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"We leave the shores to see the mountains rising
A distant impression growing
This judgment creates the pain we hold
Destructive intentions that serve no purpose but the end of us all"
I have shackled myself.
On my mind, on my heart, and on my desires I have put leashes, hoping that they would protect me. From myself, and of what my heart brews in the middle of the night if left to fester like an open wound. From it springs the foul ichor of my brain, which seeps into my dreams and soaks my waking thoughts. The wound grows slowly, but with determination. I try to close my eyes, hide my thoughts and guard my actions. And yet, it is there, wriggling itself into the cracks of me. Like water into the stone, waiting for Brother Frost to breack the seemingly unbreakable. And break I did - seldom, but hard. Then, I would finally unleash the fury I felt against myself in all its glory, trying to regain control over the storm that was my mind. Like ripping off the safety valve of the steam tank to release the pressure, damage be damned.
"The shame and sorrow, self-condemnation
Fill all the gaps and the spaces, unyielding
Bestowed upon us, devastating power
We're building connective tissue to a maze of lies"
Fill all the gaps and the spaces, unyielding
Bestowed upon us, devastating power
We're building connective tissue to a maze of lies"
So I have shackled myself. To protect myself from the beast within me, which hungered and howled for satiation. The wound which kept ferstering. My urges, deep and powerful.
First, a leash on my thoughts, hoping to guide it like an unruly dog.
Second, chains on my eyes, trying to control the slippery bastards. Third, chains on my words and physical actions towards the people around me.
And yet, the beast would break through, no matter how hard I tried to clamp my fists around my own soul. My hands have become very strong, as if I tried to break myself, to shatter my very being into tiny fragments I could set back into something else, something not me. I prayed for being broken, for punishment I felt I deserved, for absolution through pain.
Second, chains on my eyes, trying to control the slippery bastards. Third, chains on my words and physical actions towards the people around me.
And yet, the beast would break through, no matter how hard I tried to clamp my fists around my own soul. My hands have become very strong, as if I tried to break myself, to shatter my very being into tiny fragments I could set back into something else, something not me. I prayed for being broken, for punishment I felt I deserved, for absolution through pain.
"We're left as starving orphans; the vital core is gone
Our sins are all over and over and over again we swallow
We're sick and tired when this wind blows, the reflex is insane
We must forgive and stop blaming ourselves for this love"
Our sins are all over and over and over again we swallow
We're sick and tired when this wind blows, the reflex is insane
We must forgive and stop blaming ourselves for this love"
Finally, I shackled my very body, changing its chemistry to its very core with 50mg at a time. I suffer the consequences and greet them like a good friend. Every morning I reapply those shackles, binding myself to this new state. And finally I found the bindings I was looking for. The beast was lulled into a sort of half-sleep, only stirring every so often and then straining against its cage with all its might. Finally, I could lift my eyes and look at the beast, and it filled me with deep sadness: was that beast not me? Everytime I tried to beat it into submission, trying to crush it into a new form, ignoring it in the moment it needed me the most - was that not myself I've brutalized, tried to break and left to starve? Am I really that cursed that I cannot accept those parts of
mine and let that wound heal?
mine and let that wound heal?
"These vultures from the past, coming
In all the hells and worlds, the time has come
Delivered from their eyes
Embrace, suffer, destroy - the Gift of Guilt"
In all the hells and worlds, the time has come
Delivered from their eyes
Embrace, suffer, destroy - the Gift of Guilt"
Now, here I am. I carry my chains like a mark of pride. I confess all the time, hoping to lighten their burden. I hold them to my minds eye, hoping to finally be able to accept myself for what I am - not Saint, not Monster, but Human. I embrace the change going through me, trying to accept the suffering as my way to absolution. The way is long, difficult and seemingly endless.
But I must keep going. For I know not what else to do, but to seek heaven through violence.
(Quotes: Gojira, "The gift of guilt", 2012)
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