Drawing Blood.


I find that drawing is the hardest thing to do for me. I have tried in the past, to draw the things from my memory, to illustrate the scenes that burn into my mind. A friend of mine told me not too long ago that the past never runs like a movie in our head – it runs in short, quick bursts. scenes.

A few months ago I changed so much, all at once, that it seemed that the only way to explain the change was to say that the old me was dead. It made sense – you fall in love, you make promises, you get bound by promises and hatred.

You love someone, not because of who they are, but because you do not know how to live any other way. You do not know how to live any other way. You love them, not because you want them to be yours, but because you don’t want them to be anyone else’s. You don’t really care if she’s in your arms or not, but you can’t stand the thought of her being in someone else’s arms. You don’t care if he ever kisses you again, but you can’t stand the thought that right now, he might be kissing her.

We are an entire generation of people now, who do not love to live, but live to love.

We have become the kind of people who love, not to create, but to destroy. We love in order to restrict. Instead of freeing each other from the bounds and binds of life, we imprison each other, hold each other with our “love”, keep each other ours and no one else’s, and after it’s over and done and they’ve walked away, we sink our heels into the ground and sink our fangs into his throat, clench our teeth around her neck, and stop them from leaving this place.

Love becomes a war of attrition.

And it is in that moment that I realized, that we have begun to corrupt love.

We have begun to corrupt the incorruptible. What can we say? That it’s not love? What else drives a man to madness, to lose his mind as I did? It’s what happens when anger and love intertwine, two things that should never have ever mixed, two things that should be polar opposites. People looked at me and thought that I was strong, that I could handle anything, that if I had been through all the things that I had been through, I could go through anything.

But in that furnace that drove me, that fire that burned inside me, I did something that I should never have done. I became hungry for more, hungry for more conflict. At first, I was just surviving hard times. I did not understand, and I perhaps never will understand, when that became surviving on hard times.

I read the things that I wrote during that time in my life and I am afraid. I am afraid that there are more like me, or like I used to be. I was lucky – of that I am certain. If I never win the lottery, I should never complain about my luck, as I know that I am luckier than any man in the world. I took two things that should never have been combined, I took a love, pure and wholesome, a love that could have withstood the test of time, a love that could have outshone anything, and I took that love, in my ignorance, and shoved it into the angers that consumed me.

I realize now that there was no one else at fault other than myself. I took the one thing that could have saved me, and corrupted it with the hatred that raged inside me. 

And when I was done, I was stronger than i’d ever been before – but at a terrible cost. I was not the man that I wanted to be. I was not the person that I wanted so desperately to become. I had finally become that which I had left behind years ago, the man with no fear. The man who could and would burn the world down for anything that he wanted, anything that he loved. No more would I lose those that I loved. No more would I suffer heartbreak for the things I could not control.

I once heard that power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. But what that person did not know, indeed, what very few people know…is that absolute powerlessness creates a monster. You take a man, who has barely anything, and you strip that away from him unjustly, let him suffer and wither in an endless winter of depression and heartbreak.

Some men will crumble. Some men will break, they will shatter, become lifeless beings, their eyes a hollow reflection of the lively humans they used to be. They will be drones, waiting for your orders, aware that their lives are futile and that they are simply waiting for the end.

But sometimes, you can strip a man to his soul. Bare him wide to the world and then assault him with the power of a god. And that man will find something within him, a fire, and he will protect that fire to his death. And the moment that you look away, he will use that fire, and he will ignite an inferno, and you will burn in that inferno as he watches on, his rage consuming you.

Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely. But powerlessness creates monsters; absolute powerlessness breeds absolute evil.

I have often asked myself when I knew that I had gone too far. It wasn’t in the hospital – the hospital was where that side of me met his gruesome end. It wasn’t even when I had hurt those close to me, letting the rage consume me completely.

It was when I realized that I had no fear. None at all. I feared nothing, not even the thought of losing more loved ones. I had begun to feel as if I was completely unstoppable – that there was nothing that they could do, anyone could do, to stop me from taking what I felt I deserved.

I had become a man who could survive…but could not thrive.

Now, I fear many things. I fear that I was not alone – that others have let themselves be just as misguided as I was, to lose themselves in a blissful symphony of hatred and anger and corrupted love. I fear that we have corrupted love, not on an individual scale, but throughout the entire world. I fear that I was wrong when I said at first that we were still salvageable, that we could fix this still. Sometimes, I am deathly afraid, that we cannot stop the hatred and the anger, and that all we can do is slow it. 

Sometimes, I am afraid that even the stars, the brilliant lights in the night sky that hold back the darkness, will go out, one by one, until there is nothing left but the touch of death and sadness. 

Sometimes, I am afraid that I was wrong. 

Perhaps though, I am not. I do not think that I am – I think that this blog itself, is a exercise in demonstrating that I am indeed right. That there is hope, there is happiness. In everything, in the entire world, there is happiness. If nothing else, I think that I am right about that one theory – that we still have good in us. That even at our worst, we can still be saved.

That even at our most evil, we still have good in us. It’s the only thing that makes sense to me, that explains what happened to me. It’s the only thing that explains what happened to us. I just hope that i’m alive to see it.

And one day, I hope that none of us, not one of us on earth, will have a memory of what drawing blood looks like.

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