Scotophilia

To be used at some point, later.

I am the Forsaken; the Outcast. I am the Derelict, the Defunct, and the Hermit. I am the union of Silence and Need made consumate. I am the thrall of the Night, and usurper of the Day. Where once laid veins of warmth, instead now run chilled streams made frigid by a heart that beats colder than the Moon. I am an acolyte of the Void. A sentry meant to stand the test of time, time and time again. Where Day finds a charade, Night bequeaths the truth. I am He for whom the owl hoots. I am He for which the wolf cries. I am the Lonely.

Sleep is kept from me. For sleep is meant as tribute and treasure of the good, the righteous, and the kind. Where I dwell is among the depraved, the defamed, and the unsavory. These are my people, and I dance each night to their siren-song…

I have revised my statement. Though it still hurts to accept being alone, it hurts more to try and fight it.

Ordo de mente. Soli vitae. Vita cum significationem.

The order of the mind. Life alone. Life with meaning.

These are the words I must remember. Where once I believed that the purpose of my life was to live with and love a partner, that simply is not the way it is. While I may be alone, I need to keep sight of why I live. I live for myself. I live to think. I live to strive to be better. Nay, I live to be better. My mind is my reason. My head is my purpose. My heart loses its grasp on reasoning with each passing day. Logical. Meaningful. Intended. These will be my ways.

The order of the mind. Life alone. Life with meaning.

Ordo de mente. Soli vitae. Vita cum significationem.

That is my creed.

On a side note: tonight is going to be a hard one. I know not why, but I’ve already begun to ruminate on the past, and the wounds begin to agape anew. It’s just another self-imposed trial, and I must pass it. Life is about to get a lot more stressful for me in this next few weeks, and I cannot afford to burden myself with these inane trivialities that should be afforded no quarter in my head or heart, nor allotted precious energy to dwell upon with.

This too, shall pass.

Obstinence can be an endearing trait in someone. It speaks to loyalty, courage, and steadfastness. But in the face of a relationship, where compromise and concessions are near-mandatory of both parties in order to ensure peace and the formulation of lasting ties, such a trait may end up with one finding themselves lacking of any meaningful interpersonal connections. No one wants to be constantly told what they can and cannot do, nor do they want to feel like they must cloister themselves, all so that they can have a certain person in their life. While the last statement may seem counter-intuitive to the negative connotations implied by a less-than-desirable manifestation of obstinate personality, there exists a vast difference between bullheaded unwillingness to adapt and a willingness to compromise; especially with regards to relationships.

It’s an odd feeling, but I’ve accepted it. Tonight, I’ve begun the ritual of indoctrination into the Ordum Semper Solus. I have fought it, and fought it. But, I simply don’t have the energy or will anymore. Tonight, I begin the conservation process. Tonight, I stop expending the energy, and start storing it, as it will be necessary to survive in this state. Where once I got along with dividing my resources, yet bolstering them with the addition of hope, I shall instead devote them as necessary to the continuance of my sanity and well-being. Tonight. Tonight begins a new me. Tonight, I become the Solus.

There is this lovely notion that permeates its way though the internet; it slips somewhere in the cracks between pictures of cats and Facebook tags. There is this sentimental little allegory about how otter mates hold one-another’s hands while sleeping, so that they do not drift apart in the night. Well, my otter didn’t drift. She swam. Nay, not swam. More like she raced away. She swam away as fast as her whorish arms and immoral decisions could move through the murky waters or life. And like a good little beaver, I began to pick up the pieces of my shattered dam, and rebuild. I needed time to lick my wounds, and grow into the bull-headed lion that I knew I could be. But as all I could find was a fragile foundation left in the remnants of the tumultuous cataclysm that was her departure, my dam sat on fractured ground. Each little shake would dislodge a branch here, or a support there. It seems that the mini-quakes are finally taking their toll. And my, are they greedy.

As distanced, and sad, as it was, I had been clinging to a single thread this last year. A single dream of hope in which my sanity sought refuge. And now, the light from that strand seems to be quickly fading. The co-occupants of this morsel of brighter things to come were faced with a quasi-ultimatum, and as such are responding as best they can. They are trying to better their lives, and I will not ever fault them for that. But in that attempt to attain a better life for one-another, the glimmer of what seems my final bastion flickers and wanes. If they are able, luck-allowing, to move forward with this plan, my support structure will be near-completely null and gone. I will be as the abandoned otter, floating his way through life until some other creature spies him, and thinks “hrm, that’ll be a tasty meal.”

