|Blogs > herestherub > Venting|
Here I sit,at the keyboard. She sits on the front step. I'm tired,distraught,a shattered man. Five years of constant effort. Five years of pain and sorrow,interspersed with seconds of love,seconds of sanity,seconds of reasonability.
As I said,I'm tired. Tired of living under the influence of drugs.
It's not that I use them,I don't.
I hate them.
I know. Hate is a strong word. A word that I use in only the most desperate of circumstances. There it is. I'm desperate to end this misery.
Yet,going against all that I feel and fear,I unlock the door.
There is no assurance that she can give that is to be believed. I know that.
But still I turn that key,and open myself to more abuse.
I don't know why. Maybe it's just that I'd like to see her escape the living death. Maybe it's because if it were me in her position, I would wish for someone to show me they care.
The care I once felt has been beaten from me, stolen from me, arrassed from me, argued from me, cajolled from me, begged from me, threatened 'til it left me. The promise of returning it is just another lie. I dare not believe it's possible, for, if I do, I will have to face the fool in the mirror.
It wouldn't be the first time. I made the decision several years ago.
I will never again allow myself denial of reality. Brutal Self-Honesty.
It expands to become the essence of your interface with every being you encounter. Thus, I have become the apparition of an easy target.
If you believe I am, then take your shot, for I will allow you one misdirected bolt. No more.
So there you are. You now know what makes me tick.
Do with it what you will, for I fear not the result.
I let her in.