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.