A flicker of truth.

There is something I did, many years ago. It was a selfish act, an act done out of anger though some give the same old excuse--self preservation. I do not believe it was anything but a foolish, malicious act.

As I said, it was many years ago, in response to being completely and overwhelmingly weary. I was sick of being strong for the Host. Perhaps I even hated her for it. So one day, I chose not to be. This backfired of course, and turned the tables completely; to be honest, the consequences of what I had done surprised me.

The Host does not know what I did. I lied to her, and I lie to her still. However, the guilt has been slowly taking its toll on me, and I am looking for advice. There is a chance that I will no longer be trusted, and even despised by her, but I do wonder if I should tell her.

I simply do not want to end up where I was this past month...

I feel that I was created by God, for my specific purpose: to do as best as I am able in being Guardian Protector. In my selfishness, when I chose to fall short of that obligation, I know I was directly disobeying God's will. At the time, I did not care; I did not even believe in any sort of deity. I know I should not dwell on this, because dwelling will only lead me to over-analyze my personal failures and shortcomings, and that very quickly leads to a desire to commit suicide. (As selfish and weak as I believe that is for me, I was enticed by the thought nonetheless.) I need to know what to do.

Contemplating realities.

Things were not well, and still are not as they should be, but the deepest darkness has lifted somewhat.

I do not know why I was so overcome; a plethora of small crises, I am certain. Rane’s death, realities of the Wars, Jude’s departure, this inexplicable fear of integration, pressure to perform at my best, even when it seems impossible. Petty things, really, but for some reason, when it was coupled with the anniversary of Rhiannon’s birth, and my obvious failure to her and the Collective, I apparently had some kind of breakdown.

This is not at all something of which I am proud. It was a gradual descent, marked first by a severe depression, followed by an inability to articulate thoughts. I became suicidal, and began to wonder:

What good is salvation to me if I am not "real" in the eyes of God? I found myself in a faith crisis, and was ready to implement a plan. (No worries…there was a way to do so without harming the Host.) With Zephyr’s help I was restrained by Niven, and held for quite some time, so as to not pose a threat to myself, or the others. Incoherent, feral, enraged: I was much like my old self, as shameful as that is. I was forced to deal with, and accept, much. I had tried to hide from God, from the reality and heinousness of my sins for so long, I had wrapped myself in denial.

I still struggle with some of the things I did, what I was once capable of doing. I hesitate to think about it. And I know that in "healing" from it—if I may be so bold—I must discuss it, yet I encounter so many that say, "It only happened Inside, so what’s the problem? It’s not like it really happened."

For fuck’s sake, it was real for me.

Imaging versus the spoken word.

As some of you know, Inside we do not use words, in the conventional sense. Words are spoken with the mouth...it is rather cumbersome and a needless waste of energy for a form of communication. However, I do try, as I know that it is really the only way to communicate Outside.

I have difficulty, however; I am noticing it more often now that I am doing it on a regular basis. There are times I sit for half an hour searching for the correct word, scanning through the thesaurus feature of www.dictionary.com in order to find something that will allow me to sound at least somewhat coherent.

I am finding that I am specifically developing issues with regards to personal e-mails. Posting to a forum is not so difficult; I develop my thoughts into words, string them together and then post. But with replies, I am often confused with how to answer, or even if I completely understood what was said to me.

I have several personal e-mails to which I need to respond, and although I handled it fine prior, for some reason it is crashing upon me now. Of course, I have waited so long now that it almost seems silly to respond at this point, and yet I want to, and to give in to this irrationality would be foolish.

Please heed this.

Working in close quarters today, trying to remove sheetrock from a steel beam in order to replace a junction box. In doing so, I managed to injure the forearm in such a way that the entire area is a mottled crimson, with two prominent lacerations at the wrist, in particular. This was achieved by falling into a piece of sheet metal as a tourist walked under the ladder from which I was working.

Please: do not step into construction areas. It is a danger to you as well as the workers. It has been known to happen that people traipsing through construction sites have been seriously hurt, or killed.

Aside from that, I suppose this is better than ditch-work, although all the muscles in the arm and shoulder are screaming from what occurred today. A bit difficult to type, truth be told, but this too shall pass.

The warmth of war.

We were thinking deeply today, as it was raining and Las Vegas tends to move very slowly in the rain.

One of the men at work spoke with the Host at lunch today. It was damp and grey, and he mentioned that he loved that weather, because it reminded him of the "Intimacy of War". Immediately I stood by to listen, as the term he used seemed rather like an oxymoron. I pressed him to continue, ever-trying to maintain the semblance of the Host.

