Sunday, April 7, 2013

it's raining today

as it has for the past few days

it doesn't seem like all that long ago that it was sunny. a small, bright patch amongst the gray in my mind. sitting in front of this very same window. letting the rays wash over me. warm me. stir awake some part of me that was in a coma for so long. a part of me that smiled and joked with David when he walked in. curious by the sound of music playing. explaining with a smile just as warm as the rays were that that - music - was what had come first for him too. back when he had been rebuilding. back when... he'd been where i am. to which "a million times kinder than thinking" had been my little add on. only to then ask if he'd mind sitting down if he was planning on joining me. so as to save me a crick in my neck from having to look UP at him all the time. kidding him of how he'd grown fond of such a  thing.

he seemed genuinely happy

complimenting me on my music choice

i was listening to Kenny G

most people know of David's... love for pop music. Ke$ha. Pink. or even something from High School Musical. but... really, he listens to anything. likes anything. which was good for me, as pop has never really been my thing. but it wasn't... the kind of music that was important. having any music at all on was an improvement in his eyes. and it was. least it felt it at the time. the day felt... like i was taking the first breath of fresh air that i'd taken in years. it felt like... a beginning. like i had turned a corner in my life. in my recovery. i felt warm. and though the nerves still twitched beneath my skin... i, perhaps, didn't feel so... transparent. so worn through. used up and ringed out.

being able to sleep can truly work wonders sometimes

it was also the day... that i began a journal

"So this thing you're trying...         
It has to do with the 'sins' you feel you haven't paid for?"         

          "...Something like that, yes.
          I know that... for the most part, I've suffered enough. 
          I've lost enough. 
          Those I murdered in the Service 
          were allowed to have their last laugh when I...
          broke to pieces under R-Redlight's boot. 
          So many of the words I used were... 
          nearly borrowed from the last moments of my own victims. 
          But they at least had last moments.
          I never did. 
          It just went on and on and on and it just... 
          got worse and worse every time...
          for them, I paid my due. For most, I have. 
          But that still leaves a few on my shoulders. 
          And I can't... run from that. 
          I can't hide. 
          I just... have to try. 
          The best I can.
          And I thought writing might...
          help me face it.
          Or some of it, at least."

"...Is it too soon to hug you again?"         

a little... writing experiment... to try to deal with my past

David was so... amazed at the time. proud even. that i'd decided to try something on my own. baby step, though it was, my ex-assassin friend didn't allow me the chance to downplay it. going on about how he'd only been able to hope i'd start doing things on my own. admitting that he hadn't even been sure that i'd ever get to that point. that most wouldn't. that most didn't even come close to going through as much as i had. leave alone get to the other side and have the motivation needed... to reach past all the negativity and simply try. try something. try anything.

anything to help sort through the mess in my head. and maybe find some logic. some... solid ground. maybe.

it was the first time... i really started to feel comfortable beneath my own skin.

David and i must have talked for hours that day. i struggled with my words as always, but David was patient with me. as he always is. affording me the time to piece what i wanted together. holding my hand much of the time. contact that i welcomed. even sought out, sometimes. my own rope tied to the dock when the waves of memories start pulling me away. tipping my concentration one way or the other. threatening to send whatever fragile focus i have sliding right off the deck and into the black and bloody waters below....

but now...

"One hobby, Sam. Just one.         
That's all I ask.         
And the journal doesn't count.         
It lets you wallow.         
Just one hobby."         
          "...Once upon a time, 
          not that long ago
          you were HAPPY I was writing again."

Fantastically happy..          
But now, it's all you ever do.          
And it's no longer helping you.          
You've been pulling away, Sam.         
Do you really think I don't see that?"         

David and i... had a fight today

he was... pushing me. trying to... explain to me just how much i had going for me. that my own disability made me... useless to nearly everyone. i could leave, and no one would call me back. that i could do anything i wanted. go anywhere i wanted. that i could travel the world. that i could even return to teaching. to the classroom.

i cut him off at that thought

telling him that i could never teach again.

adding just enough bite in my tone that... i thought... i'd get my message across

but he just... kept pushing. saying i could do something else then. anything. going on about how he was sure that i had an excuse as to why i couldn't do any of it, but that i had to do something.  more than just sitting in my room writing in my book all day... he said that the thought of me leaving - of not needing him anymore - upset him... but that it was something i had to do. something... i had to move forward towards...

          "...I don't... see me leaving, David.
          I've seen enough of the world.
          There's nothing out there for me."

"Nothing out there yet.         
You think you've seen it all,         
or at least all that you want to see.         
But wait long enough, and something will spark you.         
You have a clean slate, Sam.         
You don't want to waste it here with me.         
And I certainly won't let you."          

i felt... suffocated by those words. swallowing hard to get past the lump in my throat. i tried but failed to keep my front up. eyes dropping to my lap where my fingers picked at my own sleeves. a small... nervous habit of mine...

          "...You don't understand.
          You're... not trying to gain back a life, David. 
          You're making one. 
          One... you never had. 
          I was... normal before. 
          The Organization turned me into a Soldier. 
          Now I'm... supposed to be normal again...? 
          It's cruel. 
          Way too cruel..."

and David refused to let my gaze go. lifting my chin back up.

"Then don't be normal again.         
I know you think you're useless, but you're not.         
You've got your mind, your will, you compassion.         
It's all there, even if it's shattered.         
 Melt it down and make something stronger.          
 If you can't go back... don't.          
Make something.         
I always wondered what it would be like         
 if you stopped feeding into your hopeless worldview         
and CREATED something.         
You think I'm impressive?         
 I'd be nothing compared to you."         

i closed my eyes

and said the same thing i've told him so many times over: I'm trying.

silence stretched... and then i pulled out of David's arms... and reached for my journal. i just... felt so stressed. i needed to write. i needed...

but David grabbed it from me... and threw it out the window

that's when the real yelling started

i just wish... it would stop raining.

if only for a little while...

but it just keeps pouring down

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