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I did it.
I got rid of it.
It's not permanent, but it can't get me anymore. It can't feed off of me, it can't harass my sister, it can't visit us in our dreams. It can't send me spiraling down from a natural high, into a mental breakdown in a matter of minutes or hours. It can't suck the life from me, while no one in the room notices. It can't do any of that anymore, because of what I just did.
I was brave. My body aches, my hands are shaking, and fingers are rather close to blistering [I am careful with how I type]. I buried those bullets in the ground, I defeated the enemies along the way. I didn't expect them but I should have. Who knew a trowel could be such a good weapon.
A part of me feels like I'm overreacting, that my victory is small and that I shouldn't make a post on every social media site I have. But you know what? I was scared of this thing. It frightened me, and very few things do. It made me feel small and weak, but most importantly, it made me feel like I deserved it, that being host to a parasite wasn't such a big deal. So, it seems only proper to celebrate, to say fuck you, because I didn't deserve what happened to me. My freedom is worth celebrating.
I wish I could initiate part two of the plan, but I'm so weak. I don't know if I could do it, even if I tried. I've never really tried astral projection; I did try some as a kid, but never too seriously. What I did was enter more of a trance state, although it bore some similarities to projecting. Yet, when I listened to the audio clip, it sure was easy to slip out. I didn't even mean to but I was half way there, like taking off a glove. Perhaps my tranciness in my youth helped me be able to project easier, it helped me recognize that my body is a vessel for a piece of me, a facet... it not actually me, not all of me. The side of a dice is not a whole dice, after all. Who knows, I'm too tired to care right now.
I got rid of it.
It's not permanent, but it can't get me anymore. It can't feed off of me, it can't harass my sister, it can't visit us in our dreams. It can't send me spiraling down from a natural high, into a mental breakdown in a matter of minutes or hours. It can't suck the life from me, while no one in the room notices. It can't do any of that anymore, because of what I just did.
I was brave. My body aches, my hands are shaking, and fingers are rather close to blistering [I am careful with how I type]. I buried those bullets in the ground, I defeated the enemies along the way. I didn't expect them but I should have. Who knew a trowel could be such a good weapon.
A part of me feels like I'm overreacting, that my victory is small and that I shouldn't make a post on every social media site I have. But you know what? I was scared of this thing. It frightened me, and very few things do. It made me feel small and weak, but most importantly, it made me feel like I deserved it, that being host to a parasite wasn't such a big deal. So, it seems only proper to celebrate, to say fuck you, because I didn't deserve what happened to me. My freedom is worth celebrating.
I wish I could initiate part two of the plan, but I'm so weak. I don't know if I could do it, even if I tried. I've never really tried astral projection; I did try some as a kid, but never too seriously. What I did was enter more of a trance state, although it bore some similarities to projecting. Yet, when I listened to the audio clip, it sure was easy to slip out. I didn't even mean to but I was half way there, like taking off a glove. Perhaps my tranciness in my youth helped me be able to project easier, it helped me recognize that my body is a vessel for a piece of me, a facet... it not actually me, not all of me. The side of a dice is not a whole dice, after all. Who knows, I'm too tired to care right now.
