How To Survive In A Dump: The Diary of Mr. Thaddeus

Better Times Must Come

I am sure it is around November 7th. Christmas will be soon.

It should not be to any human's surprise that my hate for any holiday, especially Christmas was like that of a slow boiling nausea. To see the likes of families and children in rambunctious agony was a threat to my own inner peace. Even as I look upon this disaster that my grand parent would call a cabin, I see drawn images of family, friends and little white square walls within the crevices of each person's orifice. And yet, despite my own inner turmoil I notice within my self a longing to be part. To finally have the experience that so many have loved which was torn away from me. How might I ask if the stories are true.

 That such a great being would come forth from a kingdom of great beauty and splendor, live amongst this wretched filth and die for those who would later spit upon his face and disgrace his name. How could He let those who I loved so dearly pass away. This seems to be a recurring reflection I have often had. Somewhat like a dream. I do recall this pain that I once held close to my heart along with the memory. I do not remember how oft and how that it may have come across in my remembrance, but I could imagine it could have been multiple times this hurt has often plagued me.

Is it not strange that such a memory appeared to have been...If there is a way to say it...taken from my core or in a sense misplaced in such a way like that of an heirloom or a lost coin once cherished? Never that such a memory should be cherished, but I have lost that which I may have held dear. Companionship and love. Memories that I have only began to recall as of now when these parental were to take me to places that I once enjoyed such as the store or playing in the snow. If you can give me but a moment as again, I am felt of emotions that appear to be difficult upon my person.

A few hours later I shall write again...

Upon completion of our most recent trip, we find ourselves near what many would call the Abyssinia. It is fascinating seeing the various peoples that now reside in her. People of numerous colors and shapes. I want ought to speak to them, but I fear that in my own ignorance of other languages, such a conversation might be found difficult. It appears that many are with so much joy in their community and they share with each other. In such a way that confuses me so... Much like my own uncle and even those who are much older than myself. My own father seems to be quite agreeable with these others and to my knowledge has learned many of the languages of the people he does business with. Something I never cared to do. 

Nevertheless, I do see the end result of such a gift where even now he speaks with those of darker hue, crowns and kings and queens with such jolly that many of us in a sense felt jealous of. Upon seeing the joy of my father, it seems that I also feel such joy within myself. A slowly growing warmth I find difficult to describe. The hate I once knew for his untimely abandonment has seemed to dissipate and this new emotion has now and is resided in my heart. One that I very much felt during his life.

YOU SOME HOW GAVE ME PEACE.

Upon return to the ship with drinks and food aplenty. I have again come across the man who took what I found most dear to me. You would wonder that such a sight would cause such grief and anger with in me which it ought, but for some unknown reason I decided it best to hug him and tell him of my forgiveness for an action he has not committed. Even for the birth of his child. It was no wonder that he looked upon my countenance confused but it was something my father would do regularly. He forgave and loved. 

And despite all this he was still taken from us. However his joy that I recall, which I see now was always something to admire. It was at this point that I realized that many of the greats were able to do something that I never could in my time. I knew that in my own hurt, and deception, I had created a narrative that was all in all untrue. A lie if you will to protect what I held most dear. Incapable of overcoming such a horrible tale I created this plot to feel protected from emotions like love. Well not love only but the grief one experiences when that or better yet those whom you love; those bestowed onto you by the maker are now lost for a time without remorse.

 To understand you must know that for someone such as I, it was best to be at ease through feelings of hate rather than love and grief that struck my heart like that of a heated knife. A love that mayhap and has cut these bonds like buttered cord and wire, a sword of great power, strength and girth. Oh, why must I be tormented by these awful memories. Why must this pain be so great that I must consider this hurt between both pain and healing. Nevertheless, it is peace that I truly desired for so long. So, I will sleep a sleep of death and desire to never awake.