Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Journal 2/25/09

I let it escalate too much yesterday, that unresolved grief I've been trying to hide. Maybe even from myself. Redd caught me. I didn't have any idea what to say to her, but it's not the first time I've been there, wondering just how much strength I have. Nobody's caught me before. I've been trying to be strong, and I should be. I can't change the past, but I still see clear visions of people. The terror on their faces as the creature inside me hunted them down. I smell the blood. It's sweet, and yet I know it's wrong. It feeds knowing that I can't resist it and I'll in fact enjoy it. But how many people would die as I lost myself in the only moments of bliss in the all comsuming terror.
Those years ago, after Lamont had used me, had trained me to be an assassin. When I remembered what I had done, what he compelled me to do. That was one of the worst times of my life. This time, is even worse. I watched it all unfold before me. A small part enjoyed it. That broke me. I hate it, I hate it. I want to be in control. I don't want to be the gate, or a tool, or a vessel. I don't want the burden of countless people who suffer because of me. Why am I chosen for this? I don't want to lose anyone else I love. Not for me. Not to protect me. How can my life be worth the price of another? I wish I was that strong. How I'd love to 'get over it' as some people would say. I'm so embarassed. I'm not even sure what I should do now.
And Denny. I don't know how to explain it, but he's changed a lot, and seems very protective of me. He knew what had happened when he called for me. Again I didn't know what to say. But I tried. I know, maybe I'm mixed up. There's so many things I'm responsible for, and I still don't know if my own life is worth all I've sown. Or if I am too dangerous for the people I care about. Within all my doubt, Denny said that it would hurt him greater to lose me. When I stated how much I knew about myself and what I am even after all thats happened, he simply turned to me and said, "You're Omegan."
Those words rang in my head a while. I guess.. I felt.. accepted. If there's no other word to describe it. I'm such a fool. I have so many wonderful friends. I never wanted to share my grief with them. I hope I can be stronger. I just feel like the world is on my shoulders sometimes and I'm being suffocated. Its kind of scary when so many of the new ones look up to me when I'm such a mess. I can always write to sort out my thoughts at least. It'll get better.. I want to get better..

1 comment:

Joah Menjou said...

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it--

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?--

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The Peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot--
The big strip tease.
Gentleman, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart---
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair on my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash---
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.


S. Plath