Reminiscence

Are you ever just sure you want to be alive? I know I don't want to die, I don't want to kill myself; I just don't know if I want to live. Maybe I don't know how to. I mean, I have a lot to live for, I have a lot I want to do and I have a ton of people I care about. I feel anger at times, I feel sad some days, I feel happy and euphoric others. Yet, I can't shake this feeling, even though I want to.

Apathy must truly be the strongest feeling I'm capable of feeling. When I'm angry I can feel sad simultaneously or when I'm happy I can easily feel love for someone. Pain can blend with any of those emotions, oddly enough. But somehow apathy can devoid my heart and mind of anything else. It devours my personality, my mood, my emotions and it spits out a shell.

Even typing words into my computer today brings me no pleasure. I wouldn't call it writers block, I have the ability to write, I know what I want to put down. I just can't do more than a few sentences or paragraphs before losing interest or jumping into bed to recuperate.

Some people would probably be glad to feel nothing, they would be happy to get a break. But I can remember several extremely sad and depressing times in my life that were more fascinating and invigorating than this. I remember driving myself home after breaking up with my first girlfriend. I remember crying in the car for about 10 miles and I can think of that as a happy memory compared to today.

Maybe something needs to break, maybe I need to change myself again. In New York I had about 3-7 different personalities that I could use depending on my environment, the person I was talking to and the mood of the day. Today I feel that I've become one person, one sulking, depressing, complaining son of a bitch.

How I miss the failures, the dramas and stress of my old life. I've grown so much through those failures, I've developed so much through all the stress and anxiety. People look back at failures and regrets like they're a negative, are you kidding? They need to be celebrated and praised. Failures don't define you, maybe that's true, but they sure as hell change and mold you.

Think about it, whatever your failure is, it changes you in some way. If you drink too much and get a hangover you learn to control yourself. If you get into a bad relationship and decide you never want that again, it changes your preferences. If you spend too much money next time you'll change your habits. You could say this is only changing your methods but like it or not it is changing the way you think and act, it is creating you.

Perhaps, the label is the mistake. Maybe we shouldn't call it a failure, it isn't really a regret if you've learned from it. Although I feel I would take back some things if I could help it, perhaps it is better that I can't. Whoever I need to be tomorrow is something I've built since the day I was born. Through failure, success, death and life. I have grown, that's something I don't ever want to stop. If that means falling on my face every couple of steps, so be it.

The First Flight

My name is Anna, age 21, a veteran Phoenix. I've spent three years in battle, three years narrowly avoiding death and fighting for what is right. Three years is considered a long time to most of my colleagues, most recruits die within the first six months, many of them in their first conflict. My father lasted four years, my brother just less than five. I coughed up a bit of a chuckle, I guess we're stubborn.

I still remember my father's strong back, his rugged face and full mustache. He always had cigarettes with him, even if he went weeks without smoking. To this day the smell still calms me down and makes me feel at home. Guess that's how I picked up the habit. People say it makes your body slow down, makes you weaker but I had bigger concerns. Smoke wasn't going to kill me, if my lungs we going to collapse it would be a bullet or dagger that did the trick.

Most of my childhood I spent with my brothers, Evan and Adam. Evan was quiet and respectful. If mom or dad asked something of him, he did it. No questions asked. I always admired his resolve and stoic personality. He was 16 when our father left. He spoke through action, spending most of his time making sure we would be alright and that Adam knew how to pick up where he would leave off. The day he turned 18 he left to join the Phoenix revolution. Mother begged him not to, Adam took her side but I was so proud of him for fighting for what he thought was right.

Adam was 14 when father left. He handled it a lot worse than any of us, save my mother. I would come into his room every once in awhile to see what he was up. More often than not I would find him in a ball, crying or sleeping, sometimes both. It was around the time my mother fell ill with tuberculous that Adam became the man of the house. He was no fighter, he didn't care about the cause, all he cared about was his family. I could understand his feelings but I couldn't help but feel a bit disgusted with him at times. I thought he was a coward.

I was three years younger than Adam, 11 when my father left. I was the youngest child and the only daughter. Around the time I turned 17 my mother passed away. It affected me less than I would have liked, there were times I would have liked to cry or mourn her but it never felt that way. Instead I felt an overwhelming rage building inside me. My mother could have been saved, she should have been cured but at the end of the day people are more interested in money than lives. In this country you either die in battle or die of exposure. I was going down kicking and screaming.

As a child, teenager, even now as a young adult I never asked for much. Whatever I wanted I fought for, I got it myself. If I needed clothes I would make them or pick up a job to buy them. If I was hungry I went hunting. If I was sick I would ignore it and carry on as if everything was normal. Money was scarce in my town, everyone was fighting just to survive.

Survival is something any creature can do, I wanted to see my people thrive. The day I turned 18 I decided to follow in Evan's footsteps and join the cause. I pleaded with Adam to come with me but he had become something I couldn't even recognize. He spent his days working, drinking, depressed and trapped in the past. As far as I could tell he was already dead, a ghost. No ambition, no reason to be alive, just haunting the house with nothing left but regrets.

