People have many preconceived notions about London. It’s actually a lot more like this where I grew up.
Archive for March 17, 2017
Recently I’ve been thinking about myself a lot. I’ve never really ran away from a battle. I stand there and fight, against an enemy, for something I believe in. Against myself even. The battles are perpetual. The thing about battles is you get scars, physical and emotional. With enough scars you become as ugly as you seem.
I’m covered in them. Some have faded, some are visible and others invisible to the naked eye. When it gets cold my skin gets pale, all my scars are revealed. I’m covered in them, each has a story. Together they are a mural of wars won and lost. People find them disconcerting, I’ve had people get nervous around me as a result of them.
Constant battles have turned me into a demon. Recently a woman I’ve come to admire asked me if I look for wars to fight. She said that I always have a choice to not fight. She questioned whether I love the battles and that’s why I fight them. I remember a point in my life where if it were not for anger I would have layed down and died.
Recently I had an argument with someone I love very much. Then and only then did I feel like a monster. A demon. When you battle against someone you love there are no winners only losers. The victory was a bitter one. Felt like eating glass.
Sure I got her to admit her wrong but at what cost. A knife so long I might as well have stabbed myself with it. You hurt someone you truly care about and only later do you realise that you’re only hurting yourself. A self inflicted wound, my gift an impeccable aim. All the ashes piled up in my wake.
Thing is you can’t fight over ashes. My intent wasn’t malicious. When she took a shot at me I responded in kind but I forget at times that not everyone is like I am. A demon. Not everyone can take that and get back up. Some people are fragile. Usually I would say it’s not my problem seeing as you took a shot at me first.
To see the look on her face, I felt like I’d kicked a puppy. She looked betrayed and like I had hurt her badly. I felt like a monster at that point. Suddenly none of it mattered. I feel like I shot her in the heart and only when she lay bleeding before me did I realise that I had shot myself.
A man on fire, I had burned everything I held dear. Right and wrong didn’t matter. Just the look on her face as I fired words like bullets. It was the moment I stopped to think that she wasn’t my enemy and I had originally come to talk. I calmed down then.
That’s the thing, they never do see your perspective until it’s forced upon them.
Do I regret telling her the truth. No. Do I regret hurting her with it, Yes.
Was it worth it? No. Hopefully something will change. I’ve realised my capacity for destruction and what all the battles have made me.