Quote of the day...er...week...umm...hey, look, a quote!!

Tibi gratias agimus quod nihil fumas.

It says "...freedom of...", not "...freedom from...".

"It's amazing to me how many people think that voting to have the government give poor people money is compassion. Helping poor and suffering people is compassion. Voting for our government to use guns to give money to help poor and suffering people is immoral self-righteous bullying laziness. People need to be fed, medicated, educated, clothed, and sheltered, and if we're compassionate we'll help them, but you get no moral credit for forcing other people to do what you think is right. There is great joy in helping people, but no joy in doing it at gunpoint." - Penn Jillette







Tuesday, September 23, 2008

The Promise

Here follows the first of several parts of the last tale of the whole "promise" saga (Can you say "awkward sentence? Sure, I knew you could!). I won't promise that this is the end of the subject, but I think it is.

I was young. I was tired. My spirit was worn, ragged, patched, worn again. I was feeling mighty thin on enthusiasm for life.

I'd endured abuse, abandonment, bullying, and being outcast in my short life - more than most people deal with in eighty years. I knew then and I know now that people have suffered far worse (go read Crystal's story and you'll see), and I have never denied that I had a bizarre, wonderful, very privileged upbringing...but I was just done with the mess.

I was sick, sick, sick of it, all of it, and I wanted out.

I didn't want to die, mind you - I just didn't want to keep living the life I knew, and I couldn't see any other way out of it.

I'd always felt like I had no control over my life - I didn't get to say no, to decide anything. I had to do what was demanded of me because that's what kids did.

I wanted to control something.

I was young.

I went into the woods with a knife and a plan.

Ah, plans. The best laid plans, and all that.

I knelt beneath a fine old tree and felt such a calm, such a peace. It was quiet, and I could smell the sunlight on the pine needles, feel the warmth on my skin, hear traffic in the distance sounding like a river flowing by. Above me, a deeply blue sky patched with bright, white clouds. Oh, the quiet was blissful - if I could make the world this peaceful, this free of the constant noise and rush...if I could make my mind quiet like this...

It was a good, sharp knife. Two edges. Sturdy handle. I knelt and held the handle between my knees, blade up. I was going to run my wrists up it in one go, lengthwise - crosswise would only result in shallow cuts and possible damaged tendons, and I wanted something more than a life full of explanations and pity.

Here, we depart reality a little. Only...we don't. You'll see.

7 comments:

Tara@From Dawn Till Rusk said...

Hey Kyddryn
Have visited before and commented on something you wrote about trees (I think) but came back and read this and was so shocked.
And as I got to the bottom of the post there was a picture of your little boy just to the right and I felt even sadder.
I don't know what the circumstances behind this were, but I thought it was a really touching and gripping post and I hope things are good now. x

chris said...

Holding my breath for the next post

Kyddryn said...

Tara, I remember - you visited the entry about Mum's pond and our tree planting escapades. Welcome back!

Chris, I am evil - I wrote this out in five installments so it'll last most of the week. Also because, as short as it is, it wasn't an easy story to write.

Susan said...

I can't imagine this was easy to write AT ALL. I'm just impressed you're doing it. Waiting with bait-like breath for the next installment...

RachelW said...

Your story-installment made me think of this poem, on another of my favourite blogs.

http://rogueprose.blogspot.com/2008/09/phoenix.html

MereCat said...

I need to see the next post. Hurry.

Real Live Lesbian said...

I know how hard these stories are to write (I wrote mine last year)....and to read. I read Crystal's back when she was writing it.

Thanks for telling yours.