Specter At The Feast

I am the ghost of Christmas depravity. Don’t worry, you have to fuck up real bad to end up here.

I’ve made myself alone, always. Even when surrounded by people, laughing and smiling. What I’ve done is always there, in the background, separating us. If they only knew…

There’s no way to make it ok, or wipe the slate clean. I have to live with what I am, with the fear and shame of it. I am not safe to be around people – not safe to exist in the same world or breathe the same air.

I deserve worse than this. To be trapped with the knowledge of what I’ve done, the full awfulness of it, with no escape – that would be hell. Right now there are the distractions of life. But who knows what the future holds?

This is not remorse. Remorse requires turning a page, renouncing the past. I’m the same monster I always was. I’m just slightly more self-aware. I know how wrong what I am is. But that changes nothing. I am the same. It’s as strong in my mind as ever, maddening and intoxicating.

There’s no recovery, no coming back from this, no peace to be found in this world. Only the hope that when I finally die, that will truly be the end of me. That I will return to earth and grass, air and water, leaving no trace to stain the world.

If anyone reads this, don’t let yourself end up here. Find someone, anyone, who you can open yourself to, and be real with. Before it’s too late, and you’re too far gone.