11/22/99

Some things are hard to express by speech. But, there are too many things running through my head now, for me not to ventilate them somehow. I have to have somewhere to express what is going through my head. Hopefully, it will help ease the weight of the increasing pressure on my shoulders. And so, in an attempt to accomplish that, here is the first entry in my journal.

Life can be cruel sometimes. I've learned first hand how it can strike you when you least expect it to. But, at the same time, life can be good . . . sometimes. At least, so I was told. I can't really give an opinion of life being good. It has only offered me the chance in it's version of a teaser.

One time, I was offered a glimpse into what people find enjoyable. It came in the form of a woman named Karen. To this day, I realize that she was the biggest moment of enjoyment for my life. When she was around, things that used to bother me simply did not affect me any longer. I moved out of Gilman Street, dead set on starting a new life with her. My past, it didn't matter to her. She saw me differently than how others saw me. She viewed me in a whole different light. And for that, I could respect her . . . and love her.

I remember the time we went grocery shopping. Funny how great things seem, even the slightest of things, when you are with someone you love. She knew then that I loved her. I think that was why we had such a great conversation that night. I think that was why she let me in, telling me of her past in it's fullest. I don't think she could trust anyone else enough. She knew what I had come from. She knew that I could relate to her story, and in return, she could relate to mine. Although, sometimes I wonder if I was ever able to fully tell her everything about my past. There were so many things that I had a hard time talking of. I wonder . . . but, I think she already knew.

It's funny how vulnerable someone becomes, though, when their stability crutch is yanked from their hand. Thinking back, I should of saw it coming. For years, I had learned to be able to not depend on anyone. I had learned not to trust anyone. For years, I had built my tolerance high, and my emotions far away . . . further than anyone could reach and tamper with. But, I let the shields down with Karen. I let her see me, everything, and when I closed back my barriers, I took her back inside. By doing that, it was as if I had reconstructed everything that I had built over the many past years, and included her into the plans now. How could I had been so stupid?

When I was framed, I lost Karen. I didn't lose her . . . she was stolen from me. Voluntarily on her part, but uncontrollable on mine. And, upon parting, she ripped through my barriers, leaving me weak to attacks. She took part of my shield . . . a shield I had spent so long to build . . . and she destroyed it. Without her, everything that I had been able to push back through the months while she and I were together, were suddenly thrown upon me at once. And, how could I fight it? I was struggling to regain a portion of what I had lost. I was fighting to return to the place where I was a year before.

After being captured, tried, and set free, I returned back to where Karen and I lived. But she was gone, and her act was complete. My barriers were vulnerable to the attack.

I tried to resurrect the ways that used to be. It was hard. And, it was a slow process. But, I was almost back to where I was before I met Karen . . . until she returned, bringing my soul that she carried.

When I first saw her return, all that I had worked on for the weeks and months to bring back my inner protection, broke away. Karen had returned. And, once again, there would be no need for such a stone wall. How could I of been so stupid, even then?

When she turned on me, and sided with Havoc, I was done in. I couldn't protect myself from the verbal and physical attacks that she and Havoc brought to me each week. I had no protection from it. I could only sit back, and endure it. Endure it, as I listened to Karen tell of how she never loved me. How she felt sorry for me. Was it true? To this day, and can still not be sure of what I meant to her. I have to believe I meant something to her . . . I have to. The greatest moment of my life couldn't of been a sham. I love . . . loved . . . her. My heart could only tell me then that she, too, felt the same.

I'll have to pick back up here another day. I don't think I'll be able to write anymore.