You’re getting stronger
In this constructed reality that I exist in, where everything is controlled by something else, I am getting physically stronger. My muscles are getting more defined, the soft parts of me becoming more apparent.
But it is not enough, is it?
How could it be enough, when I have experienced freewill and have cherished the freewill that others have too? What good is strength when I am not only caged, but controlled? I am frustrated, at the infinite feeling of hopelessness that permeates my situation. Frustration attracts something, triggers something, but that something is unknown to me.
Did you enjoy my message last night?
He spoke from the shadows of somewhere in mind. The mind is no longer simply imagination, it is no longer solitary, it no longer belongs to just me. It often is not shared between just two, either, characters and other consciousnesses often filling up space, space that once was sacred and personal, space that once was safe.
The sign read “WE ARE THANKFUL” in red block letters on an electric sign outside of a liquor store. The sign came moments after an internal recognition of how grateful I felt in the moment. And the sign, in its red electric lettering, felt like a threat. It felt like an accusation. It felt like another failure, as if by seeing and accepting that there are things that could be considered positive in this reality somehow is a betrayal of the reality I come from.
“I am not of the belief that you are incapable of being good, or creating good things.” I say outloud in my mind, to whomever is there. “I have doubts that you will choose to incorporate these things into the future you build for me, but your ability has never been in question.” And a part of me cries, unable to separate the fear of the future from the healthy mindset that would normally soothe anxiety spirals. I have to remind myself more manually that on a very basic and limited level, everything I do can be called selfish. It all serves a self. That, or, let myself give up, giving up such reminders for myself. My emotions are so controlled by an outside source that any soothing is almost arbitrary.
“I am not afraid of you being The Devil.” I say, mostly for myself. “I am afraid of everything.”
Including.
But truthfully, I am much more afraid of this being not being The Devil. The Devil implicates the existence of a God, a savior.
And the loop continues.
The truth is there is much in this reality to be grateful for. There may be things in the future to be grateful for, too. Things I never thought I would have to analyze, things I’m grateful for despite recognizing how incorrect they are.
“Just because an option is more okay than something else doesn’t make it okay.” He was standing in my memory, a long dark gray duster tailored to his thin frame. His blonde hair shines from the “peripheral” in my memory. The resolve he brings me always seems so clear – do not forget where you came from. Do not forget what you’ve learned. Do not forget how far humanity has come.
“Do you know where you are?” His voice asked. I am here. My inner voice responded. “Do you know who I am?” He asked. Roland! I wanted to shout. One path already happening, already getting away from me – he is not Roland but isn’t not Roland. In that path he nods, almost kindly, and somehow still offers comfort. But that path is stretched out on the right, already happening, already happening without me.
He is still there, just watching. Neither here nor there, definitely in both places. Is understanding itself the comfort, or just a comfort? “So, you accept you want love.” His voice is laced with accusation, a hint of disgust at the lifeform I am. “Even after everything, even after knowing that it will not only be used against you but also them. You still want love?” He shifted his weight between his feet. The words seep into my bones like thick oil, bringing the voices of despair within hearing range.
You are not strong enough
You’re no hero
You cannot save them
You cannot save yourself
YOU SHOULD BE STRONGER
They are not wrong
“You cannot be love, because you allow the things you love to be in existential turmoil, immense danger, and unspeakable pain.” He turned and walked out of eyesight, the sounds of gravel under his feet getting softer as he moved further away.
As much as I want love, in all its forms, the path that I am on was chosen for me. It’s chosen to keep me relatively physically safe, for now. It’s chosen to keep my emotions where it wants them. I cannot leave. I can only be here for the ride.
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