As selfish as my stance on that seems, I realize that the fruition of their plans is a good thing for them, and should be of little consequence to my continued existence. And in most scenarios, that would be the case. But couple that minute murmur of a quake with all those that have passed, and my foundation is gone. Where I thought the calamity had settled, allowing me to rebuild my meager existence, I instead am thrust further down into the maw of the abyss. But the tremors fail to stop there. As before, the co-occupants of my aforementioned dream come into play. Where once we had, what I believed to be, an unshakable relationship, I now find myself instead tip-toeing around what seem like bomb shells. They mean well for me, and are there and when I need it. But as of late, it’s been draining. They rarely get to see each other, which in turn means I get to see even less of them both. And one has been under wholly-undue mountains of stress. Where once I felt I could speak freely, I instead now bite my tongue, and only allow issuance of neutral communications for fear of unsolicited retributions. And this extends to the other. He means well, and does a lot to try and make her life easier. But it seems as of late, that all of that is far too easily overshadowed by even a single instance of forgetfulness or stepping out of line. And I entirely understand what she’s going through, but the reactions seem to far outweigh the causation.

Recently, whenever I was around them, there was not a single time when there wasn’t some sort of argument or altercation. And that worries me so much. I am worried, because I see a lot of the failings from my marriage happening, and it worries me because I don’t want to see them drift apart from one-another. And I know that my state as of late does nothing but to hinder them. I am melancholic more often than not lately, and they inquire as to my ailments, but I won’t say. I will not stand idly by and be party to further erosion of their amazing relationship. I will not be another burden on their already loaded lives. “But that’s what friends are for, that’s why we have them.” No. Friends are not there to drag one-another down. Friends are not there to make each other worry. Friends are not there to swallow one-another with misery. While, obviously, the inverse of each previous statement is the purpose of friendship, there must be more from each party involved. There should be catalysts for growth and maturation. There should be fertile grounds for enjoyment and companionship. Unfortunately, I feel like I can offer none of that anymore, but instead the others. I would rather be alone, than to be solely a depressant.

Speaking of alone: I, for as long as I can remember, have had a recurring dream. In this dream, I am alone. I am a hermit. I am the man that everyone knows, but no-one knows. Perhaps this persistent vision was truly a portent of something to come; something that I already was, but fought so determinately to bury. Perhaps I should cease struggling, and instead embrace that reality. If there is anything that the last two years have taught me in my solitary time, it’s that I will survive. I may not thrive, but I will none-the-less survive. If there is but a single thing that we can truly ask for in this life, I suppose that surviving  is good enough. Perhaps it’s time to find some long-abandoned shell, and crawl in…

I grow weary. So very weary. Moreso with each passing hour of each prolonged day. Where once I stood in strength, I find that my stance falters, and my drive wanes. I lose a bit more of myself with each knowing thought, and soon there will be naught left. My abilities seem to diminish with each use. And where once I held pride at my disconnection, I instead find a twisted abomination tainted by perverse desires. They claim my thoughts, and rule my actions. I cannot think anymore, without harkoning an enfeebled attempt at grasping realities that simply cannot and should not exist. A drive of unsavory thoughts directs my heart, and a dissonance between my morality and thirsts thunders with increasing ferocity amidst each moment lost.

How long will I be able to maintain my faltering control, before it teeters and I am irrevocably thrust into a pit of despair with no viable escape? How long before I make a move or issue an utterance that will forever be enscorcelled in a memory of disdain and justified malice? I’ve not but myself to blame for this predicament, as it was naught but I that allowed these perversions foothold in both my conscious and subconscious. It was I that not only allowed their sowing, but encouraged their flourishing abundance and magnitude. Where I should have rent them from the fertile fields of my mind as mere notions, I instead allowed for propagation and increased utilization. But even in knowing that, I won’t implant countermeasures. Nay, not won’t, but cannot. The familiarity and comfort provided by these rogue elements proves too strong an allure, and I indeniably find refuge in their shameful dalliances. As with any addiction, I’ve grown accustomed to and dependent upon the release I achieve from them. Such a damnable release, though! Where I invariably find peace and comfort, even if only in the interim, I am after left with naught but longing and idolization in its absence. Fanciful thoughts of abhorrent realities, and demented boughts of brief euphoria lend occlusion to the revulsion I should know with each entertained whim. Yet hides it well, they do. Even now, I remit that I shall indulge here-after. And while I’ll enjoy the detachment from reality, I’ll be weighed heavily by the guilt after.

So tired. So weary. So done. Move along each day, play the motions, do the deeds. Depression rears its ugly head at the most inopportune times, and with increasing frequency.

**To be edited as appropriate**