Sorrow and Regret

An uneasy rain fell on this day. One marring the mid summer, a rare occurrence. Sapping life and energy from I, for my spirit felt restless and tireless. The colors in the normally bright flowers were empty and lackluster, but I still picked her favorites, lily's and roses, bright red marked with the white roses. Her absolute favorites.

Maybe today I can cheer her up. I thought to myself as I stood back up. My shoes muddy and my shoulders sore from picking just the right ones. Maybe today we wont fight. My heart ached from the constant bickering and fighting. It felt like an omen that the heavens where raining and breaking lose.

I was to meet her at her place, a beautiful home with acres, away from the city. But she wanted to meet somewhere else, she wanted to buy new clothes. Part of myself was thankful we could break up our routine of watching movies, eating, and fighting.

Always about the same thing, always "I am afraid that I will cheat." Or "You are never able to do the things I want to do." I always had the answer to such a thing, "But how could you when you say I love you?" Or "I am broken, I cant hike or ride." And then we would both huff and blow until we were raw in the faces and voices and settle down into cold still silence.

"I have to move away, you know with my family." She stared at me with those crystal blue eyes, so soul catching and hauntingly beautiful. The way they curved when she was sad or would shine as if a firework when happy, the part of her that made me talk to her. The part that I first complimented. I wrote poems about those oceans of love and sorrow, about how such beauty that seemed to know the end of time and pain.

And today those eyes were so clouded and sad, turned towards the ground. Those thin perfect lips quivering. "I...I need to say something." I just stared knowing with all the dread in my heart what is to come. "Why do you treat me like this?" I feel that rush of water, the clutching of the chest, ragged breathing. The flowers are nothing anymore. "I...I cant be with you anymore. I... I love you. But it hurts to much. I don't even believe you when you say that you haven't cheated or lied to me anymore. Then I get mad and I end up hurting you. I cant keep doing this cycle. I am sorry."

Those blue eyes look at I, framed with raven black hair, except a few strands in the middle of her hair, white and blonde mixed. She stands there for a few heart beats. Turns and leaves "Fine. Never talk to me again. I hate you."

I meant to give her those flowers, to see a smile on her face one last time. To see that smile that made my day brighten when nothing else will or would. To see the smile that would say "I love you my darling." I wanted one last time to make her eyes light up with wonder and excitement, like all those times before. She was my first love, some one I trusted and shared my heart with.

She was the first person to see my cry, to see me break down after all the abuse and hurt I have felt from my life. She was there when my family lied about my father trying to commit suicide. There to keep me from killing myself, from jumping, or walking into traffic. When I feel into alcohol again to pull me out of it. To me, to me she was a saving grace, and angel to help redeem a very sinful and broken boy.

I loved her everyday for nearly two years of my life. She was the first person I said I love you too. Who made this so called thug and bad ass a softy. I grew still with her, not feeling any of my rage or hurt. Just an outpouring of caring and love.

And I am so so so sorry I hurt you. That everything happened the way it did. But I was broken physically and mentally. I was so hurt that I didn't know what to do anymore.

You see on that day, not only did I lose someone I loved. But a friend, confident, trusted... everything to. I lost what felt like the other half of me.

The one thing in my life I have regretted doing. No other regrets in my life except for that day and not trying to fight harder. But they always say if you love something set it free right? Right? Right guys?

Go

I began to notice strange things when I was young. Oddities. Like how people would lie to me and I knew it. For a long time I knew it. My family said I was strange.. they acted scared of me at times. I could notice.... it was like an energy. At all times.

Now two of my posts involve, ghosts and me seeing energy. And one a demon.  I... yeah this sounds crazy but I see them... well sense. I don't normally see them. But I am aware of them. I am aware of peoples presences. And I am told time and time again that my presence is large, and rough, but that it draws people in.

I was told a few months back by a teacher that I am a man of power. I don't crave it, it finds me. That I can't enter a room without every one wanting my attention. He said "HosKing, people want you to notice them. You aren't a small presence in a room, you dominate without trying to dominate."

Now I didn't believe him until I started riding the bus and random strangers started telling me their problems. Not just small ones but huge life changing issues. I attract things...I attract people.

Now I have no idea how or why I have this ability. Or even if it is all made up in my head (Name of the site does have my name with question mark). I honestly don't see how people can follow me, or why they do. 

I have little tolerance for ignorance, or rudeness. Arrogant people piss me off and I tend to confront them about said arrogance. If you say you are better then others, feel entitled, or put others down I become your enemy. I am hard baring and don't let persons slack off or goof off when things need to be down. Like a Kyojin, I will come down on you. I push hard for excellence and I push even harder for self growth. I abhor senseless violence but will resort to it as a last resort. 

People claim I am a great leader, but I am not. I swear, I smoke, I did drugs, I did alcohol, I hurt people physically and mentally. My best friend, I used to bully him on a daily basis. So why I have this power when I am clearly such a curropt and evil person is unknown to me. Hell maybe I am crazy.

