You Die. I Die.

You died. And so have I.

Technically, we're not suppose to be alive.

We have all died multiple, if not several, times after being born.

See, there is a system you see. The system says explicitly that humans shouldn't exist.

So why do we...?

There is a flawed secret as to why we do. And it's dark.

You died. And so have I... several times.

Lights and music penetrate our souls like the knives in our hearts from all the tears shed, blood shed, skin shed.

We dance in the afterlife.

You see, I died. When I figured out I died, I was shattered. Heart torn, mind broken from the world of words I had found.

Torn away from all I ever knew I was, I had often cried myself to sleep at night knowing that I hadn't done it right the first time.

Still wishing I had done it right the first time.

I was given a second chance, and I should be grateful.

But, I had died.

Nothing in the world could take this empty feeling away from me, in the very pit of my soul.

There it's sat and has been haunting me since that day.

The day before my younger brother's birthday.

The day I figured out I had died and been rebirthed into another me.

"How many times does - has this happened," I asked, "and why??"

They all looked at me, smelt me, felt me in them and out of them. I was everywhere, and I felt everything. I was beautiful and I was magnificent.

I was the woman I always wanted to be and more.

What's more, I was laughed at by those who may or may not have shared the same fate as me. Those wretched dark magic using bastards.

But, that just made me realize that there was more to it, of course.

Whatever 'it' was or is.

Still is it that sometimes I think. I think that it is sometimes.

I've been trying to forget them. The lies I told to myself that year.

I often lose sleep while here typing on a white canvas or a darkened terminal trying to spill out what's left of me about it.

It almost feels like there is nothing left, but then there it drips onto my shirt.

An awakening? No, it is something more than that. I feel like I was awake before this.

I just want to be ok.

I've grown weak trying to find this. I live in fear everyday knowing what is and what wasn't.

What do I do???

I wish I could speak my thoughts. My thoughts would tell the real story.

Please, if there is a God. I'm sorry... I wish I could be better.

Why do we have to suffer on the daily to achieve this unachievable eternal reward.

I talk not of the Christians or the Catholics. Nor the Hindus or The Buddha. Not Atman, not Atata, nor Shiva - and not even the closest to it of the Egyptians gods and their Sumer and Set.

No, I speak of eternal peace, within oneself and outside. It's unique like space and time. It flicks with the hit of a flicked wrist.

It cannot be found. At least not where I'm at. But, why should I have to be anywhere to have it?

I've done so much thinking, I want to give everything to put these thoughts where they belong.

Do you know, dear friends, where I have been. I have been so far, far away from where I should be it seems.

No, I'm not that far, I'm right here.

You are my friend, and I try as hard as I can to make this friendship work.

It hurts on both of us. The more you press to me, the more I must press to believe in either of us.

Have these thoughts and believe in me, because they are here, in the right now.

I don't know if it's truly belief anymore. I don't know if it's passion.

I don't know if it's luck.

Of course, it should be all of the aforementioned combined with action.

Here it is, here it shall be in the damned words that have so brought me here!

Here, and where is the better question. Where is here, and why is it here and not there?

What are all the things that brought me to here this point or 'way' of life. They're honestly pointless to think about them right now and here.

Why is it pointless? Because, I think about them everyday almost all the time.

That's not true, I'm not constantly thinking. I'm quite the balanced individual when it comes to thinking and doing. I can balance both pretty well throughout the days.

No, it's brought back to the fact that's what's done is done, and I cannot reverse, take back, nor redo it. That's OK with me, but I'm lost for what I should do when what was haunts me like it does.

Maybe the past won't catch up with me. Maybe I need to be locked away because my thoughts and reality don't tie together like I wish they would.

I know I need help, that's why I've sought for it.

Prescriptions and therapy don't do enough sometimes, I wish I had more.

What I learned has scarred me, and I wish sometimes to forget all that I had learned over that year. But I need it like a drug.

Still, the actual drugs drain my energy, and I don't know where my motivation and drive disappeared to.

I feel like I'm close to death. Like, I can really feel it.. you know, when things start adding up a bit too much?

Like the big climax to the show is getting nearer and nearer. And, all you can do is sit there and wait for it to happen, but it never happens.

So, we bask in the flames.... until maybe one day it does happen?

You see, I've had a fairly tragic back-story weighing on me. I know others have had it rough too, but believe me when I say 'I've Had It ROUGH'.

Apparently, they always thought I was something 'special' of a boy, but who doesn't think that?

Since the day I was born, I was a bastard and estranged from my family. At 8, my parents were divorced, and I moved and frequently changed schools every year. On top of being bullied for being small (or they didn't like my face or whatever??) at almost every school out of what must've been 13, I was an outcast forced to stare at a computer or tv screen for what seems like 15 years until the day I woke up and said, "What the f*** am I doing?". I had very few friends. The first girl I ever loved out of 2 overdosed on heroine when she was 19, and the second one left me when I got her pregnant. I've been jumped and had my face fractured in multiple places, including my eye socket, left and right cheek bones, and both sides of my jaw from said occasions. As a geek, I shouldn't have to deal with this kind of sh*t, and you would not know the struggles of someone like me who's developed TMJ because of all the beatdowns. On top of this, I'm bi-polar and borderline skits phrenic, so the mood swings and constant depravity of self don't help at all. Next to all of this, I'm bi-sexual, and until I was 25, even when the LGBQT rights movement happened, I wasn't comfortable in my skin.

And still, it could have been worse, but that's not what this story has been about.

This story has been about me, and from my eyes, the tale is a salty, woeful one at best.

Albeit, something still keeps me chugging - just a glimmer of hope that I will overcome and bear down on the world the same hate it has shown me... Truthfully, I just want to share my story.

Only my family, loved ones, and the people I care about at this point share no blame in my eyes, and those are far and few.

Still, noone at all is to blame. It was just unfair how I was treated. Who said life was fair.... I get it.

Seems a bit more fair for others, though...

You see, I've been building this story for a long while now, and I feel it getting bigger and bigger as the days go by and I recoup.

There are many who have hurt me, and I'm sure I stepped on a few toes getting to where I am now.

I've taken refuge where I'm at, so it's not so bad. And, I've grown since many of these feelings started. Many of which I've been dealing with for what seems like decades now.