I have started this idea, which is a journal like all my other journals. Yet, this one is taken from a slightly different angle. Although this is fiction, there is truth to the stories the same as there is truth to all stories. There is truth to the facts that life will not always go according to plan.
Dare I say this or dare I say anything, but I am only a character in this script—this is me, of course.
Or maybe this is a version or maybe this is a different side, as in the unseen side.
I am the one who sits and waits. I am the one who paces the cell, plotting and rethinking, and wishing I had gone left instead of right.
Here it is — the cell I’ve been confined in is small and growing smaller. I say this because my dreams are too big and growing bigger to an astronomic level.
There is no rewinding or going back. There are no places left to find euphoria, which is nothing more than a temporary fix.
No.
It is another morning. I can hear the guards talking in their office and conversing about their life over cups of coffee.
I can hear the clock ticking. I can hear the humming of the overhead lighting, which is dim and institutionalized, in a sense, because freedom does not come with lighting like this.
No.
My freedom is a vision that cannot be denied.
My freedom is the coastline, long and peaceful, and empty except for the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my life.
She is different here though. I say different, but not less beautiful.
I see her here because this is her home. This is where she is at her best and free, which is why I assume she is mine or my soul mate because this is where I am free and at my best as well.
My goal is to break from where I am. I have to get out of here, even if my defense rests and my defense is uneasy, at least I can say that I stood up to the bullies and the judges or the accusers and prosecutors. At least I tried. Did I cut corners?
Did I take a turn, or did I break a law?
Yes. More than one . . .
Am I so different? Am I so evil?
Maybe I am. Or maybe I’m none of these things.
I am here to face my charges, one by one, because I am here for one thing above anything else – I want more.
I want my life back. I want to open the door to my cage and let myself feel the wind on my face.
I want to walk out without the shackles or the weight of handcuffs on my wrist.
I want to be where my love is.
I want to feel the passion that I dream of and more, I want to see the waves fold and crash on the shores.
I want to watch the sun go down and breathe in, nice and deep, as if I knew The Almighty Mother of All, Herself, was kind enough to pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.
Amen—
Who do I have to face?
What are the charges against me?
The kind of bravery I want for myself is to be brave enough to say anything true about me.
I can take it.
I can face anything now.
I am reminded of the time when I first heard someone say, “I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.”
I get it.
This is why I decided to face the world and dare it all.
I am ready to risk everything, even if the firing squad refuses to blindfold me — so be it.
I’m moving now. I am waiting for the guards to take me up before the jury.
I have seen the tricks that the prosecution tries to run, and, before they accuse me of anything further, let me show that I am not afraid of accusations because accusations are not fact.
I am not afraid of my accusers either because my accusers are equally as guilty. They are guilty of the same accusations.
But who isn’t?
Who can judge?
No one . . .
My aim is this. Whether I have to dig my way out or burst through the steel and concrete, —I will walk beside her, my love, with my feet in the sand and holding hands as we watch the sunset and see the sky turn color.
No prison can hold me.
No walls can keep me back.
No judge or jury can convict me.
I know this the same as I know that no one but me can set me free.
Good morning, Your Honor.
I am told that I am first on the docket this morning.
Is the jury ready for some introspection this morning?
Or would the jury prefer to dim the lights to keep the room dark?
This way, the light will not expose the darkness of their truths.
This way, they can keep pointing their fingers without ever looking at the truths within themselves.
Right now, the temperature is 47 degrees with a humidity of 87% and a wind that’s blowing from the west, southwest, at about 9mph. The weatherman says the sky is cloudy, but I know the sunrise is about to happen. And so does she . . .
or in this case, so do you, my love.
No matter where you are or how far away you are now, I know there is one place you will always be.
Always.
The Written Addiction 