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. 

I fall in an endless pit of black. A thing beam of light pinned on my chest. A small prick of a light hole way above my head. I am just falling and falling. Forever it feels like. No sound, just the feeling of cold air brushing past my skin. A cold crawling sensation.

One such thing has grown numb. A heart that was warming is cooling again. It's vicious cycle repeating again.  And again.
Again.
Again.

I continue to fall in the blackness. I can feel the icy hand stretched out. It's hatred and malice thick in the air, content in his position. A smell long forgotten wafts up, the one of angry and being scared. To feel the ice tendrils of fear again... my bones freeze. My sinews and ligaments lock and tighten. The restraints of man are breaking again.

It's coming back. The animal. The beast. The side that will fight for looking the wrong way.
I called it the animal. But IT called itself the truth. I thought I had left it...left that part of me behind. But when you only true connection to the earth is one person and that one person is drifting away on a plank of wood and you don't know how to swim...that connection becomes strained. When it is held together by a string of floss a man can fall oh so fast.

I hear their voice rising now. They...god...they are back, Their voices rising from the deep. Thick and thin. Loud and quite. I hear them them again. "Welcome back!" I can hear their joyous laughter at the return of a brother. Of one long lost to the light. One who's faith is shattering underneath a mountain of scorn and hate. Again.
"Brother why did you abandon us?" This voice I heard once before...it's back. Not him...but his king. My human earthy connection is almost gone. My confident is almost lost, the piece of me that was cold water waking me up from a four year slumber. I cant! I CANT GO BACK! NO I WONT!!! 

I begin to thrash and fight this fall. I scream!!
"WHERE ARE YOU?! YOU PROMISED!! DON'T FAIL ME!! You promised...." My words trail off. I have lost my breath.....yet again. A promise, a covenant is straining, my end of the deal is breaking. The fine print always read as long as I want  the help I shall receive it.

A new anger rises up. Each time.... when I think I have hit bottom a part of me rises. Covered in blood, battered and beaten. Bruises covering my face, hair long and unclean. Eyes bloodshot and wild. He..I walk with a limp in the right leg. His bones creak from the relentless battles. But not broken in spirit.
"Wake up...we aren't done yet." I have not a single clue at where I came from but he walks on. His..I mean my body bathed in light. A eternal fire that was promised to be lit. My fall slows and I stand on ground. A black nothingness passes out in each direction.

Time is no longer existent in this plane. Our footsteps slowly blend into one. My guide walks bent, great sinewy muscles rippling in his shoulders. The world rests on him. A tired but determined strength passes from him. A green and red aura surrounds him, it switches between smooth and welcoming and then powerful and wold bending.

Each step is a massive weight, I had lost my own control. I had lost him...Him, I had lost my faith for a bit. I had fallen into the habit of going through the motions. But I trudge on, a slow shamble. In the distance a rocky path stretches forever into the heavens. I have no clue to how high it is but I can't imagine climbing to the top. But the me in-front of me grabs a hold on a rock just above his head and yanks him self up. His feet plant perfectly into crevices.

"Climb. Or you will bow...again." When I feel years ago, he was the part of me that never stopped. The one who forced me to live life. That part that came screaming awake at the thought of death and suicide. The part that flew off the handle every night of drunkenness. The part that became sick whenever I did the drugs. So of course I follow. This is the leader part of me. The one people follow.