Goals

I have plans. I have dreams and I am writing them hear so I can be accountable ten..twenty.. forty years from now.

I have been a sick person, asthma, allergy's,  mental problems, depression, anxiety and PTSD. I was born a son of a simple man who had been born of a line of greatness. He came from a rich family. He came from an abusive home. My father was a simple mechanic of a simple nature.

He grew violent and abusive though. I was told time and time again by him that I was stupid and an idiot.

I kicked him out. I made my mom divorce him. I decided to spit on what he said. I took my physical aliments and ran with them.

Now I am no great orator. No great thinker or dreamer. Most of the time.

I know I have said stuff before along these lines, but my mind seems to dwell here for days at a time or weeks. But today as with most days I have been trying to figure out my future path in life. And after much thought and much discussion with myself and God I have chosen my path.

God laid out a path before me, one spike and rugged. Where it is easy to fall of the sides and tumble forever.  One where my path is difficult. But...I accept it. I know it is a long and odious and tenuous path before me.

I will be a leader. A better leader. One that people will compare to Roosevelt, FDR, and Churchill.

I want.. nay I will become the president of the United States of America. I want to lead the greatest country in the world into the new era that is dawning.

I still believe in my country and it's people. It's leaders at the moment no. Of neither party.

So I ask... keep me to this goal. Send messages to this blog every few weeks or days or months. Check up. Cause I want to be the President.

stage two

I have grown used to the pull and push of climbing the walls. Of the rocks digging into my hands and belly. The constant bleeding and burrowing, how raw and red my skin has grown. Each little slice has dug in a little bit deeper, I am growing tired. My muscles have long since forgotten how weak they are. The me in-front of me continues on, his pace unbroken. This climb, one he has done several times before. Nothing is slowing him down, the calluses on his body have grown to be so thick that I doubt anything can cut him.

I still cant believe I was falling. I promised on broken knees that I would follow the light and in one missed instant I fell. I began to drown in self pity and hate again. My body in real life, I am aware now of this...blackness breaking, has broken. A knee shot to hell, hips knocked lose. Mighty muscles have given way to fat and sloth.

But beneath this surface is the strength.Covered in layers of humility and falseness is the rolling boiling anger and power. The red that the me in front displays. Some parts righteous others against self the rest of pure world bending anger. One that when it shows it's head for the barest of second people scramble to calm the surfacing monster. 

My body is broken but not my spirit. For my spirit holds the flames tight and whispers to itself daily.
 "Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

Each long terrible day it raves against the ever beating of people against me. But I have been battle hardened by years of trails and tribulations. I have become scared and battered on the inside. I am the me..I am I. If that makes sense great.. if not I am sorry. The me...the real me I guess. Well now he is the real me. What with the scares and the limping and the dead-set gaze to always live. The fire that burns in his eyes are similar to mine...well they are mine. But mine don't truly burn with a fire like his. Mine are an ocean of pain and power. Or so people tell me. 

I am told time and time again that my eyes hold pain and suffering. But always compassion and empathy. That no matter my own pain I have helped others. Even in my dark periods. I have risen to help. But then they have also said that when my anger is shaken and awoken that my eyes turn...dark powerful. Hateful. That they can make a man bow in fear. Not respect. 

He flashes green and red. The green perfectly controlled. Sharp. Perfectly warm and powerful. Rising three feet above his head in a sword like shape. The rest like a smooth stylized piece of armor covering his body. Each piece intricately crafted, but all a different style. The chest piece is brutish in size and style. The shoulders are finely carved, elegant, flowing down the arms to taper at his wrists. The hands are simple and curve around the rocks. The legs are woven pieces  with the right one supporting more armor and what looks to be extra hunks or rods of metal along the sides. The me birthed over the last year.

But the red... it has no control. It is raw and powerful. An ax flashes above him. Great and powerful, it must be his body height. The armor is....crude... but awe inspiring. Great hunks, square is the chest section. With the shoulders massive and over lapping. The armor is one craftsmanship. The me that was birthed in that day so many years ago.  

But why do both show up here? Why is he struggling to control his power? Why am I struggling to control him? Control myself?

I forgot why people used to fear me. But seeing myself from the opposite positions reminds me. I was a raw cauldron of anger and hatred. How it would be sitting there unmixed and then become unstable like some chemistry project gone wrong on a thousand levels. 

"You know why Hosking." His words ring sharp and hard into my already bleeding heart. Wincing my face contorts into pain. Physical brokenness is clear, my knee is quitting. Again. 

My fingers snap lose and I watch as his head snaps around, the red blaring loud and clear like a trumpet in the night. In a split second his hands fly off the rocks and he dives. He won't let me fall for he is me. One hand cracks lose and grabs my ankle, the other ones branches out and grabs the wall. I am barely kept from smashing into it.