What do normal people write in journals? Mary gave this to me when she introduced herself, so I figured that I might as well write something. She did say something about just writing about whatever comes to mind. Check. I guess. I've never had a journal before. My brother did; I found it after the accident. I read it. I'm ashamed of myself, but I read it. I guess I just wanted to find out what he'd been thinking… how he thought. Probably just wanted to feel closer to him. It was all I had left.
I'd always thought that we were so different. He was bright and energetic, and I was focused and a bit dreary. The sun to my moon. But after reading, I found that we were far more alike than different. At least in all the important ways. He was in love with his best friend, loved our mom and dad, and… he loved me as much as I adored him.
I've been wondering lately what it would be like if he had survived. I doubt that I'd be working for The Mistress, but… that's not the way the world works. I wonder if he'd have been tempted by The Mistress' offer. If I had died with our parents, then would he be here now? No, I don't think so. I think… he'd have been able to move on with his life. He would have joined together with our friends and family, and he'd be sad but strong.
Lately I've been thinking about life and death, and I have a theory of sorts. What makes a person truly strong? I believe it's how they react to tragedy or misfortune. The truly strong are able to confide in others and open up about their grief, and they will recover. They may not be the same as they once were, but they'll get better. And they might even use their experience to open up to others.
But the ones who don't… I call them "the broken" because that's what they are. They allow their grief to take control of them and spiral out of control. Sadly, I happen to fall in the latter category. Everything that I'm doing is for one distinct goal. A self-destructive one at that. But it gives me purpose and strength… to do what needs to be done. Whether that's stealing an artifact from a rich billionaire or buying a part off some sketchy guy in a bad part of town.
There is a bit of hope though. I feel like that's why The Mistress allows me to tone down her murderous impulses. She's broken too, but she still has hope. She wants to become strong, and I think that she can… at least in theory. My little brother's friend had a grandma who went to Japan, and her grandma brought her back a special vase. It was black with golden veins creeping up the sides. Apparently, there's a practice of fixing broken pottery with gold. I guess creating a work of art out of something that's broken.
It's a wonderful metaphor, and even I had some appreciation for the piece itself. It was undoubtedly beautiful. Just because something breaks doesn't mean that it's broken forever. I guess in this case the gold would be hopes, dreams, goals, or even a person. Something that gives life it's pizazz. A spark of life to fix the broken. But I have no desire to be fixed.
It's not that I like the fog that is now my life, but… I fear the pain that will come back should I lose track of my goal. This numbness protects me. If I can't feel, then I'll be more prepared to do what comes next. The thing I fear more than staying broken is breaking someone else. Because if a broken person can be fixed, could a strong person break?
NO. NO. No, Eddie is important. He has to stay strong. Be strong. I'd rather fall into the deepest depths alone than drag him with me. For that Eddie can't know where I am or what I'm doing. He's the only thing that I have left, but I can't let him interfere. He's… important.
Well, I believe that's enough writing for now. Probably for forever. But at least I can tell Mary that I used her gift.