Hello.
My name is Virgil.
This, as you are no doubt very well aware, is my story. It’s not a tale for the faint of heart or the weak. It might shatter some of your preconceived notions of certain things—masculinity, love, trust and family. It won’t be pretty, and if you’re looking for a tale of romance, mystery, adventure, and other such typical escapes from the world in which you reside, then you should leave now. Don’t let another one of these words grace the eyes that you use to find those tales. My story is not one of them.
I’m not your typical human full of light and lust for life. I’m a dark man, with a dark past holding things so evil, diabolical, grey, and murky I kept them from the one I loved the most for longer than I should. Mostly because these things swam in the black seas of tar that would devour you like quicksand—a slow, painful demise. But as I eventually told them, now so shall I tell you.
The depths of turmoil that can turn an innocent flower into a poisonous black rose assumed to be far beyond repair. A rose with thorns that ooze a dark purple, acidic blood that burns the very core of man—these are the stories you will find here. Unfiltered and unrestricted full disclosure of evils your conditioned minds could never fathom.
What I’m giving… is truth.
Truth that we as humans shield ourselves from daily, so we don’t fall into depression—so we can brush off the horrors of life lest they break us and we crumble into dust, blown away into oblivion. Shields that keep up pretence because we know once we give in to all the depths of happiness and evil, there is no return. It’s a door you can never shut again. Fear wells up inside you each time a life situation threatens to take you into that place. A fear to protect you from the real world lurking inside the façade of life you’ve created—a perceived normal of no real existence.
That shield is something I know nothing of.
Not in the way that you think. I just never thought there was any other way to live than the way I lived. It was all I knew for many years, and I have never fully recovered. Some things just can’t be fixed, but they can be made to work. The broken pieces of something too far gone may not work the same as its human counterparts, but it can work to keep them going just as long in life—a human of a different kind. One who doesn’t try to remove scars but learns that some will never go away. The memories will live on from this life to the next, but that doesn’t mean the person is ruined. Just tried, tested and survived, even if they live on the darker side of human existence, covered in a black cloud of shame. A shame given, a shame felt, and a shame deflected upon them that they struggle consistently against to maintain breathing status.
So, if you’re terrified of letting the shield down, I understand it. There is nothing wrong with that. If you’ve never let it down and faced the deepest wells of your emotions, your existence, well I just feel sorry for you. Within these pages are the types of things you will ignore and force to have no impact on you. You will remain safe in your self-imposed box of ignorance, separated from the real world, and I don’t envy the bubble you’ve created. But to those who know sometimes you have to open up to feel everything that the universe want’s to tickle your senses with: I dare you, encourage you, challenge you to read on. Know and feel with me as I felt. And I won’t judge you because I do believe people can feel others’ pain. If you cry when I cry, I won’t look at you with attitude thinking ‘how can you feel it if you never experienced it’.
It’s okay.
Life dealt me a bad hand and revelled in its more than successful mission at destroying me. Fucked me up the ass with no lube and smiled sinisterly as I curled into a fetal position and cried in distress. Stabbed repeatedly and laughed at as what was left of my body bled out slowly and killed me a thousand times over. But as you can see, it failed at fully killing me.
Now I’m ready.
Ready and willing to disclose. If you’re with me still, you are doing better than most. Maybe it’s because you are already damaged, and you just need to know you are not alone. Maybe you hope my journey will help you with yours. Maybe you just need the strength to finally push through, cope, let go of the need to fix, and choose to live with it. Or maybe, just maybe, you’re about to have your own release, and reading mine will help you share yours.
But I hope it’s not that you are still going through.
The time it takes to type my tale.
And in case you forgot:
My name is Virgil.
No last name.
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