Journey to Hell

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
I brief view inside the mind of an adult. Who was abused as a child. Acknowledging that abuse and looking deeper.

Submitted: March 27, 2008

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Submitted: March 27, 2008



Journey To Hell

It is time to begin the journey into my own personal hell. It is made just for me. It knows all of my fears and weaknesses and exploits them with impunity. Never again will I feel safe. I will fight to save my illusions until I cry out in pain, my life hanging by the thin thread of hope.
I don’t know why I am in so much pain. I have an Idea but I am afraid to look deeper. I know it is the only way out of this hell. Death would be easy compared to what I must face. My own demons, my own fears, my own self-hatred. To tear my body limb from limb would be a joy unequaled to what I will feel. Oh, the sweet, silent sleep of death, I would welcome you. I am waiting, but I know you will not come, for I am not yet finished, I must suffer before I die.
I spoke to myself, the words that I heard from deep inside my tormented heart. “It is time to find the root of all your pain. Do not look back and do not hesitate, or you will never proceed and you will surely die a fate worse than death.”
I can’t take this anymore. How is it that I have come to this place? This dark angry place that is full of despair and loathing. To bleed is to feel what I otherwise cannot feel. The pain of truth gushes from my veins, like so much crimson lust! Drowning me in my own condemned fluids.
Help is not anywhere to be found in this horrid palace. Who would dare enter here out of caring and love? They would surely perish. No, there is no entrance for the noble-minded martyr.
If there is peace to be found, I will not know it. It is hidden and will only surface when I am awaiting death. To have peace in life is a lie that we all strive to achieve by many mortal means. Fruitless pursuits giving us false hope that we will one day find our own salvation. Only, to discover it upon our deathbeds, too late to enjoy and never to be shared with the ones we love.
A child brings hope. A child finds joy and love where we cannot or do not dare to look.
Their hope is short lived though, as they become increasingly aware of the insanity of this world. Their hearts will shrivel and die, their joy and peace crushed under the ideals of this insane world. This world believes that all will be well. While at the same time piercing the hearts of their very flesh and blood, their children. The screams well up to a feverish pitch, yet they are never heard. The child dies and becomes one with the insanity.
Forging ahead with the strength of a mule. I squandered my passion on worthless aspirations. But I thought I was there? I thought I was complete. My fear has returned and I have been defeated.
Come with me now, to the place whose name I will not speak of, to the depths of all insanity. Here is where it nests, a beast in hiding, waiting to strike at the precise moment. Devouring me, with the voraciousness of a lustful bastard in heat. Clawing and tearing flesh, crimson and white, blood and bone. Dark, and silent, sweet and peaceful.

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