Darkashtar's blog: "A look into the fractured mask..."

The divisions I refer to in my mind are what I consider to be the many masks that cover my face which is not there. I think of myself as thousand masks with true face underneath it, just an empty hollow set of masks looking for at least someone in this world to connect to, maybe as some kind of proof that somewhere in this world there are people who will like me for me. Father figures are something I never really have had in my life, there was once a man I thought of as my father but the truth of the matter was he did not even care about me in the slightest, and I lied to myself just for the slightest feeling of acceptance from somebody. He lied to me and even made me feel like a background character in the story of my own life. Everything that revolves around my destruction of my mind and the emptiness that feels almost as if will consume me revolves around me having been lied to and treated as nothing by the man who was supposed to be my father, my stepfather who used me and everyone else just as way for him to appear in good standing and have a family. The truth of the matter is, while I was a bright and creative child I was also shy, and he used that to crush my dreams never giving me the chance to live my own life or be my own person. I was forced to try to live up to his ideal, and to try to be just like him, and everything I tried to do was for his approval which I never really gained. I think what he wanted was an athletic and political person to go into law like him, but in all reality I wanted to be a scientist. My dreams were put on hold as he made me play golf and go to the pool and socialize with the people who were important to him. I think this is where my escapism became more rampant and I began to wish that I was special, however as my step father constantly reminded me I wasn't special at all, I was nothing. There are times I hate recalling the times I cried myself to sleep just because I felt like I let him down with something I should not have been good with. He wanted me to be something I could never be, and because of that I was a failure. My creativity was crushed for his ambitions. I think that will do for now, for alas I need some sleep.

While I have been blessed with a few close friends, I still almost at all times feel completely alone. I remember one of the times in my life when my friend needed me more than anything, and my stepfather, who will discussed in another chapter of this tale of what causes a man to lose his face and have only a thousand masks while never having a true face. But that is for another time, forbade me from being with my friend because his parents were going through a divorce, and I was forbidden by my father to not be around my friend whom is even to this day is like a brother to me. This was a moment that shaped me I think in a lot of ways that are probably not the best things that have happened. The alienation I felt at this time of my life would almost feel strangling. It is at these times perhaps my escapism became the better part of my coping mechanism to deal with pain. In this instance I remember listening to my stepfather telling me not to go over to my best friends house and this was probably a time he needed me, and I know I needed him, and so I was alone. There would come a time when I would reconnect with this friend, and he is the closest person to me. But I remember listening to my step father, for fear I can not remember exactly what it was I feared from him. He did on occasion hit me and push me around but I just took it, as he had systematically trained me to be subservient to authority figures out of fear of anyone with authority to the point where I would never even stand up for myself. This kind of psychological abuse I think is perhaps what we will discuss at another time. I think perhaps that shall make the third chapter in which we discuss the beginnings of the fracture in my consciousness that would one day become my strength. So for now we will end with the upcoming chapter, I think perhaps it should be called divisions...

My story is not a happy one, my story is one that is filled with painful memories and that there are so many things in my life that have destroyed every inch of myself. My earliest memory can be seen as a dark night with flashing lights. I'm being escorted outside by police when I'm 6 years old after my commits suicide. I still remember the image as the police pushed me out, and the blood. I remember being outside and sometimes the numbness of it still chokes me up, that the earliest thing in my life that can be remembered is the death of my father. However, there was still his funeral to attend to, I remember burying him somewhere in Texas, he was cremated, and we lost contact with that part of my family, I do regret not having been able to find them. I still know somewhere out there in Texas is my father's grave I've seen it only once but I suppose I should at least see it again. After the pain of all of this happening I was uprooted from my home in Alaska and placed me in what I had strong hopes would be a normal childhood, that's all I ever wanted. But alas children are so cruel, telling me in the cafeteria at school that my father was in hell, these same people who will have everything in their life given to them because of who they are friends with. I think that shall suffice for now, I will write more at a later time.