journal entry day 1.

[backtoblue]

When the pain is so dreadfully imminent that even a peculiar look from a stranger seems like a piercing insult, death is a most inviting easement of such pain. When standing in front of the truth and it is stabbing at your very soul, it is easier to turn your back on such a truth and face a peaceful bed of lies. You can still feel the piercing of the truth throughout your backside, yet it is beyond the scope of reality’s vision, thus making it a “thing”, or a “symptom”, and not real. But when that evil mirror of truth breaks and shatters around you in shiny remembrance, a recollection of those events come together to create a whirlwind of chaotic knowledge which was better off stored in those hidden places of safe denial.

Sweet denial, sweet defiance of reality, ravished by the hatred of facing one’s inner demons and faults, though some not even your own, fallen onto your shoulders like granite cherubs. Where is the escape in this whirlwind of confusion and pain? There is no vision except for that of the past. No hope except for the blissfulness of sanity and rationale.

But in death, oh there is comfort in the notion of endlessness. Whether in heaven or hell, purgatory or darkened sleep, there is at least certainty and control within that one eminent event. Death can easier be faced because of its uncertainty, which is far more inviting than what reality has known to be in store, has waiting for the weary. To take one bullet is nothing compared to a thousand piercing knives, making death an easy escape and one that can be controlled amidst life’s confusing torture. Oh, but the irony in weakness and uncontrollable pain is the nagging fairy of hope that flirts at the worst of times. So long as there is hope, there is a future, brightly shining or otherwise.