I tried to explain to him yesterday. I knew that words would not suffice, not nearly, but some hopeless part of me deemed it one of the few opportune moments to try. How can I explain this without casting everything I’ve ever done or said in tainted shadow? It changed those memories, I know it did.
I cried for the first time in so long, but it was not sorrow or pain, but a diluted frustration, something so vague even I can scarcely read it as whatever emotion it was originally intended to be. By the time it filters passed my brain and into my body, it’s lost its meaning. It’s a fog of uncertainty, a clenching in my chest, or something so slight that I can’t school my expression into anything other than blankness because I already lost sight of what that feeling was supposed to be. My heavy filter. An endless burden. A weighty cross.
I can’t convey it properly. I tried, but I know that he cannot feel it, only guess at it. I told him so, and that realization, that saying it out loud, made it truly sink into my consciousness.
He doesn’t know. They don’t know. They can’t know.
Should I be glad for your damnation? Is it disgusting that there is a sense of relief when I think to myself that I am not the only one? The smiles, the opinions, the gestures… You know what I mean. Puppet on a string, with no emotion attached. Just a blank countenance with twitching, awkward gestures to satiate humanity. But they don’t see it that way, do they? The disgrace of it, the bitterness in the eyes, the slight, almost imperceptible downturn of the mouth. The hate that burns somewhere dark and buried, but never forgotten, an abominable child that nurses on the sins of the monsters, growing and growing, gorging until the black becomes more than shadow; it’s void, so deep and desolate that there is no escape to be had. It swallows you up, swallows you whole, and you forget where the mask and where your ‘insanity’ begin.
I made a mistake, I think. It’s fractured too much now, and even my most controlled of strokes will not repair. The world I made to keep them away is shaking with doubt, crumbling at the foundations.
There are somedays that I don’t want the walls. I want it to come down, down, down. I want this house of lies to be nothing more than dust and rubble at my feet, so I might start again without this heavy burden, without concern for discovery on my mind.
I free the beast more and more. He grows so tired of his chains. I wonder what they would all say if I just…let him out?