You know what fucking frustrates me? Having this crap left over and for once when I need to make a few bucks from it for personal and emotional reasons the fucking well has run dry. I have some amazing shit I should be holding onto for my son, at the end of the day, after the end of this bullshit I owe him that, everything I've done without him, but the fact I find myself constantly compromising over what does and doesn't have value and being given choices that leave me wondering why the fuck I'm constantly struggling for? This is the first time I've ever quite questioned the true value of all this crap, I've gotten jaded and angry at the world worse than I already was, and I have been fucked over by people, and what's left? A last gasp at the holidays to hopefully drum up a few bucks? Is that what the mighty Sikkbones is reduced to? I built this thing up alone, it was my blood, swear and tears, I alone took the fucking hit when someone didn't get paid. I got ripped off and stabbed in the back, and when it came time for bill repayment? No one was there. So long and thanks for all the shit. I won't complain about the last year and I won't complain about the sacrifices I have now, but I do know if people kept their word I wouldn't be hurting now. I fucking hate being owed money by ghosts and thieves. I hate more when some of those ghosts and thieves used false flags of friendship to find their way into my inner circle to further their own agenda. That's ancient history, but I am still annoyed that what's left and what's got value are things that should taking up space in his glass cabinets as a monument to daddy's struggles the last few years, a monument to the fact he is and never has been forgot about, not being sold to take care of buisness yet agian. It's my choice, but it's starting to ring very fucking hollow. I am not getting ahead, it's done it's job, it's time to be done, it's time to be something that was a part of my life when I needed it most, there needs to be a psychical reminded, but it's not somewhere that I'm going back to revisit. It's going to be something that happened, I'm done with it, but I still want something to reflect on where I've been the last 3 years. I shouldn't just be left with the trash at the end of the day. My choice, but when does sacrifice for others mean I'm not giving up for my own? It's time to find a healthy balance, fuck the toys they are meaningless, it's about memories, and of them I have very few, the ones I do have, they have pyshical significance in certain figures, some of them will be kept. But the stuff I'm in a rock and a hard place with? That's frustrating, I know I will never find these things agian, but the reality is this was never meant to be sustaining. I was lucky it lasted as long as it did, that the theif didn't take everything, and that what needed to be paid for did, all of it, but don't blame me if the last few years don't hold many positive memories and while there is a need to document the moment due to it's nature for the one person I was not allowed to share it with, I won't be looking back on it, not fondly, not ever. It will remain something I did to survive, period. It's time to find something new to survive on. I sometimes wonder if doing what's right is always the right thing. I'm a good person at heart and not fucking greedy, but when I realize anything I have worked hard for is just turning into fleeting grains of sand in my hand, I wonder was this effort worth it? Will I ever been at this place agian and be able to do these things agian this freely? That's the cruel choice, it's either the how or the why? But I need to decide what's left, to honour a memory that's important to me, to show, I did this, I was here, you were never forgotten about, or let it all pass thru my hands to feed today's agenda, one I have no illusions of lasting past tomorrow, that has been made abundantly clear in the last little while... A day soon, I am going to have to decide, and it's not just about what reflects in the mirror and the glass shelves I bought to house a fractured, bitter memory tinged with sadness about how it could have been, what it fucking should have been. Some sacrifices have had to be made, and certain fucking things promised, will be delivered, I'm an asshole, but I'm no theif, and no scam artist and a promise made is a promise kept. I don't need things hidden in a box as a fucking memory of someone I used to be a long time ago, when I had a social life, when I could afford luxuries for myself like a handful of comic books every week, the odd cd, so much has been stripped from me I honestly wonder what's really the true me and what's just a replacement for the void in my life that's always been there, it fucking days something a few weeks ago when I walk into rogues gallery and a fleeting acquaintance from the old days, not truly a friend remembers me. None of this shit will ever replace the man I was, the father I left all of my freinds behind to become, my education in ashes, thanks to her my career shortly followed behind, I rise from the fire and became a phoenix and found something else that sustained me long enough to provide for this long endless war, but I always knew it had a shelf life and that I was lucky it lasted as long as it did. I just want to be able to say I was here, what I did mattered, what's left over is a memory etched in time saved for you. It is fucking maddening staring at some of this shit and feeling a disconnect from the happy little boy I knew, and the fact you are becoming a man, a much diffrent man than intended, the guilt for that does not completely weigh on my shoulders, but it haunts me staring at one of your favorite toys and being reminded of everything taken away, the simple moments stolen due to selfishness, the choices made that were never mine. I have made choices, I will continue to make choices but it's time to bury the recent past. Your belongings, the things that remain that I have worked hard for you to have the past few years, even if they are just a reflection of you're younger years, they will stand testament to a fathers love, to the fact I never doubted for a second that one day I will get you home, that's the only reason they were ever important, that's the only fucking reason they are important now. I wonder if some of it will haunt me. I see a lot of bitterness when I close my eyes to reflect on the last three years, it wasn't all good. I need something to reflect that their were good parts, but I'm not looking back on it, not fondly, not in anger, not ever, it's a previous chapter in my story, that chapter has been closed. I'm no longer looking back on it, I just want something to reflect back on it to remind me it wasn't all bad, it had purpose, and maybe at the end you got something from it, instead of most of my endeavours in life, where it's all taken from both of us, and all I'm left with is the fucking bones.
Current mood: Frustrated.
Darkness will always be...its own master..
...it begins with isolation - demons always inhabit desolate places...
No one was meant to see hell before they got there. No one should have to live with the devil. So many homilies on faith were ruined once you no longer required it for belief
Still there are some, braver and more valiant than their peers, who face their demons head on, staring defiantly into the shadows, demanding forgiveness.
But maybe you carried your demons with you everywhere, the way you carried your shadow.
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