Since Friday, I went hurling to destruction. Yesterday was the worst. I was robbed of all motivation, energy, and meaning. I had screamed and smoked until the linings of my lungs were stripped raw. If it’s truly futility, then why bother? The truth hurts a lot. But I thought about it, and this is nothing new; I’ve been made the devil, the black sheep, the bastard. My family has done this to me all my life. My friends have done this. I grew up a loner. A memory: I had saved weeks to buy my sister a book from her favorite series on her birthday. The day of I told my mom about the present and asked her not to tell my sister. And the next moment I see and hear my mom telling my sister. This destroyed me as a kid and I grew so angry I began screaming how could you. My sister then got mad at me saying I’m ruining her birthday by being so angry. I was so sad and destroyed, I ran away from home. I spent the night sleeping in a slide at the park. And so it is that I’m the devil again. I am the bastard that needs to be exiled because I’ve been brave enough to do things and embraced things about myself. I just have a lot of love and I’ve done bad things because of it. But I keep going back to this side of myself. The best part is I love this part of myself now. I finally accept this as uniquely me; I can’t not love you. Even when all truths point to no…

I have to just let go whatever I’m holding onto and see where the waves are hurling me toward. And maybe I’ll wash up somewhere better, maybe it’ll simply be different.