September 22 -- Silver lining.
Dear Diary,
The thing about alcohol, when it comes to us, is that it causes introspection (and no, I am not drunk today--the horrible hangover I had this morning after spending last night sleeping on Surwich's dock was enough to convince me that Brewfest is best taken in small doses). I'm usually pretty introspective by nature, since that's how you learn things about yourself and change and all of those negative things into positive things and grow and so on. Or something like that.
We're each other's silver lining in a world that's gone quite nasty. For better or for worse, I'm why he still lives. I'm why he keeps trying, even though he hates himself, even though he's in agony. One way or another, whether I'm doing good or ill, I'm keeping the monster here.
I don't think that I'm a very good reason to stay alive. Objectively, I've not a lot to offer that someone else could give just as easily. I used to think that my fighting separated me, but how many people can fight the way I do nowadays, and with far less glee at the kill? I thought my mind did that, too, but it seems lately, everyone can do what I do with far more ease and far fewer ill effects. I'm not even kidding. Walk down the street in Stormwind, you'll see someone with closed eyes and furrowed brow projecting pictures into some vagrant's head.
Add to that my fear of doing it very often anymore (don't want further unwanted attention) and that's another thing can be taken away. What's left is me distilled, like when you boil water again and again to remove impurities. I'm a jealous person and a stupid person, someone who wants to do good but keeps hurting people along the way. I want to believe Oliver and other people who say that the distilled me is someone worth not just dying for (because, let's face it, when you've a healthy dose of nobility, even the scum of the earth is worth dying for) but is someone worth living for. I want to believe all of that.
Perhaps having a mother--a real one--will help with this. Having a mother who doesn't look at my inability to call on the arcane as a curse, but perhaps is like my Dad and sees that as a blessing. And, Light-willing, is there whenever the shit hits the fan.
I really want her to like me.
I really ought to write to Dizzy. It was around this time last year that we adopted her, and I haven't written her in a couple of weeks. If nothing else, I want to reassure myself that she's alright where she is, that Tatters hasn't found her, and that she's safe. I can do that much at least. There's one area in which I can stop failing.
A silver lining. That's what Oliver called me. A silver lining and someone worth living for.
I wonder if I'll ever be used to that?
-S.
The thing about alcohol, when it comes to us, is that it causes introspection (and no, I am not drunk today--the horrible hangover I had this morning after spending last night sleeping on Surwich's dock was enough to convince me that Brewfest is best taken in small doses). I'm usually pretty introspective by nature, since that's how you learn things about yourself and change and all of those negative things into positive things and grow and so on. Or something like that.
We're each other's silver lining in a world that's gone quite nasty. For better or for worse, I'm why he still lives. I'm why he keeps trying, even though he hates himself, even though he's in agony. One way or another, whether I'm doing good or ill, I'm keeping the monster here.
I don't think that I'm a very good reason to stay alive. Objectively, I've not a lot to offer that someone else could give just as easily. I used to think that my fighting separated me, but how many people can fight the way I do nowadays, and with far less glee at the kill? I thought my mind did that, too, but it seems lately, everyone can do what I do with far more ease and far fewer ill effects. I'm not even kidding. Walk down the street in Stormwind, you'll see someone with closed eyes and furrowed brow projecting pictures into some vagrant's head.
Add to that my fear of doing it very often anymore (don't want further unwanted attention) and that's another thing can be taken away. What's left is me distilled, like when you boil water again and again to remove impurities. I'm a jealous person and a stupid person, someone who wants to do good but keeps hurting people along the way. I want to believe Oliver and other people who say that the distilled me is someone worth not just dying for (because, let's face it, when you've a healthy dose of nobility, even the scum of the earth is worth dying for) but is someone worth living for. I want to believe all of that.
Perhaps having a mother--a real one--will help with this. Having a mother who doesn't look at my inability to call on the arcane as a curse, but perhaps is like my Dad and sees that as a blessing. And, Light-willing, is there whenever the shit hits the fan.
I really want her to like me.
I really ought to write to Dizzy. It was around this time last year that we adopted her, and I haven't written her in a couple of weeks. If nothing else, I want to reassure myself that she's alright where she is, that Tatters hasn't found her, and that she's safe. I can do that much at least. There's one area in which I can stop failing.
A silver lining. That's what Oliver called me. A silver lining and someone worth living for.
I wonder if I'll ever be used to that?
-S.