I am in a weird state of mind.
Not exactly happy.
Not exactly sad.
Not very angry either. Once more I have managed to balance between the constant need to inflict violence and the overwhelming desire to be gentle in the way my family and close ones never were to me.
Time is pressing me. There is no such thing as time, time is an illusion of the mammalian brain, and yet I am pressed for time. Isn't this ironic? One of the nicest things I read on a tea tag recently was "we are spiritual beings having a human experience." When my time comes, I will miss having a body, though I am not too certain what to do with it presently.
Watching the above video with gorgeous Gackt I can't help but wish I lived somewhere else. Somewhere or perhaps sometime I could pull a sword and hear the gut-warming sound a perfectly balanced, razor-sharp blade makes while unsheathed swiftly. The slashing and hissing of a good sword through air is a song I have missed, and something my soul still murmurs at nights between red dreams and vague memories.
I don't think I will ever forgive myself for choosing a female body this lifetime. I can understand the reasons, they are more than justifiable, but this doesn't make me hate it any less. I don't have a problem with my body per se, but I certainly have a very serious problem with the fact my sex needs to be penetrated in order to mate. I hate the man who sees me naked no matter who he is, I resent the hands that touch me for they defile me. I don't want to be entered. I do not want to have a vagina. I do not enjoy being the receiving part. It fills me with terror and rage to belong to the sex that has been systematically abused, forced, victimized and tortured for the fact we are designed to receive. I feel irate for the way this world treats my sex. Yet there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. I can stay away from relationships for the rest of my life; I have already been almost five years without one, but from a point onward this is cowardice. And I am anything but a coward. I would rather be accused of being a serial killer than a coward.
I hate myself for desiring that which makes me sick. I hate myself for choosing to be incarnated and live the life I did. I'd rather be somewhere else. Give me a horse and a sword and a woman to love me and I would be nice to her in ways beyond imagination. Or give me just a sword and nothing else. Just let me be. I don't want to be female anymore. Or if I am to be female please take me somewhere else. I can't stand those creatures who call themselves men anymore. They turn my guts.
[Funny to consider the fact my best friend is male and he's one of the four most respectful people I know. It is not men I have a problem with. It is not men that are twisted out of shape and suffer for it, but society as a whole.]