Scratching at the Surface

The air is thick with the wretched, palatable stench of sulfur. The hairs on the back of my neck stand frozen cold. Fist clenched white knuckled. Clawing at my insides, scratching away the layers of brick and clay that make up my physical being, a beast. The ticking of the clock on the wall, kept in rhythm with the sound of a dull blade cutting through the bone and tissue. The fluid in my veins feel more like thick lava, slowly crawling up to the mouth of a volcano to the inevitable, destructive crescendo. My eyes glowing red in an attempt to shine a light on the darkness that is this cloud of doubt, a fog of unknowing, unable to see the road ahead of me. Searching desperately for the end of the tunnel, seeking that flickering candle of hope. Rage.

Rage is a beast that I have encountered many times before. In the past we have had a mostly beneficial relationship. Feeding its hunger to satisfaction was always simple and fleeting. The visitation only momentary and would leave me with a better understanding of myself and the world at that moment. A Duality that I have become accustomed to. But this, this is a new incarnation of my darker instincts. The journey to its end has no clear path at this moment. Even knowing full well that old adage "this too shall pass",is offering no reprieve. Though I can see the sunlight on the horizon. That island in the distance with shores of certainty and security is just ahead, but my sails can't seem to catch the wind.

Rage. It wants to run for the hills. It wants to cry until blood is the only fluid left to flow. It wants to scream at a volume that will make the devil himself quiver with fear. It wants to break something beautiful. It wants to smash the face of the next person who does something stupid. And right now sitting here trying to find the words, a hundred thousand different things could fall under that classification. My heart beats a war drum so loud that I can barely hear my own thoughts.

My better sensibilities know this is only temporary. The only constant is change and nothing lasts forever. Not even this. But this, THIS is uncharted territory for me.

While the beast, the rage, is more quickly creeping to the surface, seeking the destruction of everything and anything beautiful, I am still tasked with burying it down so I don't alarm others. My role is still to be a calm voice of reason. Be a steady hand in the chaos. Others depend on me. Gone are the days when I only answered to myself, my boss and my landlord. All I needed was a roof over my head, food in the belly, drink in my hand and cash to provide them. This poses another test of will that has never been stressed before. Gone are past remedies that were once tried and true. A bar. A bottle. A room fool for fellow degenerates waving their freak flag with a devil may care abandon. Unmedicated self reflection is what I have to work with. It's not very fun.

A veil has been lifted. I find it hard to look at all the yesterdays with fond wishes of a triumphant return. The rose colored glasses seem to have vanished with recent events. I have more time than ever to sit and ponder my reality. Supported by age and experience that was lacking in the past. Youth brought carefree carelessness. All one had to do was raise a glass and a middle finger and everything was fine. That conviction and immediate satisfaction have gone with the passing years. Knowing that this moment in time is uncertain, and this new reality will be with us for some time, gives me little comfort. What will distract me from my thoughts turning inward? When will the focus shift back to distraction? When will I be able to once again turn a blind eye to my own third eye and ignore the questions? Can I or do I even want to return to that sheltered life? Ignorance is bliss, especially when it can starve the beast, Rage.