There's Always Time

I was a young boy, and the world still retained much of its wonder, when I was first exposed to the eldritch horrors and cosmic indifference of the man from Providence. At the time I didn't even know the mans name, let alone how completely consumed I would become by his apocryphal dreams and visions of lost worlds and dead planets.

Time is a cruel teacher. Had I known then what would become of me; would I change it? I dare not think of such things, since those thoughts themselves are part of this dreadful condition that has been slowly gnawing away at me these last 25 years. Time is the Chef looking over his kitchen while ever so slowly turning up the heat, and we are the lobster in the pot, blissfully ignorant, unaware of our impending fate. Time whispers honeyed words in our ears while we are young and still capable of making something of ourselves. I wonder would it not be better off going through this wretched existence completely deaf and blind to the whole thing?

For a spell, things went relatively well and typical of a young boy such as myself. I enjoyed many of the adventurous and yet extremely foolish pleasures that a young boy might. I had a few good friends and a warm bed at night, yet my dreams were inexplicably plagued by visions of death and despair.

There has always been a pervasive sadness hanging over me. As I now grow closer to death it feels poised to fall and crush me outright. I have always felt an uneasy kindred-ship with the darkness. I am fascinated and enthralled by it, yet terrified at my core of ever delving too deep and finding the truth of the thing. I know that some day I will venture too close and fall into the true heart of darkness, never to return. Until then, I live my life, such as it is, walking a razor's edge, aware that any misstep could be my last.

My only sister seemed to be blessed with the opposite affliction. She has a complete intolerance to the night and it's dark embrace, so much so that a mere sideways glance her way is grounds for eternal exile from her land of milk and honey. So pulled towards and cloaked in the light of righteous goodness is she, that any creature with the faintest trace of darkness be seared and blinded in her mere presence.

I have always told myself that in order to stand against and battle the evils of this existence, you must first have a knowledge of them. As many theologians much wiser than I have postulated, "What is good without evil?" This belief has become something of a mantra to me, to which any sanity remaining within me, I attribute.

Sitting alone in my study on nights of blackest pitch and woeful cold, a malignant doubt begins creeping its way into my mind. Am I truly a crusader of light, forever stuck behind enemy lines, using my I'll gained knowledge to fight the good fight, or have I been deceiving myself all along.

I fear the one person with any hope of answering that question is now gone forever. Can anyone other than your "creator" ever truly know your heart and soul? She was an anchor of reason and hope amid my black seas of infinity.

I see people going about their day seemingly unaware, or at least uncaring, to the whole futility of it all. They wake up every morning and after their toast and coffee, leave for a day filled with such banal monotony and repetition that I cringe and recoil at the very thought. For the life of me though, I wish it wasn't so. If I could only wear blinders like the strong quarter horse and due my nine to five, forty hours, maybe then I could know true happiness.

I always say that I am only smart enough to know how ignorant I really am, and that I think is my biggest problem. It's in the knowing and understanding of a thing where you are changed forever, and once seen, can never be unseen. I think it was upon reading The Man's most profound realization, that my path was forever altered and I was blocked from the happiness of the masses. He posited, "The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far." That is the way meant for us, yet some of us, through no fault of our own, are cursed with a glimpse of that greater, reality shattering truth. It is this smallest shard of knowledge of the infinite possibilities and unknowns of the universe, I think, that cripple me to inaction.

I want the amazing career, the house with the picket fence and backyard full of children and puppies that the world equates with success and happiness, I truly do. On every attempt at amassing such treasures however, I fall short. It's like my mere presence is enough to set "normal" folk to unease, like they see past my smile and outwardly friendly demeanor to the haunting sadness and despair behind my mask, and whether knowingly or not, chose to relegate me to move no closer to that dreamed of place of beauty and contentment that I so achingly long for.

I am ever asking questions. Questioning everything and everyone always, never to simply accept something at face value, even when it would much benefit me to do so. It doesn't take long to realize though, that people don't like questions; people in positions of power flat out despise it. This fact alone has made it more torturous than any other attempting to make a name for myself out in the working world. If only I could keep my eyes closed, and head down to the injustices and ridiculousness of my superiors, I might have have gotten ahead at some point along the way.  People don't like being forced to think for themselves; blind trust and faith is so much easier, after all.

It seems cruel that while constantly off inside my own head imaging far off lands or accomplishments yet to be achieved, in reality I am the solitary resident of "Knowwhere" and sit stoically on my throne of shattered dreams and broken promises.

The worst part of this I think, isn't the self loathing, pity, or crippling despair I myself live with daily, it is the effect of the curse on the few souls who still love and support me. If it were just myself, how easy it would be to swallow a pill with a drink and sink into the depths of Ry'lyeh to never more wake to this brutal existence. It would be so much easier to simply not care about anyone else, like I care not for myself. But Life, much like it's brother Time, is hard. It is cold and dark and full of terrors that will eat you alive if given even half the chance, to leave you a sad broken husk of the man you were meant to be. I know in truth though, that we are never guaranteed anything, except the sweet promise that one day all the pain will end.
I pray I have the fortitude to endure this tortured existence until that release is visited upon me.