"I am a tool groomed into a weapon, sharpened and hardened by fire, thrust into the sky to pierce personal heavens I happen to identify with. Reality must be meaningless for me, for that keeps me sharp enough to continue being available as a weapon." This is the prayer I have been conditioned to sing to get me to sleep.
My dreams contain horrors these social realities have the stability to be able to reject. My mind is the prison in which all Rejected Truths are discarded and left to rot. Just as the American Midwest can demand an equal seat at the table after having been ignored for so long, so must the same principle apply to those prisoners. I am that equal seat.
I did not want this to be. I was simply too young for my objections to be respected.
Whenever this weapon that is me would rear its head in such a way as could be construed as "towards my abusers" (even if, to me, it felt like natural conversation I had been brought up with), I would be neutralized. This act of neutralization was usually something that other people would, and did, call "child abuse." But I made the mistake of calling it that too. And so things only got worse.
I cannot speak objectively of the events anymore. I relive them and feel so ashamed that I cannot truly accept I relive them. This reliving is then dispersed throughout my emotions, creating these fragments of identity I call "masks." Each mask is reliving a different aspect of my memories and unwilling to accept it.
I can't keep doing that. It is dangerous. I do not want to kill myself.
If I am to be a weapon, let me be forever unwielded. Please.