I knew the road ahead of me was going to be hard but I wasn't scared, I was excited. We can't continue like this any longer, the people know it, the government knows it and those pulling the strings couldn't care less. I will purge the evil from these lands. I will call this land my country once again. I am not the voice of the people, I am not the hand of justice: I am the blade of the forgotten.

Two Months

I don't have to run away to move on,

Two months I've been gone.

I don't feel remorse or depressed

Because all of my feelings have been expressed.

I don't have to care or be involved,

All my problems have been resolved.

I don't need you to forgive me,

Can't you see?

You don't need my love to love yourself

And I don't need another reason to hate myself.

You won't find the truth buried in lies

And I won't listen to your cries.

You started all of this

And somehow convinced yourself it was bliss.

You can't find light in a nightmare

But I would have helped you get there.

You never even gave me a chance

And I think I knew at first glace

That two months later, I'd be gone.

But somehow I loved you all along.

I guess it's something I can't ignore

 But all that ended when I found the door.

Pseudo-Love

The first time I let those three words escape my lips I said them with tears instead of a smile. Why did I choose to love her? It's amazing how love can blind you so quickly, as soon as you admit to it you're trapped, ensnared. Say goodbye to logic and reality, you now live in a world of delusional dreams. I guess I thought those letters I wrote might change her mind or convince her but perhaps I was just manipulating her or trying to convince myself. She never loved me and no matter how deep my feelings and desires were you can't force another person.

Every time we got together we fell apart within hours. Each time I convinced her she lost faith within a day. When I wrote those letters I got further away from the truth than I was before. I guess you can only put up with so much shit even if you're in love with someone. I shouldn't have ever loved her, all it brought me was agony, and that isn't what love is.

I once wrote to her to tell her what love was, and I know what it is, it isn't her. Love is uncertain, that is true, you never know where it will take you but you should feel strongly enough to face it together. How could I ever retain my sanity and weather the storm when she jumped ship with every cloud? I wanted to run away so many times but she made me strong enough, or perhaps crazy enough to take on the whole world. I didn't care what people thought or what happened to me, all that mattered was her happiness.

Sometimes I wish I could be more selfish, I'm always the one sacrificing for others. I'm always the one pouring my heart and soul into everything just to have it trampled by others. And after it's dead and gone I'm the one whose apologetic when I should really be bitter and angry. Even now, all I want is for her to be happy and safe but that's two-thousand miles behind me now.

Someone told me the other day that it was stupid to leave because I was running away from my problems. At first it really hurt to hear that, I was beginning to think it was true but if I really think about it, I'm not running away, I'm chasing something more. I could of had the girl, I didn't want her. I got the promotion, I didn't want it. I found a school, I wasn't interested. 

No, I'm not running, I'm chasing something more, something called happiness and, as far as I can tell, it wouldn't be found there. There is no girl, no friend, no job or amount of money that would make me want to stay. And while this is the end of a chapter I can't help but feel it is the beginning of an adventure. My life starts at its end. Even if I have to carry on with this weight on my shoulders forever I know I'll become a better man because of it.

And I'll find her, I'll find it, whatever the hell it is. One day I'll fall in love with someone who wants me as much as I want them. Someone I don't have to sacrifice or settle for, or someone who makes it worth it. Someone who wants to make me smile as much as I want to make them laugh. Someone who appreciates my body and mind and enjoys my sarcasm and personality rather than just puts up with it. That person is out there for all of us, I know it!

Phantom Pains

I really wonder if I was supposed to die that day, maybe I did. Things have changed so much since that one foolish night and I can't help but wonder, if I died what is this? I don't believe in heaven or hell but I've been entertaining the idea, trying to figure out which I might be in. In some ways I'm very happy, I feel like I'm accepted but in another way I'm so unsure, insecure and worried about everything around me.

I look back in awe at how fast you can lose everything you hold dear to you. How fast you can disappear from a place and from the hearts and minds of those who occupy it. Was I loved until the end? Do they still think about me? I've been driven to tears just thinking of their faces, realizing I'll probably never seem them again, but what do they really feel? People say they won't forget you but a week later I haven't heard from anyone.

I feel like a ghost, only haunting myself. Why is it that you can be experiencing so many new things in a whole different world and still be completely invested somewhere else? My jobs might be transferable, my body and assets can relocate but all I'm left with is phantom pains and a shell of what I used to be. What do I need, what will put my soul to rest?

Looking back on the life I had I can't help but feel remorse that I ended it. My whole life was there, I had great friends, two jobs that I really liked going to, and I could have had the girl of my dreams, even if I've realized they were nightmares. I personally destroyed every relationship that I spent the last six months building. All the time I spent texting, talking, comforting, encouraging. All the hours I spent at those jobs building my reputation, the devotion and planning... I can never go back now. I can never fix it and I think for the first time in my life I feel I'm going to leave behind regrets.

