March 28th

I sit in a newly created space in my house, all alone, drawing on my pipe, thinking. The dragons keep watch, the incense burns, the music plays gently in the background. I have what alcoholics would call a moment of clarity. For once peace reigns in my tortured soul. I rock slowly in the chair, enjoying the peace, willing for my mind and soul to accept the tranquillity.
It was startling at first, almost scary, certainly unnerving. Suddenly everything stopped, my mind went blank, my pulse slowed, my eyelids drooped, and for once I was relaxed. It was as if you had pulled a plug on a computer, system shutdown. The break I had so longed for in the past months had arrived, the moment, the peace. I had to concentrate not to fight it, it sounds stupid, but after so long battling with my mind, to accept it in a peaceful state is just as hard a battle.
The moment passed, maybe it lasted for 4 or 5 minutes, but for those brief few minutes I was me, who I was before all this started. Like the flash of a brilliant sun before it dies, for those precious seconds, all was tranquil, I was beautiful Imperfection.
The void it has left, now the moment has passed, is deep and dark. The pain cuts deeper than any knife can. The pain and sense of loss is tangible as the tears roll down my face, off of my cheeks and onto this page, blurring the words as I write them. Like my mind all the images blur into one, never ending images of pain and torture.
As I read back what I have written, I crave for that moment again, the peace and tranquillity, the stillness, the imperfection of a soul at rest. I carve it, I need it, I live for it. I try to recreate the sensation over and over again, it fails over and over. The pain and torture returns again and again to my mind. I seek relief, I seek my angel, I reach for the blade. I know it will hurt, I know I will cut deeper than ever before. I want the pain, it is my release.
As the blade tears a through my flesh, I relish the pain, like that of an addict, I need this. The pain burns, as much in embarrassment as in actual physical pain. I know I will have to explain my injuries. I will have to tell people I failed.
I screwed up.
I failed.

I sit here contemplating my existence, my future, my past. The sting of the cuts wear off, I am numb once again, once again my brain works as lightning fast speeds, a mental overload, a burnout, a breakdown. The serenity of the moment a distant memory, I know it happened, I know because my body and soul yearns so strongly for it again. Maybe that’s what life is about, the search for tranquillity, the everlasting journey for contentment. I wonder how long the journey lasts, if it goes on beyond mere mortal existence, I wonder when my journey will end, where it will take me on the way. I only hope my journey ends soon.

As the sun sets, I dread the oncoming night, the knowledge that once again I will sleep. Once again the images will torture my mind. The frequent onset of these images that don’t leave me, even during daylight, visions of murders and brutal tortures, seared upon my mind as if carved with a red hot knife, images I will never forget. The need to escape them grows, the need for peace reigning within my soul.
I think my journey will end soon.

I hope it will.