Darkness, my old friend

“You’re the least sunny person I’ve ever known.”
That’s what a co-worker once told me.

The thought didn’t really sink in.
“You’re the least sunny person…”

This was about 15 years ago.
And he had a point.
I was a bleak bastard.
Through and through, man.

I was never Goth, and even now, if I was young, I couldn’t see myself being Emo.
All that crap is over the top.
It announces to the world look at me, I’m dark and moody and depressed, marvel at my darkness!

Nah, fuck that shit.
Not my style.
I was dark and morbid as any other 18- or 28- or even 38-year old.

As I grew older I kept pace and surpassed others in my demographic who were happily discovering contentment and joy and peace in stifling marriages and equally stifling careers. I would have nothing of it.

I preferred to entomb myself in the dark cavernous reaches of my soul.

Some people ran around in black clothes and white make-up and topped with black hair dye. I just lurched around looking normal as hell but with a soul darker than any wretch could match.

The darkness. It will search you down and destroy you. You know that, right?
A dark heart is a cannibal.
The darkness very nearly took me.

I’ve mentioned it in passing, but in 2005 I almost ate it. I almost joined immortal darkness; the same darkness which had chased me my entire life nearly claimed its reward. Inches, centimeters, so close.

But I came back.

I would be lying in your faces if I claimed that I experienced a sudden epiphany which saw me change from one person to another overnight.
Bullshit. It wasn’t like that.

Even after the darkness nearly stole me, I had a hard time relinquishing it.
And I still straddled the line.
But gradually, very gradually, I’ve slowly left it behind while its tendrils hungrily reach for me, beckon me to return.

I’ve slowly left it.
And here, I, am.
Not quite in the light.
But nowhere near the dark, either.

Yet, sometimes…

Many times I still question my motive for Phoenixism.
I realize it’s a vehicle of my soul, it’s my road back to the world of the living.
I’ve embarked upon this journey which I hope will lead me to the light.

For the only way I find it possible to combat the malignant darkness of my soul is to illuminate it with the harsh light of the fiery sun.


You see, there is an apocalyptic battle that takes place in my soul.
A battle as old as man. Light versus dark. Good versus evil.
What more suitable terrain can there be for this battlefield than in the soul of one who has experienced the extreme nature of both sides?

With Phoenixism, I would say I have generally kept my eye on the ball (or fireball).
I have not sunk into hapless morbidity.
I’ve avoided barren perdition.
I’ve been lively and positive and the journey has stayed on course.

But as with all journeys, there are stops, delays and unanticipated obstacles.
The darkness etched in my soul occasionally bares its fangs.

The darkness roars, it flames and crackles. And I must leash it once again.

It surfaced last night.
Always curious.
My post, The many manners of misery.
A total retreat into the void.
Into my black soul.

What the hell?

Slyly evil, sadistic, really, maybe most of you don’t realize it, but that post was the sign of my sinister past.

I don’t know what possessed me.
I didn’t plan it.
I took the video, thought it was hilarious.
Didn’t plan on posting anything. I was tired, I wanted to sleep.

Then I thought of that fucking musical Easter rabbit and I thought of Easter with its inherent symbolism of death and rebirth and the attendant suffering the cycle of life brings.

I thought of pain and suffering.
And that rabbit playing away stupidly.
Oblivious. And thus, evil.

Like so many people.

And there was much more suffering I might have listed if I wasn’t so mentally exhausted.
The post, it reinvigorated me. Fed my body energy to continue.
Into the madness.

And the rabbit could have played forever.