Each one of us to begin with (in relation to personality) had formed ourselves into beautiful and complex crystals before our arrival and intake. All with similar traits to my own. We would all collide in Straight.
(There is someone that actually picked up that ability to lie that you had. They dug it right out of that carpet.)
* * *
I had lost that part of me. Someone else had hurriedly snatched it up from the rough carpet in those pink rooms when they saw it unused. Anything to cover themselves...
The parts I was loosing of myself others were scratching for. Wrists and arms bleeding they would sit leaning all the way forward. Their chests would rest on or between their legs. As if restraining themselves. Slowly rocking. The tears already gone. Just the dull aching throb would be left in their arms. Either driping or slowly healing and scaring. They would try and peel long shreds of their scabs back. Perhaps making some game of trying to pull the longest continuous flap of healing skin from their arms. Oh the beautiful girls they had done that to! How I loved them and longed form them to come from their shells before they were too far gone. Unreachable.
Shame on you all to have displayed them in front of us like that! Did you really think that was going to make them stop? Then lure them out of group with kindness. See just how crazy you can make them. Well breakthoughs are only taking place if there's weaping and moaning and self-loathing don't you know? You made sure you broke them alright. You shattered us all and have done nothing with the pices you took from us. You wasted them. Threw them into the wastebasket labed "Hazardous Materials" closed the lid and walked away. But some of the powder and sand would escape. The parts of our soul that you considered worthless, being ground further into that floor with each new day, and restraint, and abuse.
The building had an almost electrical feel to it. Proximity to it would bring on drastic physical effects.
"Come on guys side!"
"Rap it up in there!"
How my heart ached for them and I would cry. There were times when they made us guys have to help out in those poor, beautiful people?s restraint. I would try and stay as far from them as I could. Only doing the bare minimum. I would not be able to hide my face by pressing it against them. Knees tucked close me I would crouch. Trying to keep them at a straight arm?s distance away from me. I could not bear to see them. My jaw trembles and shakes as I hyperventilate and breath. I am sorry I just left when I got out I had to. I could not protect you any longer.
Just pretend to be in a shell. Picture that special place in your head and go to it. They were picking at the carpet and finding those bits of me that I had lost. What had eroded off of me during those ?meditation raps?.
?Just lay back on that hard industrial carpet floor. Find the most comfortable position you can. You know that spot of yours? Go to it now. Feel all the tension drain from your head, through your body, out your finger-tips, and awwwwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay on the tide. Why it was all so strikingly similar to all the witchcraft, occult, philosophy, and other and every strange zealous thing I had experienced so far in my life.
Just like the casting of a curse of death.
Some type of hard jagedly cut gem. The excesses already knocked cleanly off from collisions with other strong personality types. Smoke filling and swirling within it. A faint color barley visible. Perhaps red, blue, green... Most of the time invisible, unless viewed in special light.
I had been caught in the rough leather sling of society and sent crashing into and attracting others.
By the time I arrived that pivotal day...
Wasn't there a song? Something about Austel rd. maybe? Sung to the tune and feel of Elvis.
The 'fun' part of the day for a younger phaser was lunch rap. The purpose of this rap was to ensure that we knew how to properly humiliate and debase ourselves when the time was appropriate. We were not even to be able to eat in peace.
Misbehavers would smack what little food some were given to the ground. The goal was to break the individual. Every person played their part. Staff would promote jealousy of the misbehaver, by ensuring only the ?hard nuts? would receive ?special? treatment. Like staying with me. I am so hard to live with, and so opinioned. I am so sorry.
I can only hope that when I left, I had shielded someone like me from some of the stones.
I had been honed down, held within the gas flame, constantly blasted away at by abrasive sands. They had honed me into what they had desired me to become. That once only barely visible flaw. Perhaps my voice also paired that of their conscious. They were raising me to never forget. To know and examine the truth of feeling and never trust what comes out of a person?s mouth.
A fresh second phaser I had participated as well. Oh and there were so many times that I wept as I held their legs down. Together we would lay sobbing in frustration and self-loathing. Sometimes, unable to watch what I had to participate in, I would lay my head on their backs. Breath and gasp with them. Were it not for the fact of sweat covering them and already soaked deep into their shirts, they would have felt my tears as well. From wrestling I knew how to hide my inner face when observed in conflict with others. Not to show fear, exertion, fatigue, and that when these emotions came up in an aggressive situation to hide them. Tuck them away for no one to see in the audience. Hell no! Us wrestlers on the team didn?t smile. Just smack your head on the mat a few times and?
YAWWWWRRRRR!
I hated having to have contact with people by touch. I would get overwhelmed. I knew the pain and struggle that was inside these people. Through competition in the extremely personal and competitive sport of wrestling I had fought demons greater then any I had ever faced before, or anyone I faced on the mat. Weather I won or lost, the struggle was with myself. You had to ignore pain. Not even abuse to my genitals would subject me into losing my cool or my mind while defending myself. Or to interfere with my ability to fight back.
God help the bastard that weren?t one of my wrestling partners. If ?they? had tried to use any of that shit on me, attempt it or even think it! My inner daemons would culminate. Swirling rapidly around my head in hopeless circles trying to escape. My eyes would move just out of focus, weather from the speed or aggression or pressure. I would see red and I would no longer act on sight but feeling and instinct.
I would not be afraid of touch, and I would not allow that spot to ever be hit again.
