No like

I am not liking these memories so much. Silly me to think a couple episodes and I'd be all done with it. Such is not the case. It's much more like an onion. Peeling back the layers and crying.
Each bit I can experiance and feel, I can balloon and be done with. Underneath it is more though.
The details coming up are really really hard to deal with. Nearly impossible. Yet I know this must be done. What I did not have strength for before I do now, barely. I had to put it away to survive. Now I have to let it all out to thrive.
I don't want to remember. I don't want to think about any of it. The hands, the eyes, the words the voices, the pain. There is so much. It seems to much.
One mind cannot hold it all. It just can't. And yet I have no choice.

I smile and make it through my day. Wanting nothing but to be alone in quiet.
Yet I'm afraid to be alone also. Afraid of what deamon will come up. If I hide or run, the dead returns. The dead.
The non feeling numbness that is worse than any of the pain. The nothingness.
The dead that I would willing take death to end. Not even the pain does that. I've worked so hard to be alive, love live, and this sucks all thirst for living away. I would get a bottle of tequilla and jump from a bridge into the river, if I couldn't feel into the pain and remember.

Remember those hot, sweaty clammy hands, rough and hard. The others soft but not gentle.
I did not want this to happen. I never wanted any of this. Yet I did this to myself.

As difficult as the pain is, it comes in stages; just enough to manage, before being swallowed whole. The other is so much worse. It has no size, no ending. It is all consuming nothingness. No life. I can't escape it. And I cannot let any of them see it happen. One trama is plenty.

It has to pass. It cannot last forever. When can I be done?
I can feel the fissures. I am cracking to the core. I can feel my sanity, my everything crumbling. I have to go into the pain to find solidity. I am losing it, bit by bit I am having a breakdown.

Four hours last night. I went for peace, it did not come. The memory like it was yesterday did. In the middle of an unknown street, I freaked out. Sobbing for a pain I cannot escape. Better than the tequilla I wanted to drink. It would be over by now then.
How much more?
Alone, in pain.
No alone and dying.

No from that came enough peace, maybe comfort, to find sleep. Sleep without nightmares. Enough to face the nightmares when I awoke and it comes crashing back in.
Just enough to get to another day. One more day.

No one knows how hard. No one knows the struggle, the turmoil within. No one can ever know.
The tainted deamons are mine.
No guilt for what I have done, that is all good
No but much greater guilt for what I did not do. It is not all good.
The tained deamons are mine.

Another day. Make sure they are safe. Another dive into the firey pool; alone