Love Letters to Anne

The nighttime is the worst....

the echoes of the past haunt me and persecute me for crimes I did not commit...

The nighttime is the best...

the silences cover me and the stillness speaks, the impossible becomes manifest...

I saw demons again tonight...hello my friends, it's been awhile, shapes shifting, silently speaking in tongues to me today.

My night is my life, shrouded in mystery, cloaked in uncertainty and anxiety because I had lost something somewhere somehow so long ago, so lost and chaotic. I must maintain my focus, I must succeed, but it’s victory or bullets here in this place...

I am distracted and defenseless here...I seek solace in the shadows, breathe in, breathe out, I inhale, exhale and contemplate escape from this place. If I am unsuccessful I will abandon this mortal coil for the things which call me home...nothing calms me in this place, everything is suspect and I allow myself to trust nothing as situations and people change at will...I must endeavor to persevere, the man said. Survive. I heard it clearly. I have. I am. I will.

My thoughts swimming in memories and old fears trying to surface, and they percolate within me and it is a fight I must endure because nothing stops it from having its way with me when it comes.

The cool air of the evening snaps me back a bit. I hear music of freedom in my brain...freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose, the woman said. And she was right. I’ve had the freedom of not having my personality defined for me. I grew and chose the things I thought were best and kind and loving, (and suffered for it) but this is the way. I also chose the way of the warrior so I could survive.

Every step an effort, like walking up to your neck in thick fluid, muscles spasming so that I’m frozen and in pain that grips me like a hand I can only submit to and wait for the storm to pass...the grip tightened as it always does and I just let go and retreat into a place I imagine is where you go when life becomes unbearable but you just don’t die, but it feels like you will. Trying not to panic, breathe again, my back has become marble like a Michelangelo tragedy carved out of a block of sorrow...

And then just as suddenly as the paralysis comes, it evaporates from me and I am warm again. The blood flowing in my veins again. The grip of panic is gone. But the crushing anxiety, still present like a trauma from childhood after many years of covering it up...I react accordingly mentally. I close some shops down and box up others, the mall will be closing in 2 minutes...I can do this thing, I can shut it all off. I don't remember quite when or where I learned this ability to turn off emotion, I get flat in appearance, it's hard to describe, but anyway, I can shut off things like certain pains and things can be very black and white with very little, (if any) gray. And then there is nothing but gray...

And the black and white would not be recognizable to your codes and ethics either by the way.

The law of the jungle is very clear: the strong prey on the weak. Having no defenses against any power, I became invisible. I was already lost, so this wasn't hard. Camouflage came easy to me, but in so doing, I questioned every article I took for granted as truth and found I did not agree with all I have been taught...I fell through the cracks of the system and watched it all from a close, but safe, distance as it turned and chewed and consumed and ravaged lives for what exactly? Money? That's an arbitrary thing we all have seemed to agree upon...Power? What's power? I have varying definitions…

Control? Even if you had control over lives, why would you crush them? Because you could? Do as I say because I say wasn't, (and isn't) good enough for me...I will consent to be governed if the governing is righteous, and only then will I follow at a distance, warily. Again, I could rely on nothing as a constant, as a hard truth...all the man made institutions were suspect in purpose and intention...history bears out my suspicions of man and his schemes. You end up making your own rules as you find yourself in situations...it's survive or die here. It's not pretty, or romantic, it's dramatic and outrageous, it's tragic, sad and lonely...but, I managed to sustain a rate of success, and though times were not always life and death, there were times brother, and sister, that they were, and I'm only here by Grace, cunning, and an ability to become vicious...

I have always had a hard time relating to anyone. Emotionally, I was empty in a way that nothing, not age, not experience, not drink, nor drug, nor meditation, nor prayer and fasting, absolutely nothing, filled that Void. I felt intuitively that love could hold the answer, but real love to me was an almost forgotten echo. I chased love in desperation as I lived out my fears of abandonment from those I cared about...it is an exhausting existence, it's also no picnic for those who were around me during those times, but I had no control over the primal urges I was having. Urges to be loved and accepted not for what I had earned in some way, either through karma or effort, but that reassurance that you feel from family that tells you where you are, and where you come from, as well as who you are...I was always the outsider looking in at everybody, not being able to relate to love and family because I was told at an early age, (about as soon as I could understand it) I was different. My parents, get this, were NOT my parents...I came from somewhere else, from somebody else and I was with these people instead for some ridiculous reason, and then, when I started asking the natural questions of how and why this could happen, there were no answers that were legitimate enough to satisfy the reason behind the injustice which had just occurred. My family had been stolen from me by these imposters, these aliens had just abducted my history. Who am I? Where do I come from? Why are my people not with me? I had been rejected out of the pod and the surrogates just dropped the dime. It was forever after the excuse for every action deemed anti-social or difficult, he's not ours anyway...my unhappiness wasn't addressed because I was supposed to be grateful, but I was never allowed to grieve for my loss, I was expected to just get over it at best and ignored as just a difficult child at worst. I was unhappy, but I wasn't supposed to be. I was depressed, but this wasn't a valid feeling according to everybody. We went to counselors when I was little, I remember one place was next to a museum that had a Mapplethorpe exhibit that I came into contact with, I remember some of those black and white photographs even though I was probably 7 or 8 at the time....I remember thinking this kind of expression was allowed, but my unhappiness, my sadness was not. I was 8 and found this irony bullshit. It was then I remember I started having trouble sleeping, which is a scar I carry still to this day. The night grows long and I am nowhere near sleepy, I am tight and anxious still. I may have missed my window for good sleep a while ago, but I'm in a mode right now that I need to continue examining for there to be any peace in my heart. This night snuck up on me and caught me unawares. Got to get good they say. Anyway, this night shined a light upon my scars....some of them anyway.

I seek solace in the night and find none. Exhale.

Where was I? Oh yes, the counselors...they weren't to address my issues, they were marriage counselors, see my perfect little nuclear family was in crisis from the time I was two or so...I have my earliest memories of them fighting and screaming at each other as the TV was supposed to distract me. The TV was my third parent, that became my only parent at times. That perfect little family fell right the fuck apart...My world was once again torn apart, then a series of misfortunes and misadventures and betrayals came at just the opportune moments, critical moments where all I could do was escape with my clothes...still I had this mission...I remember everything was unwinding, having trouble with my direction, I was in crisis and couldn't afford to let anyone know. No one. I have this ability as well.

So, for a long time no one but the night knew my visions, and my sorrows.