Dear Journal, one last time, Date: The Past, The Present, and the Future
Music, in an odd way, can depress you very quickly. All you have to hear is about three notes and you're back to the place you started, the place that has haunted you all your life. You stomach drops, swelling with a mixture of deep anguish and rage, and your eyes burn with the thought of shedding betraying tears. The only thing you can think about is that one mistake you made, and the entire string of events that followed it, each one worse than the previous. It's a horrible damaging cycle, one that has replayed itself in my life time and time again.
Here I am once more, sitting in a chair, listening to the sound of pipes playing softly, singing a song that has been forgotten over the years and lost to the depths of the truth. I'm thinking about all of my mistakes, everything I've done to destroy everyone I've ever loved or cared for. It was all a mistake, granted, but it happened and there's no way to turn back the clock and go back to the way it was before. If things like that could be done so easily, I would've done it a very long time ago. But, life doesn't work that way, unfortunately. Like a ship, it swims ahead, never stopping until it's reached its final destination. I haven't figured out what mine is yet, but I can imagine it's better than the multiple Hells I've been through. Anything could be better than them, and I've luckily seen enough to make that statement and know it to be true. Not a lot of people can do that.
I do regret hurting my four other friends, I regret becoming a soldier, and I regret betraying the mercenaries back in my early childhood. It was my stupidity that landed me in such a place as this, and it was my own blindness that made me hurt those that I had cared about. I didn't love those mercenaries, no, but I knew of no one else that could take care of me. Perhaps their care wasn't essentially one of great kindness, but it provided a life. That's all I've ever wanted—I've wanted a life, a place, a position in society so that I may not be looked down as merely a killer or merely a homicidal maniac. As nice of titles as these are, I don't think they truly fit me. Or, maybe this is a simple attempt to restore my once rock-solid dignity, so perhaps I really am just another murderer. I've hear it happens a lot: people often find themselves in the midst of an inner conflict, one that either tears them apart for the rest of their lives, or teaches them something. I'm not entirely sure I want the previous versus the latter, but it's not something I'm going to worry about right now.
In life, there are truly two kinds of people, I've found: those that completely and utterly understand emotion, and those who don't have a clue what it is. I'm the latter, if you haven't guessed. Apathy isn't so much the misunderstanding of emotion, as it is the devoid of every single piece of humanity. It's the lacking of it, the emptiness of it. And while there are those that are apathetic and barren inside, it's rarer that there are those that just don't understand the point. I don't know what passion is, nor do I think I will ever. Those that do are blessed, because they have the luxury of feeling something, whether it be the warmth of happiness or cold of grief, and they at least have that to fall upon when there's very little else. Empathy cannot die unless the being wishes it to, and then it can only return by the person's will, at his or her calling. It's a simple fact that cannot be ignored, though I know of those that have done a decent job of trying (*cough* Heero!).
It's a bittersweet ending, come to think of it. My life is one big tragedy in its own way, and I'm not sure if I like it or not. To be perfectly honest, I'm not quite sure of a lot of things. Then again, I like to keep my options open so that can't necessarily such a horrible thing. Can it? It's hard, though. Even my best friend is surer of himself than I. Wufei has values, has dreams, and has goals. He may be unsure of his life or how he truly is, but he does have the guidelines there to keep him on track. Duo has his past to guide him, his mistakes to set forth and brighten the way. That may seem dark and moody, but it is something to hold onto, and by god he has a strong grip. Quatre, while he is innocent and far too naïve has something we all lack at times: an understanding towards the human nature. As if that weren't enough, he also has a heart of gold, and a love for life that can only be surpassed by his determination to please. And Heero, funnily enough, has emotions and craving for them. You'd think that he'd hate himself for it, but he doesn't. He has his emotions, understands them, and sometimes even puts them to good use, if you could believe it. No? I guess you can't. Oh well, I did try, didn't I?
I'm living with Wufei for a while now, hoping to get my life back together. We share an apartment in London; a place where we both decided would be good for us. Supposedly, I hear, it's the international capital of the world. He liked the idea of that, and I'm not picky so I didn't mind. Duo and Heero live just down the street from us so we see them everyday, and Quatre tends to visit every weekend. I must say, I like this arrangement quite a bit. Everything, at the moment, is falling into place and I rarely have time to dwell on whatever is going through my mind. Day by day, I'm doing normal stuff: yelling at Duo, telling Wufei I'll kill him for being a messy bastard, going to work, getting paid—you know the usual stuff.
And if you were wondering, no, that wasn't a dream. It was a memory. I woke up, only to find myself in a hospital bed in a rehabilitation center, with the lingering smell of pills and bright lights peering down upon me. I didn't like that place one bit, in the entire 28 days I spent there. However, we did watch that movie and I found it quite funny. Who knew that rehab had horses? I sure didn't.
Come to think of it, there are a lot of things I don't understand. Coffee, for example, is the most confusing thing on earth. Why in the world would anyone drink it? It's disgusting. And gross. And I'm going to stop now before I get on a rant.
Well, what else can I say? I suppose there's nothing, really. Life goes on, as someone once told me. So as I sit here, listening to those pipes sound out softly from a small distance, I have to smile to myself. Music does take you to that place, I admit, but I'm not afraid to go there anymore. I'm just…apprehensive. Why, may you ask? Because I understand now: life isn't what it seems, but then again, neither am I.