He told us that, when he served in the second World War, the chilled rainy days were the best, because his commander always used that as an excuse to tell his men to stay huddled for warmth. Not touching, even, just close. And in that closeness, they would share stories of their girlfriends waiting at home, or the new baby or how they missed the scent of their mother's apple pie.

And I realized something that is so exciting, and yet foreign to me, that I only dare to hold onto it.

War, as some of you undoubtedly know, is vicious, brutal, often intolerable. It changes one's soul, it takes hold of grown men, guts them, and sends them weeping into the night, alone with their guilt until they are numb and mindless beasts running about, sometimes unaware or uncaring of what they do.

And yet...

And yet there are good times, too...as difficult as it may be to believe. Friendships forged out of fear and necessity so great that no one can touch upon it. Whispered poetry read aloud from tattered pages and held by trembling hands. The childish pranks played upon one another to stave off boredom and anxiety. A battle-hymn sung proudly with the others in one's unit, even if a bit shaky and somewhat off-key, building a sense of pride and brotherhood. Seeing a sunrise ablaze in lavender and mauve with your partner on third watch, both silent, and both in awe that something so beautiful can still pull so deeply at a jaded man's heart.

These are the things that make life bearable. So small and to some, insignificant. But I think I realize that when all I had were days and night rolling into one, the constant dull ache from hunger and pulsing agony of terror, the hopelessness and guilt and self-hatred and wanting so deeply to be killed, just to have an excuse to quit...I kept going. Partly because I felt I had to, yes, I do admit that. But partly because these simple pleasures, although rare, were meaningful to me.
I really do not like the sentimental tone this post has taken, but I suppose it is that way for a reason. I have hit upon something, and I believe it would behoove me to investigate fully.

A mistake.

I do not wish to go into details at the moment...it would be entirely too confusing for most, and the story is one of which I am not proud.

There were things I have done in the past...things I thought I was forced to do at the time, and now I realize that I acted out of hatred and desperation. I still struggle with the guilt and with the knowledge that I was somewhat in control when I committed these acts. Yes, I was terrified, and yes, in a way it was a form of self-preservation. It does not excuse what I did.

Jude found out about some of these things. It was purely by accident, but he now knows enough to believe I am unsafe. At that moment, he told me he no longer wanted anything to do with me, from that moment forward. I begged him to think about it for two weeks, and then make his decision. Several have spoken to him, attempting to explain, but he holds steadfast to his beliefs that I am not to be trusted.

As of now, he has decided to stay with Rowan on a permanent basis.


Some background:
I do not know who knows what, or how much, of our Inside. I shall keep this brief. Jude stayed with Rowan for several years, and then went in search of himself--as all in the Spires eventually do. That is when he came across Niven and Valkyrie, and he decided to stay with them. After Valkyrie's departure, Niven sought me out, and Jude came with him. I know that technically, Jude is Rowan's. I know that. From the beginning I knew he would never truly be one of my charges. However, Jude's decision was based entirely on the Beast I once was, and that hurts...it feels as if I have betrayed him.


I wish I could change his mind, but he will still avoid me, if he is able. And how do I explain to the others? Niven knows full-well why this happened, and I do trust him to a point...but the small ones, especially...I feel I am with few options at this point.


I am still in shock. I do not even know if this post will be coherent.

Masks to maintain.

We endured Hallowe'en, which as you know is not at all our favorite time of year. With the parents, we took the three-year old sister Trick-or-Treating.

Of course, Molly immediately wanted to, once she saw it involved candy. Never mind that the costumes or candles frightened her, Molly’s addiction to sweets overruled all logic. We tried to hold her in, and failed, at first; the Host became somewhat frustrated and I told her I would take care of things. By this, she assumed I meant I would be Out. Of course, my mannerisms and whatnot vary greatly from her's, so it was an odd night for me.

I tried to act as she does, and instead I believe the parents thought she was upset. I heard them discussing that I was acting oddly, and that perhaps we were angry. I believe all in all I failed miserably, I can never act around them. I can fool some, but not those close to us. It was rather decent of them, however, to not mention it afterwards; I am positive they knew I was Out, and never once did they accuse me of it or demand that I allow the host to come back. The father even had a lengthy conversation with me in regards to a fantasy writer named R.A. Salvatore. I know he knew something was amiss...and I am grateful that neither of them made any apparent notice.

[none]

Overwhelmed. I am trying to maintain composure, but I am not certain how long I can keep myself sane.

I am tired of always being needy in this manner, I am tired of being in the center of a never-ending drama. When does normalcy enter into the picture?

What the fuck?