Maybe it would have been better if I had died that night in the hospital bed. I guess I'm a coward, I would rather have people miss me than to miss them myself. I wonder though, would it have caused more pain or less if I hadn't woken up? Those friends would have forgotten me either way, a week later they would probably never think of me again. But me... I can never forget their faces, I don't know if I'll ever be able to let go.

The mementos and memories left behind don't help but I'm far too sentimental to let go of them. When my friend gave me her lighter, which she probably only gave to me because it was the only thing she had on her, I wanted to keep it forever. I think I only smoke that pack of empty dreams just to remember her. I disappeared just like the smoke, gone in seconds and forgotten even faster.

As I move into my new life and jobs I know that pain will draw me back but I'll recover. The bullet has to be removed before the wound can truly heal. If I kept going on the infection may have spread, perhaps amputation was the right choice. Yet I still feel those phantom pains in my heart and the only thing I can think of to ease the pain is the same poison that landed me here.

The Destruction of Disorder...

People are apathetic and can't stand to see someone excited and happy. It seems like every time I grasp onto a little bit of happiness someone or something wants to kick the inspiration right out of me. Am I wrong to be happy, to be interested in everything? Why don't they find beauty in everything? Why have they stopped indulging their curiosity?

It seems like people find it better, or perhaps easier, to feel nothing rather than to feel happiness of some kind. It comes in all different shapes and sizes, colors and textures. You can find it in that shitty retail job you work, you can find it in the blistering cold or while moping the floor. All it takes is a little personality and a sense of humor.

If you don't like who you are, change it. Use your imagination, make up a new persona or personality. It isn't a disorder to have a few different sides of you, it actually can make you quite sane. We are all constantly pushed and changed, broken down and then reconstructed. If you're the same person you were yesterday you haven't really learned anything at all.

I don't know how often I hear people talking like they've already lost. "The government can do whatever it wants, you'll never make a difference in what you do. Cruelty, hatred, murder cannot be stopped." Apathy is the cause of all of this. No one cares enough to vote, to protest or make a change. No one is willing to take up arms and uproot the corruption from within. No one will speak their mind for fear of retaliation. For there are no smart phones in prison, no Facebook or posh blogs.

Defeatism. That is the attitude adapted by the people. Defeatism and apathy. These two are a destructive combination and could very well lead to the downfall of civilization.

Chains

I've been counting the hours, as if waiting for my own execution. Hours, days, weeks... biding my time, dreading my fate but awaiting sweet relief. I was never read my rights, I guess I put those behind me awhile ago. A priest never came to my chamber, I wouldn't ask for forgiveness, why should I? My friends? You think they would remember me now? My family offered me their sorrow, their feelings, their blessings but nothing stuck to the empty husk my mind once settled into. My consciousness has long faded, it was beaten, tortured and destroyed by the fear and anxiety of my life.

Those people I call family had chained my mind long before my body. I resisted at first, their attempts to persuade me were shrugged off as disgusting and ridiculous. I fought them tooth and nail, even as a child. I would have spat in my face for becoming what I am now. In grade school I never gave resistance a second though, I would fight any enemy big or small. And the big battles? Ha, those are the ones that really meant something, really made you feel alive.

Alas, the odds were against me, I was fighting a sea of monsters with nothing more than a strong spirit. Even the strongest of spirits, the hottest of fires can eventually be put out by this horrid sea, by the rain of ignorance and the cold touch of death. It wouldn't be a swift death, either, it would be like a plague, slowly creeping to your heart, destroying your mind and body before finally delivering the fatal blow.

So, I gave in, I let go, I admitted defeat. And as that first chain clasped onto my body, I felt it was a serpent, I still fought even realizing my struggle was futile. But as the second one went across my back, and the third around my neck I started to find comfort in them. I almost praised them, wished for them. These chains, they kept me alive, they stropped me from self-destruction! I never thought, I never even begun to think I would find such pleasure and comfort within them.

For ten years, I sat in the dark cold cell and I waited. I welcomed more chains, if not for the chains themselves I would have done so with open arms. But that is a bad thought, the chains saved you! How dare you ask for anything more! What do you expect to gain from thinking like that? Tomorrow was the day, if I remembered what enjoyment felt like, I would have told myself to enjoy the time I have left.

The morning greeted me with a cold sweat.  I wasn't greeted by a jailer, no, I woke up in my own bed. The chains were still wrapped around my skin at every possible crack and crevice. When I was moved out of my room I felt I had died a little inside. They took me in and did the unthinkable, what I had feared most.

They buried a key deep within the lock that kept the chains fastened tight around my legs. I couldn't decipher it, was that fear or excitement I felt? Either way it beats the apathy I have felt for this place for far too long. The cold walls of my room, the ugly scenery and the routine of the chains. I came to realize as the chain fell to the ground. Sure, some of these chains made me happy, maybe even saved my life. But whether the chain holds you up or puts you down, a chain is just that: a chain. It will hold you down one way or another, through pleasure or pain. I think it is far past time to get these chains off me, my mind has been in slumber far too long.