Hope is a Four Letter Word

Yesterday was a good day, mostly. This morning not so much.

I stepped outside for a bit just now, and sat down to think. My trek to work had been draining and I needed to get my head on straight. Everything was so clear on Saturday, but the fog was starting to roll back in. I’m getting ahead of myself.
I had been struggling against the poison I call hope all weekend. I had decided Friday there could be none. And it felt good. As hard as I had tried for the contrary, I was absolved. I had no guilt. I wanted to, but there was none to be had. I was ready to move on and started planning what my remaining years would have in store. Saturday, I was finally ready to forgive. The arrows had finally been removed from my back and I was no longer in pain. I was able to do what I had tried to do a week prior: see the situation from both sides and gain the understanding I had been missing for so long. It’s incredible what a few focused hours of rational thinking in a cave can yield. Fear, self preservation, pain, panic… the human condition. Oh! Nietzche and your monster – your abyss. How true it was. Anger was the final component. Anger at becoming the thing most wholly loathed. Anger misplaced. I was not the monster after all, there was no fighting me. The monster lived in the past, the monster was within. But somehow I had been found in it’s aftermath. A scapegoat sorely needed, and circumstance offered me to the mob. I actually chuckled to myself. It echoed eerily off the rock. How simple. The knight had become the dragon, and blamed the princess for the transformation. Guilt, the silver tongue of a similarly tendencied friend, denial… everything made sense.

And then the poison once again corroded my veins. Like battery acid, energizing, yet completely destructive. Hope had again returned, and I suppose it was only fitting that I was down in a hole at that very moment. I thought I had rid myself of it. I had, but there was no immunity left behind, no tolerance yet. I had originally purged my blood with the realization that there could be no going back, that what I sought never even truly existed. But as I sat in the darkness, I realized I was wrong. Everything that mattered was real. Everything that that had become a hard, ugly scale were the very things that I had never required. Never asked for. Never wanted. The knight may now look like a beast, but peel away the outer trappings and everything that once stoked the furnace in my heart shall be found underneath. Alive and well, if not scared.

So, as I said, hope had returned, and with it the fog, for now I was required to wallow in time. Twice lost is thrice as hard and so the fog was nine times more dense. My train of thought was so sporadic that I couldn’t follow it, so I won’t even attempt to commit it to word here, but the ending I remember clearly, for it came down to a simple question: “If given the opportunity, would I go back and repeat my tragedy?”

Ha ha! Like I’m going to answer.

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