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An Island Kingdom

As I close my eyes I see myself sitting on a throne in the middle of a desolate Island. Along the shores expand bridges leading to the mainlands, each bridge representing a relationship, past and present; friends, family, lovers and aquaintances, and one large arched bridge, a main thoroughfare representing society as a whole. Some bridges lay shattered, burnt by my own command, others worn to dust by the passage of time, the rest barricaded. All guarded by dark, shrouded figures, tasked by their jaded ruler: Let none pass. Those bridges still entact manned by engineers, grotesque in appearence, diminutive and hunched. Ready at a single command to destroy their posts if those on the other side venture too close.

Seldom do I leave this Island, and each time is harder than the last. Whenever I find the strength to don my disguise, the mask of normality, my councilors appear:

Fear; a huddled figure, white as snow with blood for tears. Whispering dire warnings of things to come.

Self Loathing; a leprous wretch clothed in rags, reeking of sickness and mortification. His voice rasping as he berates me, assuring me of my lack of worth.

The Artist; resplendant and vain, contemptuous of company and failure, demanding solitude, critical of all I attempt.

And as I don my mask, their warnings and prophecies, their demands and expectations grow frantic. Begging me to linger, to cast off the shackles of companionship. Warning of dangers seen and unseen.

There were others once, those who offered comfort and confidence. Forgotten now, consigned to some secret dungeon, lost to time and neglect. When did I stop heeding the words of saints and friends? when did i give in to the Daemons that run rampant in the darkest corners?

And as my eyes open, the world seems dimmer, devoid of sunlight. The Island is replaced by a darkened room, the shadows seeming to hide these daemons that haunt my mind and heart. Out of sight, yet ever present. How I wish for a flame to burn away the darkness, abandoned by Prometheus, pathos my ever present companion.
Lemartes Lemartes 31-35, M 1 Response Sep 21, 2012

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I really love that story. And at the same time I hate it. Because it is a reality of a real person. You. And a terrifying resemblance to a feeling of my own.

Thanks for the comment. I'm both happy and sad you like and hate this post. It's not a feeling I would wish on my worst enemy. Though it means I feel a little less alone knowing there are others who may be able to empathise with my experience. A blessing and a curse per se.

True. It is both. And yes, I am here for you.