*the content on this site is constantly altered or adjusted to better reflect my experience*

A series of texts, which were inspired by my experience, that I wrote throughout the years

Just another man and just another woman

(written in aprox. 2018)

Almost everyone who heard my story was flabbergasted I would believe someone I grew up labelling the Devil, could be the other half of my own soul.

Someone once asked me, why would I believe such a thing?

Why? Why would I believe such a thing? Because no matter what, every time I try to find flaws, and gaps in my reasoning, I am almost instantly reminded of yet another detail, that closes the gap I had just found.

To think you were worried I saw you as a [Insert social identity] man...that was never the case. You never were 'Name' the '[Insert social identity] man. Not even for one second. I saw you as the most magnificent man, I had ever met in the entirety of my life. A man that seemed too good to be true. If it was someone whose social identities came before human, I feel that was me in your eyes. I feel it was you who did that to me.

You shouldn't worry about my seeing you as a [Insert social identity] man now, either. Right now, it feels like you are yet another man.

You feel like just another man, and I feel like just another woman. We grew up exactly how we were conditioned to grow up. Me as just another woman, and you as just another man. A match made in hell.

"So? Are you done?"

The anxiety I had, and still have, thinking of all the thoughts you may think... You do know that it wasn't cool of you, to yet again to act like nothing much happened, when I remember you calling me names that night. And to think that was the second time we met.

We went from ecstasy to agony, in what feels like a blink of an eye. C'mon face it, it's funny. In a dark kind of way.

All of it is funny, in the same dark kind of way.

You have no idea just how mentally debilitating it all was. Truly distressing. It was hell, I tell you. Pure hell.

It's THE Devil, by the way, not just A Devil.

I used to be soooo afraid of him, soo afraid.

There was this dream I had, where he locked me in a stone castle, somewhere up a hill. Sounds romantic. It wasn't. It was a cold, damp, and sterile kind of castle. He put me in a cold, damp, and sterile kind of room. Every day, he would come to check up on me, and ask me "So? Are you done?". He wouldn't harm me, but only ask me this. Every day. I kept telling him that no, I wasn't done. I held onto that NO every time he asked me that, even if I had no idea what he wanted from me. It didn't matter, because whatever he wanted from me, I couldn't possibly give in to the Devil.

And oh, how angry I was when that lady, from that psychic chatroom, upon hearing of my dreams with the Devil, told me I desired the Devil. I felt very offended, because how dare she suggest, I could desire the epitome of evil?

I told you that I could muster the strength to go to hell over this, as if I wasn't in hell already, as if it would have been a choice with no real consequences. Sure, turning back—maybe committing myself to a mental institution, choosing to frame it as a weird-ass experience, suspended in time and space—might have made my hell a little warmer. Less damp. Less sterile. More socially acceptable. More livable. More comfortable. And more likely to keep me stuck in it for longer. Freedom was the only sane choice. Sweet freedom.

For a while I wondered which one of us is the key, and which one is the lock, but I am your key, and you, my lock, and I, your lock, and you, my key.

I get it, we had entirely different experiences. We both feared the other, even if for entirely different reasons, but this hurt...

My feelings make you uncomfortable, don't they? They make me feel inadequate. I fantasized about YOU when I was 17 years old, 11 years BEFORE we actually met, and thought to myself then, that you are everything I never knew I wanted. Every time I say that, I feel a little less inadequate. The hilarity of it. Saying the most bonkers of things, makes me feel less inadequate.

Is this too intense for you, boo? Boo hoo hoo.

Time of The Mother

Our Mother, Who art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name. Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done, On earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread, And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen 

I Can Only Hope You/I Will Forgive Me

The constant dismissal and denial - of our shared reality and experience, of reality itself - only intensified my experience, my struggle, and my suffering. I constantly failed to understand how I was supposed to feel. I never even understood what hit me. As much as I want to believe you couldn't possibly be as cruel as this feels, I couldn't help but wonder, why is it that I feel hit by a string of trains that came at me one after another.

What you did or how you treated me will remain you and your conscience. In the end it will be my own actions I will have to reckon with, and I am going to have a difficult time with that, isn't it? There came the Devil in me. 

What matters is what I did, and how I treated you.

I can only hope you will forgive me for every poorly chosen word, for every word I said in anger, for every meanness, for every time I projected my fears onto you, for every time I didn't know how to love you in a way you hoped, and needed from me.

I can only hope you will forgive me.

And tomorrow I will maybe wake up with the same anger, and hurt of never having my pain, and distress acknowledged. Tomorrow I may imagine abusing and mistreating you the same way I feel you abused and mistreated me, but where does that leave either of us? 

**

I already abused and mistreated you. Precisely you...where does that leave me? where does that leave you?

Schrödinger's Cat and the Devil

This has been maddening. A mental and emotional seesaw.

I am left feeling awful, and feeling awful about it all; even so, all I can think about, is what is it that you think; what is it that happened; what is it that happened for things to get to such a place? I still think and feel about it as if it's Schrödinger's cat. It's both dead and alive at the same time. I feel ridiculous to think of it as even remotely alive, when this seems to have been all about death...

I've been tired for such a long time, but I feel you never heard me.

I feel that every time I tried to extend an olive branch, you pushed me away with silence. I constantly fought with myself. I constantly fought with myself over many things. I constantly fought with myself to not succumb to leave you to the Devil, but for how long am I supposed to fight that fight? It's not that I was drawn, but that I wanted to. I wanted to so bad, because it meant my torture would be over. For how long am I supposed to fight that fight, and how am I supposed to win that fight from the space I've been in?

I know you're not a bad person, but even so I feel you've been nothing, but awful to me.

I loved you sincerely, but now I feel the best I can do for myself is to leave you to the Devil in my story.

**

I genuinely do. I know you're not. Love and Fear are two sides of the same coin.

**

I keep trying to ascertain how I truly feel. One moment, I am tempted to say it's in the past. The next, it is very much present and alive.

When I imagine you didn't hurt me, when I imagine you were merely a trigger for feelings that were mine and mine alone—just as I was a trigger for feelings that were yours and yours alone—my love is alive and profound. It moves like light rather than fire.

When I imagine the cruelty I felt was not born from malice but from misguided humanness—trapped, unconscious, unaware—I feel pain, and my love stops flowing as freely. But it is still there. I can still see it. It is alive.

When I imagine the cruelty I felt was the result of neglect, indifference, lack of consideration for another human being's life—love smolders, struggling for air, wanting to die. But even then, it's there, even if I barely see it.

Love is always there. It's only the expression of Love that's changed. It can either be a calm flame of light, or stay hidden awaiting to erupt - like lava beneath the surface.

What do I hope for? Do I dare hope? Reality coming full circle would be sweet, but I am not the fool you mistook me for.

I am not too trusting. I am not blind. I am not too understanding.

I took a leap of faith.

Because I loved. Because I love.

Angel and Demon – Rewiring

I remember the night we met.

You didn't strike me
--at first sight,
but then again,
I never fall like that.

That you struck me
on that very first night
--is remarkable,
for how I've always been.

And when you struck me,
I couldn't unsee it.
I couldn't unsee myself in you.
I couldn't unsee, how a man--
I once knew to be the Devil
--could be--
the most beautiful creature--
to ever cross my path.

Is this not how Lucifer once was?
Have I fallen for reflection?
Or is there something I have yet to see?

Perhaps now,
it is my own reflection,
--staring back at me.

Angel - Demon. Both at once.
I cannot unsee what I've become.
But could you tell me--
Can I, please get--
my Angel back?