A Witch is Born

I wish there was something more I could say to explain why I'm so closed off from the world, but I've never really had a close relationship with my feelings.

When I was young, I experienced every negative event a child should never even bare witness to, let alone shelve upon her shoulders as a growing collection of future obstacles to personal success.

My world was small, and it shrank every year as I continued to remove people from my circle of trust.



I had great foresight, which may account for my now continually experiencing déjà vu on the daily, and as I aged, so too my foresight developed, and déjà vu developed into streams of consciousness interwoven with reality.

From the moment I awoke, I had maybe an hour or two of peace before reality started to emerge in waves of instability, crashing down on my mind and stealing away my thoughts as if particles of sand caught in the ebb of the wave.

The waves grew stronger, pulling more and more grains of sand back into the ocean with each passing hour, draining me of any fight to prevent the future from unfolding as if memories from the distant past.

My problems ranged from stress disorders, culture shock, attention deficit, addiction, social anxiety, physical abuse, and others I'm still trying to identify.

Recently I realized all those problems manifested into a personality disorder that haunts my social awkwardness, further pulling me away from any chance at friendship or love.

My inability to cope with these issues created an intensity of emotions that released infrequently as pent up rage, but sometimes just simple, controllable anger.

Making matters worse, before I even reached my early teenage years, I was already unable to deal with the oppression of being a woman in man-eat-man world.

I learned to hate, but that is not to say that I lacked an inner love.

I just kept my inner light dim and hidden from the cold hearted aliens that surrounded my existence.

Nightmares became more and more common until eventually I started having lucid dreams at a rather young age.

Controlling my dreams eventually became boring after a few years when even my active imagination ran out of ideas on limitless experiences.

I wanted to fly, but I was afraid of heights, so I would dream of flying low, just a few feet off the ground, circling the block my house was on, because I wasn't allowed to cross the street, even in my dreams.

My obedience eventually evolved into defiance when unexplained punishment became a frequent occurrence.

Those who hated me before I spoke their language didn't understand my resentment in later years, but the damage was done, and no amount of hypnosis could erase the pain engraved in my mind.

My heart turned cold, until eventually it froze into ice, and no amount of love could melt it back into human form.

My inner light still shines, but it illuminates with a darkness similar to a black light.

Inside me now exists an emptiness comprised of pain, loneliness, despair, and lots and lots of anger.

I never asked to be born; I never asked to be here, yet here I am keeping a promise I'm not even sure anymore that I am obliged to keep.

With each passing day I suffer silently, solemnly, secretly with passive resistance.

I yearn to return to my creator, but only to ask Him why he allowed so many terrible things to happen to one person so early in their development.

Was there no one else stronger to handle the pain?

It broke me, and now I remain broken, casting spells upon those who ignore the telltale signs of the bitterness that has plagued me for so long.

And now I study the dark arts, an apprentice to a wizard whose hate is anchored in a corrupt form of love, twisted with desire and much stronger than anything I can summon.

My inner light grows darker as each lesson compounds upon my already strong foundation, broken by years of childhood neglect and abuse.