I am bloodless. the battle has robbed me of every pigment of life. My scars won't heal anymore. I've suffered from the worst physical torture ever invented by man. The saddest part of it was, i consented the torture. It can actually be synonymous to self-inflicted pain. But what makes the difference was that the decision to undergo the pains and sufferings of the torture was, that my decision did not at all encompass and considered the extent of the process itself. There was fear, but more than the fear, there was a desire and the desire clouded everything else that might get in the way of fully submitting to the experience. It was a choice I did not choose. it was a personal decision made without my consent. Decisions and consent differs in the factors that were looked upon when they are made. I'm totally confused what was it that I did, but I am certain I did not consented it.
So I began to emerge in the process, like a detainee in a death camp, I began to observe the routine. At some point I would record the events, write down everything I saw in full colors, description. I also talked to a lot of the people there. Like a journalist passionate about a beat and wanting to write immediately, i interviewed people. Most of the time I did not get anything substantial, like people's reflections and opinions. What I received were uneasy smiles, teardrops, sobbing, aimless looks on space. Those meaningless and meaningful expressions, of grief, of pain, of insult, of inhumanity, of humiliation.
During the nights in the quarters, where a candle is placed in the middle of the room, i would sob. I can hear both of my selves weep at the tortures I am yet to experience. Of the tortures I can see in the eyes of the individuals whom I was able to talk to. Those nights were the nights I often thought of escaping. The picture was clear to me. I cannot bear the weight that a lot of people around me then were experiencing. I cannot imagine how my skins will be taken of my body and my eyes pierced with surgery implements. I cannot bear the thought of undergoing the state of being I once thought a sort of fulfillment.
And escape I did. at least on the level of thoughts. I began to escape from the fortress of doom. I climbed the walls that clams me up inside the chamber. It was harder than i thought. it was torture in itself. My feet are numb, both at the thought of being caught and escaping. But I went on, further, out, nowhere. I'm not even sure if I'm still inside or outside of something i thought to be guarded. it was bright, the sun aimed its hot knives on me as i walked past people, and places and things. But I was nowhere... I was walking somewhere, i know i was, the dust and the sand touches my bare feet but my soul was still kept somewhere deep down. it was buried, with all the life in it.
Another step further and I was at the same spot in the chamber i was when I escaped. everything feels the same. The warmth and coldness of the room. the painful and agonizing moans of people from everywhere, the restlessness of the eyes gazing at the candle in the middle of the room. everything was back to where ti all should not end. And i have no control of it. The next morning, I found myself in the face of the inescapable. It was my time and also not yet mine. For I chose to not exist in the reality of it. I am in another dimension now. I can feel on pain at all, yet I still am tortured. Escape was not the word, for every time I try to, another form of torture will come, maybe it was more of a choice. To feel or not to, to see or to be blind, to let go or to hold on, to feel or to be numb. And i chose to experience both ends of it, both sides of the coin, without the certainty of doing so. At the moment I am lost and found as well. Either way, it does not make much difference.
