By My Side

Power

The next day is the first of a three day weekend, and starts off pretty good. Isaiah and Bitchy leave to run errands, letting me write for a while.

When Isaiah returns, he tells me he plans to burn the leaves later. I decide to lay low and write until that time comes.

When he finally decides to get the job done (several hours later) we head outside and light the huge pile of leaves (that we've stalled burning since late Fall) ablaze.

I immediately feel something deep inside as I watch the pile be consumed by the all powerful orange flames.

It starts small, at first, I just don't feel bad. As if Isaiah isn't there at all. Then, I start to smile, a large, toothy grin, that I hide from Isaiah, struggling to keep it in until he goes inside, most likely to nap, or maybe work, not sure, leaving me in charge.

The next thing I feel, is bliss. The grin won't go away. I watch the fire with intense joy and cathartic pleasure.

I try to limit these experiences, as I find them quite addictive. The feeling of power, of total control, ever since I first felt it back when I was eleven and held a roman candle firework, it has always been a part of me.

I love power. I believe the term of it is being a megalomaniac. I know that I am. It just feels good to have power. It makes me feel safe. Safe from them, safe from the hate, safe from my insecurities.

Power, is what keeps me going. When I write, I feel powerful, I have total control. When I watch the fire consume the leaves, it just feels so right. To have the power to destory so much so fast.

I know this is wrong. I know that this isn't how one should feel. That one shouldn't desire power so much. It is my weakness. My weakness is a fear of being weak.

The way I see it, you're strong, or you're weak. I refuse to be weak, but the strong tend to be the bad. So, I limit access to the more intense blissful experiences. I write to keep this desire at bay, to keep my inner demons at bay.

The entire time, the voices are silent, my inner insecurities, manifesting themselves as my characters, say nothing. I feel safe.

I feel...

Happy.

Such beautiful power. Such a blissful experience. This is why I don't allow myself to do this much. It isn't right. It isn't right for me to desire power so much. No matter how great it feels.

It's all from my fear of being weak. If I'm weak, then I'm weak, and weak is bad. I can't stay the thought of drugs on alcohol either. Being drunk or high leaves your vurnable and weak. I have a fear of booze, antidepressants, and pain killers. Which slowly developed into a fear of hospitals and needles.

It's all from a fear of being weak. I love being strong, because I hate being weak, like I am with my family. It's all from that hate. From the hate I feel for them, but the fire sets me free, and makes me smile...

I decide it best to stop writing and burning at the same time. It's a bit to intoxicating.

...

Eh, screw it. I'll write anyways. If I'm gonna be feeling this way, may as well go all the way. After all...

It's when I feel the safest. When I write, when I'm strong...

It's when I'm happy. It's when I'm secure. It's when I'm...

Safe.