Comfort yourself...

What solace lies in the arms of fate -- The ill embrace of uncertainty?
When did I leave this in other hands, to be pulled down at chance?
Ripped away by destiny-claws; am I another of fate's possessions?
Dwelling the lie of freedom -- Just another straw pulled at random

Reclaimed by deceiving time
A silent judgment I cannot overrule

Drawn back into the origin-vortex;
uprooted and ground to dust
Retracted into anti-existence,
a magnet repelled by life's polarity
Denied the self-control of fate,
we float suspended in semi-life
until the ever-imminent day when oblivion claims our breath

Nowhere indefinitely; not dead, not alive
Existence-patterns ripped of symmetry
as Will and Fate divide

Have I appeased the gods of fate?
Am I allowed another day?
Must I die to escape
the scanning eyes of death?

In the spirit of honesty:

I am still an addict. I am still obsessive and compulsive. I am still a broken mind, a fractured being.

I haven't shot up in a long time. I did tonight, though. It felt amazing. But, I will never do it again. No one who hears me say that would believe me, though. That is my stigma: I am the failure, and Human nature defines me as being so. And I don't necessarily even believe myself, or believe in myself.

It is so difficult for me to simply live day to day. I always feel like I am out of balance, like my brain is eating itself with chemicals and neuroses. I always feel like I'm collapsing and falling in on myself.

I don't feel love and affection in the same way that I once used to. I don't feel attached to reality anymore. I don't feel Human anymore, and I don't know what to do about it. All I've done for the past few years is learn to ignore it like a growing disease that I can't do anything about. And, on nights like this, I guess on nights when I go overboard, it really saddens me to think about how much I've fucked my life up. And this isn't the opiate-mind talking. This is really how I feel most of every day, and how I have felt for a very long time.

So I'm forcing myself to write every day, regardless of whether I want to or not. This is the only therapy I've ever had, and hopefully it will shed light to someone that I love. It will illuminate the darkness inside of me.

And, as irresponsible and stupid and childish and self-destructive and suicidal as I ever am, at least this will be my honesty talking, and not my love of hiding.