Slept Late...

...i find it hard...it's hard to find...cigarette, coffee, silence and so begins my day. I lost control sometime during last night's romp through the haunted forest in my mind and have awoken to the reality and the disappointment that the rest of the world has been alive for quite sometime now.

I leave for work in an hour and now must sift the anxious desire to find my peace from the battlefield just outside my door. I am a slave and the harsh wind has become my master beating it's driving whip down upon my back till I move and act according to it's will. My Creator seems distant and through the wind of confusion in my soul it feels as though he is unable to hear my voice.

For the last two nights that I have laid my head to slumber in my new residence I have entered fearing the loneliness I once felt so long ago. As I said, somewhere during last night's romp I lost control. I have awoken a disaster with things scattered about that are my duty to pick up because I alone own them.

It is not the fact that I don't want to pick up after myself, but it is a reminder that I can only keep things straight for so long. I am messy. I am a mess. It is embarrassing and I want to hide it. It is a frightful thing to know that people are not the problem, but it is me; I alone am the one who must submit for fear of being realized as an inconvenience, in the way, someone else's problem.

That sense pervades with every new place I find myself in, that I must hide, that I must stay out of the way and hidden speaking not, touching not. There are obligations I feel inside of me, the duty of work and maintaining life, that I must free myself from in order to fulfill them. The more I let go, the more I find that I belong.

A woman walks down the sidewalk with her son. Her only purpose this afternoon. I watch disdainfully for misery loves company as I have chosen to bare the weight of the world upon my back. That is the truth: I have chosen it and that is more disdainful than anything. To be the martyr for my own cause and justify the agony rather than reject it. How dare I do that to myself.

How dare I not fight for what I need. How dare any of us expect a badge of honor for our own inadequacies.