These are private things...

For once, I don't care whose listening. I don't care who is out there, reading along to every word that my fingers - that my burnt and tattered and f-ed up heart play out. I don't care who can hear me or what they think of my words. They shouldn't even be sitting there, shouldn't be watching from the sidelines, shouldn't be listening to this messed up music anymore. You, sitting there in your chair reading words you can't possibly know half the darkness behind, shouldn't try to know how I feel or felt, shouldn't know that I still hurt - that I still think about the things that ruined me...that I still think of a past I wish in ways I never had.

You shouldn't know that. I shouldn't write it.

I shouldn't even say it or think it- but somehow, somewhere - I have to. Have to tell something, tell someone, go somewhere to hide away. I don't want the wounds revealed- don't want anyone to see the scars...but why do I have to fake it? Fake being okay, fake being alright, fake knowning what to do at every moment - fake being strong and sure and never doubting the path I've walked...

I don't want to uphold the image of someone who knows what they're always on about. I don't want to look like someone who isn't lost - but I don't want to be lost anymore either. I don't want to regret or hurt or be ashamed of all that I will become in the end...and yet, I all too often am.

Those that knew the answers have all turned away, and those that don't only stare down into the blackness - just thinking they know some solution I haven't already tried. But experience is a better teacher than their wise words. So, I guess you could say I know now. Not that it makes much of a difference...

I should have said I knew months ago. I should have said that I knew well enough four years ago. But, don't you see it? It was never just as easy as knowing something. Because I couldn't see why that would matter? I couldn't see what the problem was? I couldn't see - I guess you could say - what was inherantly flawed about it...or maybe just about me. I tried to see it, see what was in the deep abysses...I tried, you know. Tried to see it, tried to warn someone, tried so damn hard to be as honest as I could make myself. But that....(sigh) I see it now - in ways. Other ways, I don't know that I ever will.

But let's put it this way: It's better...no, say easier to blame the things I can see - to blame the proof right in front of the mirror before me than to blame something I can never explain away. And it's...easier...to know that I messed up, that I was the problem, that I caused the hurt in the end to myself and to the world. At least then, I can rationalize some of it away - and I don't have to stare into the face of the darkness that I don't want to admit is still alive. I don't want to say that I know it'll be there one day when I try to be happy again. And I don't want to say that it'll be there when I want to move on - want to really let go - want to forget for good about the things that came before.

I'll just take the blame. I'll just say it was me - it was always my faults and my shortcomings and my flaws that tore at the heart. It was my own misguided steps and my own misjudgements and my own ability to fall off the edge of the thing that made it all end...like this.

Really - It wouldn't be too far off, too far gone from the truth of the thing anyway. Everyone has their blame to take - sometimes, it just is better to take it all, and to try and forgive yourself someday, instead of someone else...

-RK