Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the way things used to be, the life I used to live.

For the first time in my entire life, I am what I would consider to be successful.  I live in a town I love, close to the ocean, and I don’t worry about money even a little.  I am luckier than I feel I’ve ever been in my life at this very moment.

It took me three years just to get over what happened to me, and I am very cautious to let anything that is “overly” supernatural back into my life.  I nearly lost my entire mind, and maybe even my soul, and the idea of even putting myself that close to risk again is too much to bear.

With that being said, I lost a part of myself I deeply loved.  The little homes I lived in on the other side were all so valuable to me.  I miss my beach house most of all, but of course, he is still there.  Every time I even try to think about it, it’s from very very far away, and I don’t attempt to get any closer.  He still tries to find ways to lure me in, and I imagine he always will.

I guess the thing that feels difficult is that so much of my life is a secret.  I live in an entirely new area with people who don’t know me or my family or people I went to high school with, so I don’t talk about my past.  I don’t say much about who I am at all, to be honest.  There is no one left on this earth who knows who I am right now.

And yet, this part of me feels like the most important thing I’ve ever done, or will ever do.

I have all of these questions about that period of time that no one can really answer, because my ex-husband’s experience was so much different.  The other day I wondered if I only stayed with him because I knew that he was my plug to the other side.  He was my channel.  In some ways, it feels like he owed me a debt that I collected on in this lifetime.  Not to mention that we know that my ex is much closer to “Alex’s” crew than he is to mine.

I never get over the irony of Alex having this ‘angelic’ legacy, of having a voice like a church choir, of having a personality like a slightly wounded but enthusiastic puppy dog.  And then you look at his face, really look at it, and you can see the truth about who he is.  Razor sharp teeth, overly pronounced cheekbones, dark black eyes deep in the socket.  When things were good, before they ever got ugly, I used to joke he had demon teeth.  Now when I see pictures of him, the darkness is all I can see.

I worry that he’s not just after me, but that he’s after many people in the world.  Empaths and healers.  I know that he cannot leave the island but he also likely can be reached by his followers and cronies.  I worry about what he’s having them do.  I wonder if I should be the one who goes to see him and asks what the fuck he’s up to.  I’m the only person he ever listens to, apparently, but I don’t want to put myself in a position of that level of danger ever again.  I have spent centuries of work on him and I am so internally and privately furious at how much I have lost and sacrificed for him.

From what I understand, given my position over there, the work I do, the associates I have, I may have destroyed my reputation by being so heavily involved with him.  Furthermore, it’s evident to me that people think I’ve been brainwashed or manipulated or sickened by him, and it’s hard for me to know if that’s true or not.  The more the me I am now feels that may be the case, the more my inner selves feel adamant that it’s not.

I remember in the depths of my sickness, when I was first realizing what had happened to me, when the flashbacks of the assaults and rapes were first surfacing, when I meditated and found a part of myself locked inside a box in a basement, the other part of me, the part I refer to as Her/Me or Hermie, was utterly dismissive.  Uninterested.  Part of the cost of admission, she seemed to say.  This is what happens to girls who dance across the line.  And she was the one who looked all of these people in the face and shrugged coldly when they accused her, who raged and flared when they would dig inside my head to get answers.

She is monstrously powerful, and when I make jokes about being a witch, I don’t necessarily mean myself.  Whatever power she has is borderline terrifying.  I don’t say that as a boast about myself, because I continue to be bewildered by it.  I don’t think I’ve even begun to see exactly what she can do, because Alex stole so much from me in this lifetime.  Over and over I was told that the power he showed me, the things he could do, those were all things that he siphoned from my soul.  He attempted to quite literally drain me dry.  I remember the night we exorcised him, banished him to the island, how much energy I felt rushing back into my body.  I had no idea how much I had lost until I got it all back.  And I still feel like I have not utilized it properly.

Lately I can’t help but wonder if that’s exactly the type of power I should be attempting to harness.  Whatever is coming next- and so many of us feel it right now- we will need all the power we can get.  Especially if it has anything to do with him.

 

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