The One They Call God
I have always hated the internet. It is just one more place for outsiders to invade my privacy... the constant flashing of "cookies," bombardments of spam email advertising for products I do not care to hear of... it all makes me sick because it reminds me exactly what this world, and this life, is all about. Stuff. Money. Materialism.
I have plenty of it. It's the one thing I do have. Will that stop me from dying? Will it make others respect me and feel grateful for my sacrifice? I think not. Instead, they will cling to me with false smiles and empty words, begging me to solve their problems--to put aside the pain of my throbbing headaches and constant nausea--and shower them with my wisdom and benevolence.
It's because of those people, the ones I call family...that I am resorting to this. A blog. Someplace to state my true thoughts and feelings without worrying about how it will affect others. So even though I hate such cold, pretentious means of communication--for me it seems to be my only option. Perhaps here, in the midst of so much shallowness and deceit, I can be honest.
What am I feeling now? The only truthful answer I can give is that I don't know. Sometimes I wonder if God himself--the real God, wherever he may be--knows the answer to that question. The only emotions in myself that I can recognize are rage and pride. When I am angry I feel alive. Alive...meaning that I am aware that my heart is beating and that my lungs have air. The blood that I find on my hands reminds me that my skin can feel something from the outside world.
Pride? It is what holds me together. I know that I am strong. Only I have the strength to bear the pain that would devastate all others. It is why I was born. To bear that pain. I will not relinquish my hold on it. I will not pass that burden to another by taking my life. Death is what I fear and Death is what I crave. I am so in love with Death that at times my need for him eclipses my need for all else, and the needs of others. How I long to die and be done with it...but they need me to suffer here.
It took pride to not show how much it hurt me when Yuki left. It takes pride to stop myself from begging for forgiveness--from all of them. I want so badly to be forgiven, for I love them in spite of what they have done to me. But I can not forgive them for their dismissal of my life and so I do not expect to be forgiven by them for spilling their blood and breaking their spirits. We have a love-hate relationship, my family and I. We feed off of one another's pain.
An outsider would not understand this.
I find myself wishing on stars. Counting the seconds until that blissful day. When my eyes will close and not open...when my heart will lie still in my chest. My doctor injects me with morphine on the worst days, to make the pain bearable, and I fancy that I can taste the sweetness running through my veins. He is a good doctor. Perhaps I should not have taken his one joy. I could not help myself. He's been with me all my life, helping me to bear the agony that he does not understand. To allow him to be with Kana would mean my death, for the rejection from him, my life-support, would have been the killing blow. And if I die, the Soumas die. I can't let them die...they need me to watch over them and prevent their extinction. So I made Hatori let Kana go, to save us all. I think he understands this. I see it in his eyes.
So...he does not blame me.
Others in my family cannot see past their own pain and consider what is best for everyone. I am a harsh ruler, I know. My orders cause them pain. Loneliness. A feeling of being unworthy of this life. If I didn't think it would break me, I would open my mouth and say, "Sacrifices have to be made. Haven't you learned that by now? Does my sacrifice teach you nothing that will help you to survive this ordeal?" Perhaps those words are better left unspoken.
While it is true that I am harsh, it is also true that my family has never been more safe. Any member of this family can read in our history the trouble that previous generations of Soumas had in maintaining secrecy, and in protecting themselves from outsiders whose suspicions were aroused. Because I am hard on my family we avoid many of the problems that our ancestors had. Because my family fears to go against me, knowing that I will injure their bodies or minds as punishment for their sins, we have very little to fear from those who would destroy us.
But this is just one more sacrifice that I make. Because they fear me, my own isolation increases. I am seen as a wrathful god who will be provoked at the slightest offense. And because they put me into this box, I resent them for depriving me of what I feel is the one thing tying me to this world when I am hurting badly enough to leave it every day. I crave love so deeply that it causes an ache in my malnourished soul. What can I do? I must take it from them. They refuse to love me after everything I do, and that enrages me and fills me with determination. If they will defy me, then I will punish. If they neglect me, then I will take.
Do they think they are the only ones hurting? I am overwhelmed with bitter irony to think that the one they call GOD... is the one who is hurting most of all.
