Maybe I was a fool. Coming here, trying to find something new. What does it all matter? I’m still the same, the same monster, stitched and mangled. I still have to hide my face, I still have to skulk and take the insults and the jeers and the hate. And for what? Those were all the things I wanted to get away from.
All I wanted was to not be alone. I wanted companions, love, respect, happiness, the fundaments of a fulfilled life. All I got was a curse and a fistful of change. Rage has given me no satisfaction, as I know not what to rage at.
I feel now, more than ever, that I have lost. It’s over. Everything, from birth to now has been torturous. Every time I try to move forward, to better myself, to reach out, has always ended in disaster. I could live my life in secret, skulking and keeping to shadows, but that is no life I want to live. I wanted to live like the people I see out in the streets do. They don’t live half-lives. They take the world by the throat and wring what they want from it.
But I wonder, don’t I, in a way, deserve this? Have I brought this upon myself, through crimes and through vengeance? Many of you have guessed that my past is not quite as clean and that I am not merely a victim.
It shames me to say that you are right. I am not guiltless, and by my name I am cursed. I am a slave to impulse, to rage, to my own stupid naivety. I am afraid of the world, afraid of fire, afraid of being hated.
God, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I can stay here, but I don’t know if I can even muster up the strength to go. Should I stay here and rebuild, or should I go back, and confront the source, the very thing I fled from? I’ll be leaving all the things I have here, and God knows I won’t be able to Shelley with me. She’ll have to be abandoned again…
I had a dream, readers. Was that so terrible? All I wanted was to be loved, to have friends, to laugh as other men do and not be pointed at in horror. I wanted to be a man, with all a man’s hopes and dreams, and what did I get? Failure, shame, the monster I really am bubbled to the surface.
I look to your kind words and think, maybe there is hope for me yet. Maybe I could rise to be more than the monster I am. But then I remember that life isn’t a story. Life isn’t fair, and no one ever said it was. Some need to suffer so that other men might live their lives. I guess I was only ever meant to be a monster. I’m sorry, friends, you have meant the world to me. I’m going to keep trying, and someday soon I might finally claw my way from this blackness I find myself in. Until then,
You are all beautiful people.