The heathen.

I see a wretch.
The wretch who stole Vicodin from the medicine cabinet.
The villain who unleashed anger on the undeserving.
The dog that bites the mouth that feeds it.
The outcast to his former friends.
The knave that robbed women of their virtue.
The assassin that killed the spirit of God within him.
The reckless young man, mixing substances.
The Vagabond in the van.
The nihilist who sees no purpose in any life.
The junkie who would sell his brothers for another fix.
The black sheep who rebukes himself.
The butcher to his own living hide.
The furnace of unrelenting desire and lust.
The drunk at the side of the highway.
The lepper cast far away.
The Undertaker preparing his soul for hell.
The dissenter to his faith.
The skinwalker under the moon.
The false prophet.

Whether its the false woman's touch, the relief of letting my crimson humours balance, the Eagles burning through my lungs, or the ethanol on my breath, vice will always have its grip on my hands.

Loyalty: When she says to drink the hemlock, drink it.

My heart beats, I know this, I'm just unsure that it matters.

I've never, not even once, been told I was a good person.

Not from others...

but certainly not from myself.

No lack of esteem.

Just the quiet realization that repentance is just another word that doesn't change anything.

Excerpts of paranoia

I miss my home. Whenever I enter this valley, my life becomes instantly complicated again. Sitting in the UVU library with a friend I understood how well I reciprocated with my home, and how much I miss it. I miss having my memories of you being shut by the sanctity of my city. My sweet solace.

--

My family and friends seem to understand me less and less. They are drifting away from me. Every time I visit this place, I long again to be back on my own. They make me feel like a black sheep. Every word from my mouth is rebuked. Every move I make is under judgment. Every step I take is sick to them. My once closest people are slowly racking me out of their equations. I don't feel missed. I've never felt like this with these people until now. I wonder how things would have differed if I had served a mission. Would they then accept me? Am I so currently reprehensible to my tribe? I feel reprehensible. I see my father's eyes, and how they reflect his disappointment in everything I've ever tried to succeed at. My best friends didn't say goodbye to me when I left. They told me I wasn't Christlike enough. I heard my brother argue for my fitness in serving a mission as if he knew the multitude of disqualifications.

I see it in their eyes.

I hear it in their words.

I feel it in my chest.

I'm the outcast.

--

Driving into this valley, my sanity seems to slip. Since arrival, I have heard voices, flashed back, and seen things. It set me on edge today when I was just out buying some eggs for my family, I felt eyes peering from behind each aisle. I feel like the ghost of my past is walking behind me. Close behind me. I fear her memory and how it lingers behind me. I'm afraid of how deeply I miss something so detrimental. She told me once how unstable I was. Truth really hurts.

--

I've been fighting a panic attack tonight, the meds are about to be trippled down. I've been convulsing in this panic for an hour. I can't calm myself down.

--

Since I have left Logan, these people, these memories, and these ghosts have crushed me. I can't handle this conditional love coupled with unconditional pressure. I can't take it anymore.

--

I'm unsure that I'll remember writing this by the morning, assuming I wake up. I was in nirvana before I left Logan.

--

I once had a heart of gold. Now I'm too far charred over to be worth any more time in this body.

"Don't paint me black when I used to be golden."

--

I'm sorry.

Forgetting where my keys are before I attempt a drive home.

The only reason the water hasn't frozen over here is that the rivers are moving

--

I've lost every person that I've trusted everything to.

--

I'm alone out here...

and I know what I'm doing.

I know how much it takes to forget how much I was hurt.

I've found the only way to forget you... and all the memories.

I know what it takes to get the voices in my head to shut up.

It's such a simple recipe.

It works.

That's why I'm always on the medicine.

Because the only reason my heart hasn't frozen over is that the medicine keeps it moving.

Because if I remembered what has happened to me, I'd probably quit.