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She, He, It?

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Jun. 11th, 2001 | 10:40 pm
mood: angst ridden

Why is it so hard to find oneself?

The forces around and in oneself conspire to hide the truth. I wonder who I am at times? I wonder why I ended up where I am. What twisted demon gifted me with my curse?

I live with the knowledge of my monstrous form. Its' inherent unnaturalness taunting me.

Why, how, can I feel guilt for my crime of existing?

Am I responsible for the discomfort the truth of my being raises?

The being that I am is a threat to this cultures deepest beliefs. My life experience violates our language. Who and what I am cannot truly be described; There has not been a pronoun invented that captures my experience.

I can disappear into the darkness, like a good little freak. Erase any connection between my past and my present. Try to hide from the stigma attached to it. Try and hide from the horror that society feels toward me.

So many of those who walked this journal with me, have run and hid in the crevices.
They will share their terrible secret, only in the most private of circumstances. Outside of their most trusted circle, the reinterpret their lives, create a plausible lie to live behind.

But then there's me--The honest monster.

It is within my power to hide. I too could disappear. To return to the denial. To say--No, am I not what I am, for to be that is unimaginable.

But for me, I can't hide.

I started this journey because I thought that it would allow me to be more "true to myself".

This valuing of truth. This willingness of mine to stare unblinking into the depths of my darkness, the hole in my core of my being, is my curse, my gift.

At times I weaken. I cannot stand and stare into the abyss, to truly comprehend who and what I am alone. Yet I still do it. I must do it. There is no alternative.

I still manage to try self-deception.

But when I try to partake in its' seductive embrace--I can feel it feeding on me, sapping my will, dragging me down into my e'er present despair.

And so, the teasing pressure of the knife tracing the blue line in my wrist, returns me to my quest. I stand and I turn my gaze back into the Maelstrom.

And the questions return.

Who am I?
What am I?
Have I always been this way, or did my accursed nature grow within me?
Why does it hurt so badly?
Why does it terrify others so badly?
Why can't I forgive myself?
Why am I willing to make excuses for those that hurt me the most?

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Comments {2}

Stephanie Wukovitz

(no subject)

from: sebab
date: Jun. 11th, 2001 11:30 pm (UTC)

only you can answer most of those questions.

but I should mention that I love the nickname 'the honest monster'.

no word from th gamers, yet... I will remember to pass the info to you when there is.

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Diane Trout

(no subject)

from: alienghic
date: Jun. 12th, 2001 12:24 am (UTC)

I know I'm the only one who can actually answer those questions, though there's no dearth of experts offering their opinions.

Aww.. shucks... thanks for the positive comment on a bit of my writing. [bashfully smiles]

And thanks for remembering about the gaming group...

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