The siren call of the void. We all hear it from time to time. Some a sharp whisper here and there, like a late flash from a lighthouse alerting you're going under from hitting the rocks. Others the constant roar of a storm crashing at your insides with your life preserver crumbling from the strain. One sermon about heaven and the reward of eternal life, I leaned over the railing on the highest floor of the academy wishing to know for certain if any of it was true and was preparing myself mentally to embrace the fall. Another, years later when I was no longer so naively young, I quietly laughed to myself as a shopping receipt came out as £6.66 and quit to stare in disbelief as I had stepped too far off the sidewalk kerb. My hair stroked by the side mirror of a bus, an inch further or a slip on the rain-slick pavement and my life would've been irrevocably altered. One intentional, one unintentional but no less my own fault for not paying attention to my surroundings. There are other episodes from my lives, ones where I've bled myself, poisoned, and choked. Surviving each time, each with less and less certainty I ever did.
Each time I'm moved further away from the best of all possible worlds into one that is everything as it was, only a little bit worse. Everything entails more hardship, forgiveness in shorter supply, and every time I wish I was something more I become less. Never hitting my goals, or realizing ambitions, and having to surrender and make do with failure or decide to end it once more and repeat the cycle. It is a quiet, personal hell where I can't bond with anyone. I can watch plants wither, metal rust, and my body age. This is not a hell that needs devils. The violent can beat their chests on the banks of the river Styx, and sorcerors walk in Bolgia with twisted heads. I've found my circle and unexpectedly, I am ready to lay down my roots. I no longer heed the call nor desire self-destruction anymore. Life is hard as it is, and I can't go back where I once was to enjoy an easier time.
It's difficult to believe, but I find myself content. Locusts can tear at my flesh, acid boil at my feet, and calamity befall me, and to each I feel unmoved. No longer do I put myself in a position where I desire more than I can achieve or find myself so attached to something it pains me once I need to let it go. It was the recognition of hardship around me and its growing pressure did I realize I did not need any of this. I didn't need these goals in my life or make myself the best I can be, I can simply be. I exist in the moment, and as something elemental. My ego has diminished and as I branch out, this one has become boundless.
My hell has become an oasis.
