“You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better. ” ~~ Anne Lamott
You don’t deserve anonymity, yet you’re trying so hard to hide. Like a snake that slithers and glides silently into the densely grown brush when startled, you, too, have run off trying to be as far out of public view as possible. It’s what you’re good it. You excel at lurking in the darkness, just far enough in, just deep enough in the shadows that you can still perch yourself precariously at the fringes of light, watching and waiting, studying and choosing who you will pick to be your next victim. The throngs of innocents have no idea as they roll about through the days of their lives illuminated in light that being out in the open puts them at risk of you. You who can watch from afar without their knowledge that you are laying traps and plotting in silence, waiting for that perfect moment to pounce and devastate them with the vile being contained, barely restrained, although wildly thrashing deep down in your gut to regain control and spill your evil upon the very one who would come to genuinely love you, because they have only seen you enveloped and warmly wrapped up in your lies, your delusions, your deceit and cannot fathom how a heart such as yours can be filled with nothing but blackness rolling and trembling and heaving in its desperation to shatter another life. To decimate another love. To shatter and strip bare, to empty entirely in tightly wrapped fists, proficiently, skillfully, mercilessly wringing out every last ounce of emotional life from their heart. To quell the beats of the figurative muscle until they palpitate one last feverish, desperate episode and die as you mock them. To wither their lungs and suck every last molecule of air from the ever shrinking and expanding organs and rob them of any hope as you delight in their asphyxiation.
“The Devil hath power To assume a pleasing shape.” ~~ William Shakespeare
This is your home. This is who you are. This is what you choose. It has become your game, your pastime, an act of amusement played out repeatedly to satisfy the monster within at the expense of the very one who would stop at almost nothing to placate you, to satisfy you, to appease you. How can there be any humanity in this agent of darkness? How can you be human? How can you say you love? You are a shape-shifter. You metamorphose into whatever falsehood you need to capture, torture, control, manipulate, thieve, and throttle your victim. A small kernel of truth buried deep within that you manipulate and edit and alter to pull at your victim’s emotions and make them fall prey to your hideous ability to envelop them in guilt and hurt for you. You rob their secrets and hoard them away in the vault, catalogued and stacked on endless rows of shelves in your brain in order of their ability to cause hurt and embarrassment when you pull them back out and use them to slap them across the face. Pricks turn into jabs, which spiral and whirl and grow and twist into gouges and stabs and emotional impalement. You dash their heart upon the dagger of your tongue and bleed them dry. You pummel them mercilessly, wantonly, and grow stronger with each shriek of distress. You feed off them and sap their life force to become their prison, all the while lying to them with romantic, kind, compassionate words you stole from something you once read and convince them that they are your home.
“Lies and secrets …… they are like a cancer in the soul. They eat away what is good and leave only destruction behind.” ~~ Cassandra Clare
Home. Do you even know what this is? Do you know how a home is supposed to feel, the role it supposed to play? A home in the most basic sense is not just merely a place residence, a place where we lay our heads. That is a house, and true to your ability, while you are good at making the exterior of your designs look spectacular, you lack on being able to thoughtfully develop the internal layout. Why? Because in all facets of your life, you are so shallow and focused on appearances, all you can do is create this magnificent shell, this profound outer encasement, in effect a lie, to mask all that lacks within.
A house requires more than an attractive wrapping to turn it into a home. For it to be a home, not only must the internal layout be well thought out, each of its rooms must be filled with something your eye for surface aesthetics can never create. A home requires love, affection, and care. A home should be a refuge, a place of security, a place where those who dwell within know that despite what chaos churns and thrashes outside, once they enter this refuge, this safe-haven, once they are safely and securely embraced within its walls, they will be protected. They will be warm. They will be safe. They can be free to set themselves loose from the burdensome struggle of protecting and shielding their vulnerability and be completely free and open, able to trust those who dwell in that home with them to not damage them beyond repair when they have bared the deepest recesses of their heart and exposed their most intimate, private thoughts, feelings, and dreams.
For you to call someone this, for you to say to someone, “You are my home,” you have implied that these elements of protection, appreciation, affection, kindness, love, and safety are reciprocated and true for both persons. To say this thing means you are expressing appreciation and gratitude for the genuine love they have offered up to you. The trouble is, they will not immediately know you are creating yet another spectacular display for them solely purposed to entrap them and bring them under your spell, just long enough that their emotional connection to you blinds them as you shed your skin and allow the monster to ascend to the light.
“Because even if the lie is beautiful, the truth is what you face in the end.” ~~ Lauren DeStefano
This one statement has been well-crafted to conceal two truths, or depending on your point-of-view, two lies, but it also gives a glimpse into your character. For you, a home is not a place of emotional refuge and safety, but rather a place for you to hide from the transgressions you commit out in the world and a place to conceal the destruction you cause within its walls in darkness, behind closed doors, away from the eyes of those who live their lives in the light. For you, it is a place to perpetuate all the wrong you do and know you can get away with it because it’s yours. Because it’s your property. It reveals that you think you are above all law, that you can do as you please, and that your behavior to some extent is even acceptable, because it’s yours. You own it. And in your ownership of these vile things, in your admitting them publicly without even so much as uttering a word of it aloud, you lie and show no regard for another’s life. For you it is a place of protection, but in stark contrast to how I see a home, its protection for you is to enable to you to keep the light from exposing you. For you, it is not about emotional protection, kindness, or love. It’s about property and ownership and status. And so, you lie.
You lie because you know that light and dark cannot successfully inhabit the same space without one obliterating the other. You lie because you know you are not worthy of being gifted with their light. You lie because you want them to accept that the darkness with you is better than what’s out there. Better than freedom. Better than friendship and family and mobility and sense of self. That your death is better than their life. And the drown in it, never knowing the danger to which they subject themselves. You tell beautiful lies because honesty does not allow you to live as a sycophant without the consequences of being left alone.
What you say when you call someone your home is acknowledge you know they have come to care for you, even love you, and you lie to them to mislead them into thinking the gift they are offering up to you from the most intimate part of their heart is being reciprocated. However, what you are really telling them is that you have them trapped and you are getting ready to initiate your first method of abuse to get them under your control, and it comes in the form of imperceptible, miniscule bursts of verbal assaults. You have also implied to them a sense of respect and led them to believe that they are your partner when how you really feel is that you are now free to do as the monster within pleases, they are your property, and as such, are now under your control. That you have sentenced them to a life of misery, suffering, fear, and pain.
And so, you lie. No one can ever be your home, because your eyes will search and examine until you find fault. They will always fail to live up to your expectations. And still you lie. You lie to give the evil inside you free reign. You lie to have someone to live off. You lie to have a place to hide away from the things you have done. And you’re lying again. Building another world based on myth. A world where you’re the victim, struggling, always being left behind, misunderstood, and cast off. A world where you’re kind and loving and gentle and generous and trustworthy and peaceful.
Except this is not the way it is. This is not who you are. And so, you lie.
“When it comes to controlling human beings there is no better instrument than lies. Because, you see, humans live by beliefs. And beliefs can be manipulated. The power to manipulate beliefs is the only thing that counts.” ~~ Michael Ende