Rex

So on my list of things to do today is the following:

"Write something - anything."

Write something. I mean, by the bare minimum of my requirements, I've done that now. I've recorded a few words, and I'm going to hit the big orange publish button and jettison those words from my screen into cyberspace, and the obligation is fulfilled. But I think I was supposed to do something a bit more, you know? I think the implication, from Past Me (that mythical figure I keep invoking) to Future Me (that all too real figure that, alas, I inhabit now) was that by writing something I would achieve some catharsis  get out some angst, and feel better about myself and about my situation.

You know, it's already working? I haven't said anything of substance, but it's working. Here, I am king. I can write something - anything. That's great. That's actually really great to know that I have a place that won't talk back (unless somebody comments, which is rare), that won't be used against me, that won't come back and bite me on the ass later - just a place to vomit words and be content with that.

So, what to write. I can write anything, remember.

In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.

I really, really like that phrase at the moment. I'm not sure when my eye was plucked out, exactly. Maybe I traded it for arcane lore and lost secrets that drove me mad. Maybe it was torn out when I was thrown down a set of stairs or held up against a wall by my throat, or maybe I dropped it carelessly in my excited flight to Melbourne and away from my old life. Maybe I closed my eye forever when I came out to my family and friends, maybe I lost that eye when I refused to keep both at the cost of my principles. Maybe I tore out my eye to be like my father, or my mother, or my brother. Maybe my eye wasn't worth keeping, maybe I was born with a defective eye, maybe my eye was poked out by people who say they're one thing and live as something else (yes, I am talking about you). Maybe it's all of these things. Maybe, down in the dirt or up in the clouds, I simply decided that my life had warped me into a cyclops. I mean, who needs two eyes? One is good enough. I think I value my vision more with just the one, especially because I'm surrounded by people perfect in ocular ability and utterly deficient in sight!

It's a metaphor. Not a very good one, but it'll serve for the moment.

A few days ago I came very close to killing myself. That's not a nice thing to happen to anybody, and yet it isn't the first time it has happened to me. Losing an eye hurts, but living half-blind hurts more. I don't think that my body and soul will ever really get past what was done to me, what I did to myself - but bit by bit, inch by inch, I'm clawing myself back out of the pit that I've fallen into, and though my eye might be red with tears, bloodshot and bleary, it gives more than enough sight for me to see my path.

Sure, I might be monstrous and I might be wrong and I might have completely lost touch with reality, and all of the woe that has befallen me might be my fault (though that is a hell of a stretch, even for somebody as prone to wallowing as me). I might be warped and twisted and beyond repair - but the good thing about monsters is that they have claws and huge teeth and they're dangerous, real deep down dangerous, the stuff that primal fears and nightmares are made of. So I have that, if I ever need it - and as long as I don't turn those teeth and claws on myself, I should be able to get by. It'll just take practice. They're sharp and they're hungry, but they can be tamed.

In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.

You can call me Rex.

I'm not going anywhere.