With Alexis' blood still on my hands I had hastily typed about how bad I felt about what I'd done. Yet at the same time I couldn't say I was completely unhappy about the results. Feeling any kind of happiness about my loss of control only made me angrier. More upset. I ended up reading the blog Amanda Davis had posted. I'm not even sure I like the woman and yet I still tried to help her through her own problem. Even though her problem seems miniscule to me. I know I didn't do it for her. I was using her problem to try to sort my own out. Warped isn't it?
Since then I've had a lot of time to think and I've realized something that I'm not completely comfortable with, but I am willing to accept. I'm not really upset about hurting Alexis. I thought I was. I'm not. In the end it's about me. How self-absorbed is that? I'm angry about my loss of control. Each time it happens I'm one step closer to being the exact thing I'm trying to avoid. I've struggled so hard to try to restrain my urges. To contain my inner demon. I've fought it so vigorously, yet everyday I face it, and everyday I seem to lose a little ground. It's maddening. Infuriating. On top of it all, it's so frustrating that it enrages me. That anger only feeds it more. How the hell am I supposed to keep myself from becoming a monster if the anger of fighting against it only brings me closer to it happening?!
I feel like I'm just fucking losing it. Like slowly the foundation of who I am is eroding. As each piece of it falls away something dark is left in its place. If this keeps up I soon won't be able to recognize myself. I am not my parents and I will not make the mistakes they have! I just can't. My humanity is the only thing I've ever had and I'm not willing to give it up! I scream inside my own head before my hands start shaking. I look at them in pure frustration. That's it. I jump to my feet, this time screaming out loud.)
Stop it!
(I grab the computer and throw it against the wall. It smashes before sending pieces flying in all directions. I listen as pieces of components hit the floor before leaving me in silence once more. I look at the floor that is now littered with pieces of a machine I didn't even own.)
I'm sure Mother will love this.
(Alone and talking to myself. Nothing new there. I wipe my hand down my face and try to collect myself. This is my second night staying at what could be considered one of my mother's safehouses...and I've already broken her desktop and put a gouge in her wall. I consider her the monster, and me not one, and yet here I am being the one to destroy things in her house. Beautiful. Fucking terrific. This has got to stop or I'm going to lose my fucking mind. I walk out of the office and into the kitchen. This is killing me. I feel drained and need to relax. I sigh in a loud manner before opening a cupboard.)
Maybe some tea will help soothe me.
(There wasn't much for food in this place. Hell it's not that stocked with furniture either. Mostly just the essentials. Mother only stayed here when she was in town on "business". The kind of business that leaves corpses in her wake and cash in her pockets. There's not much here, but there's a ton of tea. So far, since being around her, it's the only thing I've seen her drink. My father, on the other hand, he tends to stick to beer, whiskey, and water. I fill a pot with water and set it on the stove before turning on the burner. Grabbing some tea form the open cupboard I toss it on the counter. I run my fingers through my hair for a moment as I once again think about my parents. I'm not sure if that's better or worse than thinking about my problems. In a lot of ways they are part of my problem. Hell their genes are the source of it.
I did spend some time with them both before catching my plane to come down to the southwest. The situation was uncomfortable at best. She still wants to repay him for killing her twice. He wants her to stop killing the people around him. Plus he and I agree the first time she died wasn't his fault. Though, the second time, it's undisputable. Still they didn't yell at each other and it never got physical...other than when they had the fist fight at the front door when I met him. It's like they're both holding back things in front of me. Truthfully I can't even understand why they would hold back. My mother is a bitch. The closest she's come to seeming like she cares is expressing disdain...and I'm so tired of hearing the word "whelp". It's about the only thing she calls me though. My father, well I'm not sure what to think. In some ways he seems like he cares, but he's so closed off. Hell he barely ever has any real expression on his painted face. I'm not sure what to think, but I definitely don't understand why it seems they are holding back.
Maybe they are so far gone into their respective psychosis that this is as close as they come to being caring. Or maybe my mother was never meant to be a mother and she hates me and my father can only feel rage, pain, and nothing else. The pot whistles, snapping me from thoughts that are going nowhere. I toss some teabags in a teapot and pour the steaming water in. Now I just have to wait a bit before I can actually have a cup. The aroma of it is so enticing to me. So warm. As if the aroma envelops me in a loving embrace. Tea has been one of the best things I introduced myself to since getting out of that dimension. So far it's also treated me better, and showed me more affection, than anyone I've encountered in this world. That's pretty damn sad. Wow.
I pull the teabags, put the top back on the teapot, and pour myself a cup. I hold the cup under my nose for a moment to allow its alluring scent to fill my nostrils. Taking a sip, I quickly pull the cup away from my face in pain. My free hand immediately moves to my bottom lip.)
Ow..
(I need to remind myself, once again, for future refence, that hot liquid on a split lip is painful. Setting the cup down I make a decision. One I so often make. I've spent too much time lost in my mind. Too much time beating myself up and feeling bad about my own problems. My own urges. I need to stop and get back to training again. The more time I batter, and run down, my body, the less time I'll spend thinking about the demon inside me....or how to stop it.)