The fortress

Hatred, that emotion deep within you that evokes, a sense of negativity towards a person, situation or object.  I want to think on that evokes by a person, by what they did, said or implied in their actual words or action.  I believe that those who evoke the deepest hatred, at one time evoked the deepest love in us.  For the two emotions are in fact opposite sides of the same coin?  Those you love have the power to hurt you the most, this hurt is then easily manipulated by your emotions, leading to the only way your mind knows how to cope, Hatred.

This hatred then strengthens your resolve, it either becomes your crutch, or your salvation.
As your crutch, you use it to survive the memory of the hurt, every time the memory comes, it is banished to the confines of your mind, to the chest of hurt by sturdy crutch hatred.  At the moment of seepage however, before crutch hatred can come along and save you, you must re-live the pain, the hurt, you go through the experiences so intently, it can cripple you.

As you stretch your hand metaphorically or in actually involuntary reality, this reflex action then triggers crutch hatred.

You then become angry, the anger then feeds you energy, gives you strength, this strength then powers not just your emotional self, but even your physical self.  You become stronger, faster, your pupils dilate, your breath comes out faster and faster, your chest starts to heave, your brow is sweaty.  Funny how the adrenaline reaction of hatred is almost exactly the same as fear.  The end result i guess is the same.  Survival

 At this point you reach a decision, what do i do with my heightened sense, the age old fight, flight or fear. I can lash out at those around me - fight, i can lash inward and hurt myself - fear, or i can cry and let the anger out - flee ( or something close to that, can also be argued as fight).

Any one of the actions above shall leave me with all my energy dispensed, I am left drained.  Crutch hatred then sweeps the memory back into the chest and life goes on, to wait for the chest to be opened again.  How long I take to put it back in the chest reduces with time.  It has gone from a few days to a few hours.  I call it a crutch because every time i recover from this attack, i believe i am stronger.  I savour the fight, the memory strengthens my resolve.

"Never!" I proclaim, "I shall never get hurt like that again".  My wall is fortified.
" You cant come in " I shriek, howling like a banshee.  
"This is MY fortress, you will never enslave me again!"

I live for the fight , I don't fight to live anymore.  The fight defines my existence, my relevance.  Without the fight, I am nothing.  The fight is my crutch, the hatred is my crutch.
Hatred can also be my salvation.  It uses a lot of energy to stay alive.  Its intensity is directly equal to the energy flame directed towards it.  At the point of weakness, when the energy has been dispensed, and the choice is to be made, I can then decide to let it go.  The memory will never go away because the event happened.  To forget the event is to erase a memory, is to become less of me.

Instead, I learn the lesson and I accept that it cannot be changed.  The event has already happened and can be relegated to my past, it therefore does not have to be part of my present and future
This of course is all theory
I like my crutch hatred.
I hope one day it can go away and become my salvation.  Until then, it remains my fortress.
I dorne my warrior feathers and I defend my walls.

Get a little painted

free of me

I want to be free, free of me, free of my mind, free to be me, without they affecting me, crazy, that sounds, i know, but i have noted that there is me and me, that is, there is me who is free and hidden and there is me who is seen.

I wish the world could accept me, but me rules, is accepted, is dominant. We know of each others existence, but none is brave enough to stand aside and let the other rule. Me says that me will endanger we, but me says that me is already doing that by killing our spirit, by slowly moving away from who we truly are, we are dying.

So me and me must learn to co-exist, must learn to give each other time to be, for we must live not exist


Get a little painted