(no subject)

[cabbitzilla]

in the end, there's only me
mourning the things not meant to be
a long, long road I have traveled
and I have found what I was not looking for

Tempest - Early Winter

The house is done, or close enough that it might as well be. Left in the house is the oversized house fan, the waterbed frame, and a chair that Megan and I both loathe. And the tattered remains of my life.

It was built on a lie, a lie I told to myself years ago, over and over again, until I forgot it was fiction and truly believed it. But it was mine... it was, in a twisted form, me. And standing in the house, watching the last packable bits march out the door... the full measure of the failure that lie had set me up for finally clicked. I ended up looking back up the channel, and counting the costs of that deception.

My health. My mobility. Portions of my mind, chunks of memory, entire skillsets. My career, which had become a Holy Crusade that both Crys and Kelly tried to warn me about. My car, the Mercury that I loved and babied... that even now sits in the driveway of the house in Glen Burnie. And then the walls I'd so carefully built crashed to the ground... I'd lost 'Don', and with it went much of my strength of personality. My marriage died as the echoes of the wall's collapse were still being felt, lingering only as a shared burden between us. B5MUSH, long a treasured source of magic and storytelling, fell due to neglect on my part. Packing efforts turned up treasured items destroyed or damaged beyond repair. And now the house is gone as well.

The 'gains' are a much shorter list, but it includes a much more accurate view of who and what I am... and who my true friends are. The number is far smaller than I'd guessed even in my most pessimistic mood... but the value of each is the equivalent of four or five 'normal' people. Those friends have become family, and are precious and dear to me.

The blame for it all rests solely at my feet, a web of interconnected failures that shared a common foundation in self delusion; when the center fails, the edges cannot hold. I wonder that -any- person is worth salvaging when they've worked so hard to make a lie become truth... and I wonder, in the quiet moments, if this is redemption or damnation.

*sighs and shakes her head* And there's the sarcastic little voice in the back of my mind that says it's neither... that it's the angst and melodrama of an aging queen, making mountains out of mole hills. Right this second, the only thing I'm sure of is that I'm crying... and that the feelings of failure are damned near overwhelming. I... don't know what to do... all I see is to just try and keep moving, and hope that things sort out...

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[elisabeth.livejournal.com]

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