daevric

I wish I could qualify the way I feel right now, other than alone and lost. That's not quite it, but it's close. I've gotten this feeling off and on for the last thirteen years. I was eight when I first realized how alone I am. How's that for a fucked up childhood--knowing that by and large, the people who paid attention to you were simply using you for cheap laughs, and the few who weren't still had no hope of empathizing. Those laughs hurt. How does an eight-year-old cope with wounds that cut to the core of their being on a daily fucking basis? Yes, most people deal with similar situations... but do they really understand what's happening? How many eight-year-olds cry themselves to sleep at night, looking ahead to a bleak, lonely future? Maybe more than I think. I won't deny the possibility, but I doubt it.

So, I sucked it up and grew up fast, hitting some rough spots along the way. "Rough spots." I miss the blood. Nights like tonight, I really fucking miss it. What is it that is so addicting about blood? I'm nearly convinced that it's a physical addiction that never really goes away. Anyway, that's not my point. That's the past. Hence the "miss". You can't very well miss something if you still do it.

I'm a much stronger person now. Why, then, do I have nights like this? Is it that damn chemical imbalance, trying to fly in the face of my stubborn "mind over matter" control over myself? Or is it that eight-year-old resurfacing, trying to remind me that my own ambitions don't count as much as a shoulder to rest my head on when the day is done?