I am not okay.
I feel as though control is slowly falling from the grip of my reigns. It is slipping through my fingers as though desert sand.
My resolve is undergoing an insurgency; it is under attack from all fronts; an all out rebellion; a declaration of war.
My barriers have been breached and my walls have been compromised.
What I have strived and struggled for so long to keep beyond my gates have laid a siege upon my conscience.
I am not at peace.
I am bombarded from the left and from the right. Attacks emanate from the expected and the unexpected.
No angle of my body is shielded: no matter how much I try to cover and guard myself, there is an opening that can be exploited.
When I think I have survived; another wave, greater than the one before, hits me in all my vulnerable.
Discouragement and uncertainty are my new bed mates.
They whisper in my ear all day and night; beckoning, calling, seducing, coercing and convincing.
They are slowly pulling me to them; to their darkness and their disparity.
They seek to hypnotize me and then corrupt me. They want me to be like them.
I keep fighting; I keep resisting; everyday putting in the fight of my life.
I, though, don’t feel as though I am winning. With each passing day, I feel as if giving in is the proper thing, the logical thing and the only thing to do.
This shit is nasty! It ain’t great.
I cannot sit; neither can I stand.
Fear and anxiety keep my stomach from food while my lisps have lost the taste for wine. My desire for the breast of a woman is long gone and their sight does not so easily beset me as it did before.
I am slowly beginning to prefer isolation for it is all I have come to know.
I have locked myself away in the chambers of my mind, away from the icy cold grasp of reality.
Matter is slowly losing its essence; the shadows are slowly creeping in and maybe it’s my claustrophobia speaking but the walls seem to get closer everyday. It is as though they want to suffocate me within them.
I have lost track of time; days feel like weeks and weeks like eternity and beyond.
I am stuck.
I feel paralyzed and I am afraid that one of these days I will succumb to the oh-so-great temptation to doubt my faith.
In spite of all this, the siege continues and the greatest casualty thus far has been my conscience.
Life is almost drained from it and I don’t see him lasting through the night. I heard him whimper all through yesterday but by now has lost even the strength to open his eyes.
All I can do now is cry for help, hoping and praying that someone will hear me.
I hold on to the hope that someone out there thinks of and prays for me.
I pray that my father has not forgotten me and as we speak is presently sending his strongest and bravest knights to my rescue.
I pray that the thought of me even crosses his mind, even if it is just for a split second as he sits down to eat or as he walks through the royal courts; that he prays for me to the gods every night before satin sheets and the warm skin of a damsel comforts him from the perilous night.
All I can do now is wait.
Wait for my rescue and eventual deliverance from this prison of torment; an imprisonment that was self inflicted all in a bid to emancipate myself from my father.
My father whom, when I shall stand before, I hope shall look beyond my dirty, depraved and tattered look and that he will see his son; to the little man on the inside who cries and craves for his approval; whose only sin was desiring his father’s affection.
I hope he shall hear what my heart has been saying all this while;
“Father, please love me…”