order, it would seem. Therefore, as I am no longer busying myself with the same intensity my duties formerly required...I am not certain how to but this into words.
The rage simply does not work anymore. The stoicism has ceased to bury emotions and, instead, only makes them that much more unpredictable. And inebriation...that solves nothing, truth be told. The only thing my "precious" bourbon provides is a loss of control, a myriad of shameful and regretful acts, and the miserable experience of a mighty hangover. I cannot hide from this any longer. I have spent the majority of my existance holding others' pain, and I cannot do it any longer.
It shames me to even say this: I am grieving. All the negative emotion I had been holding at bay for so many years has finally been unleashed; the sluice gate not only opened, but destroyed. This is a different sorrow, however. It is cathatic. Cathartic, and yet much deeper.
Please, someone tell me this is normal. Tell me it is not selfish to feel this. Tell me I am not doing anything wrong by admitting I was hurt, really admitting it, and further admitting just how deeply that realization pierced me. Tell me this weakness is temporary, that I can still be an adequate Protector. Tell me I am not alone. Please.
posted by Logan Nambiet at
11:05 PM
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