Tortured by Hope and Dreams

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I am in my last month of torture. If those bastards are telling me the truth, I have one month left before I'm free from this hell. I'm preparing myself, not for release from their grip, but for a month of suffering. I'm expectant. 31 days, 744 hours, 44,640 minutes, 2,678,400 seconds, that are going down as I'm writing! Haha! Optimism? No. That's probably just my stupid humor.

One month. One month.

You can do it. Just hold on a little longer.

This torture though, going through all of this, I'm not sure if it's ever really going to end. I probably went through some of the worst experiences a human can bear, and the most horrific things were those that I witnessed within myself.

As much as I hated this life. I really hated myself as well. Weak, pathetic, bitter, mean, the list goes on and on. There were so many things about myself that I didn't want to know. Such ugliness, baseness, things I wish I could stand above. But no, during this period of torture, I realized how weak my will could be, how acerbic my thoughts could become, how many vertebrae my spine consisted of, and what it took to break each bone until I was left with nothing to hold on to. I got to know, painfully, who I became when everything was violently whittled away and I hated that person. I didn't want to be that. Didn't want that person, that thing, to be me.

I am tortured by this knowledge of myself. I'm ashamed, so so ashamed.

I'm afraid that this torture will never end. Even if I'm released by the end of this month, I'm worried that this is how it's going to be from now on. I'm worried if this is all I've ever been and ever will be.

Has this torture followed me my whole life? Will it only leave me when it finds I no longer have a pulse in my veins that it can inflict pain on?

Even if things change, I will continue to live with this heart, body, and soul. This tortured heart, body, and soul.