Now there is a fiercness, an anger, a wild violence in me. It is frightening. The rage threatens to sweep away my everything, leaving only, what?

The strange desire to fight back, to stand and shout at an unfair world that it should hit me one more time, just give me a reason to react.

Where did this fierce anger come from? And who am I, with such powerful anger, such powerful rage? I fear to use it, but fear more to let it use me.

Is it wrong that I still struggle to seek some freedom from it? Moments of peace when I am less overwhelmed? When I am more able to breath without the clutch in my chest?

I wonder where it came from. But that is a question that is easily answered. I found the strength for anger when they were taken from me. Because even the very meekest of creatures will attack back if provoked.

Still, I wonder why it hasn’t left me, now awakened.

Still I know that I am changed, and I wonder what this anger will do to what I am.

I still hear its cries, its screams, the horrid shrieking. But worse than horrible, the cries call to me. Horrible sounds of undeath I have heard before. I could block them out, feel only the call to destroy what made them, to rid Tyrra of that abomination. No, not this–these cries called to me, to that part of me that will always be a mother, than can be nothing other than a mother. They called to me, made me wish I go to it, hold it to my breast and give it comfort. And that broke my heart. It brought back every moment of losing the twins. Every moment of losing that dear babe so early this fall. Every draw to the blank emptiness, the weakness and the defeat of my own mind.

Yet I cannot. If I give in, if I let the emptiness fill my mind, then I abandon everything. Still the constant war in my mind–between my two minds. The safe place that is empty, and the frightening place where I can love and feel.

And giving in is weakness. I am not weak. I will not be weak.

Though none approve. Though my choices are questioned. I have made the right one.

There is comfort, at least, in the path. In knowing my direction.

I want them back. I yearn for them. I reach and reach. I begin to note that in my darkest moments, I reach for them in panic, hoping for a touch back.

I miss everything. But I am not afraid.

I am still cold, still empty, still so full of “I need” and “I want” that I feel I have no right to exist.

He would not, could not, take me. And it hurt. It still hurts. Though it is no rejection, the not rejection still pains me.

My mind broke so hard that the parts that held me were lost for a time. The empty part is still there. It is where I escape, when everything hurts too much. I literally have two minds about all things–there is the place where I am, where I love, where I care and fiercely hold to duty, but there is also the place where I am nothing, where the emptiness calls me in it’s calm, where I feel free of all the dragging down pain and able to breathe. But that second place frightens me so, I only go when my heart is beyond breaking, when there is no solace left in the whole world for the pain I find. That is why I went when he died. When I could do nothing to stop my body from giving up, and nothing to save him. No one knows. No one seems to care. Perhaps it is better. Perhaps, but I don’t see it. My heart just hurts.

They need me. They have called out, and I am reaching for them as hard as I am able. I only hope it is enough. This hope is so new, so unexpected, and so joyous–I only hope I can hold it, that I can do what is needed and bring them home. I do not know if I have the strength to lose them again.

I do not know what to do with the others. He rejects them. They have no names. No one loves them, because they are not what we thought. But I love them, because they brought me hope, solace, peace. I love them, not because of who they are, but because they need to be loved. Because my heart doesn’t know how not to love them. They have done nothing wrong. Their parents were likely destroyed by undeath. They have nothing, and they need everything. It is not fair to turn them away, and even if it was I couldn’t. They have no names, but they will continue to have a place, even if all the others in the world hate them and me for it.

The path is always before me, it is not different than being without the name, without the title. What does it mean? Only that the public acknowledges what has always been. I am still me, though he hits me more to build my strength–I think he seeks a limit that does not exist. That I will not allow to exist.

I fight daily, I study nightly, I give my all to these twin causes–my children need me, they are the very definition of innocents who must be protected, weak and needing, seeking all the care and love they deserve to live to become strong. They embody all that I am built to protect–the family, the home, Life, innocence. They are all of it–so I give all that I am in saving them. My training is necessary so I can better follow this path, so I can better do what I am pulled to, what is natural yet never easy.

They ARE, and that alone keeps me away from the other side of my mind. Keeps me sane and living, able to submit to the pain that is necessary to learn.

They are all. I lived for him, and he did not want me to. He breaks my heart, but I need him to love me. I think he does, but his pain broke me. I am afraid, often, because of the pain I saw in him. Because of the dark, deep places that I could so easily slip into. I still wish it had been me. I still long to understand his pain, and he still holds it away. That still breaks my heart–the parts of him that he holds away from me. I gave him everything, all of me, without question and without demand. I didn’t, and don’t, expect anything in return–but yet, but yet. Those “I wants”, those “I needs” tear at me. I want more. Because I want to know what it is to be wanted so completely, to be reached for. I want to be held. Though perhaps worse–I want to know that pain. I long for a physical feeling to match the emotional torture that I can’t seem to escape. No matter how much I heal, no matter how much progress I make, no matter how many steps away from that moment, that past, that I make–the pain of that loss, the anger at it all and the hatred of feeling so powerless lingers on.

I still feel the tearing, the desire to scream and being magically inhibited by my own choice. The mingling hope and fear at what would come–like any birth, though less natural, less joy. Then, they were nearly in my arms, and everything fell apart…

I am supposed to be letting go. And I am, as much as I’m able. But so much of it feels unfinished. And every time I believe it finished and find an end point of some sort, something changes and it isn’t over.

I want the pain to be less. I want him to have time to love me again. I want them in my arms. I want to have the bravery, the strength, the confidence. And I have these things. I will do it. I can. But still, my heart breaks and I miss so much. The empty place calls, all I can do is resist it for them.

I feel lost. I look around myself, and nothing is familiar. I cannot identify who I am, where I am from, what has made me, what I have done or seen. I know nothing, about anything.

I know that I hurt. I hurt all over, and I was bleeding. I know that I couldn’t stop the hurting, and so I was moving. Because moving seemed natural, to move to escape what was hurting, but I couldn’t get away. I saw the building, the door, the light, and I knocked because maybe they knew me. I was blinded by pain, and not so disturbed by the empty feeling because there was only the bleeding and hurting, it was very clear and narrow. I couldn’t stand, things started to fade in and out, so I leaned on the door.

When it opened, I didn’t know who opened it, but looked up in hopes that this person would know how to make some of it better. Hoping that the cold, burning, pain would be made better so I could know myself again.

He laid a hand on me, and the hurting stopped, but the confusion lingered. He reached for me, this person I didn’t know, and I pulled away without thinking. I knew that such an embrace was only acceptable from…someone. I knew there was someone it would be from, but I didn’t know this person.

Then I slept. I don’t know why, but the rest felt good. My dreams were troubled, the hurt was still there in my mind, and I was searching for someone, some part of myself, and couldn’t reach them. But still, it felt good to sleep.

And now…I’m awake and still don’t know. My mind feels…not empty, but just…locked. I feel like there are things I should know, and they are gone. I feel some lingering, half-remembered pain. Something terrible happened, and it hurt my body and soul, but I don’t know what it was.

This person is half-familiar too. I want to trust him, or at least to know him better, but he’s familiar. I wonder who he is, but it would be so rude to ask. And what would the name mean anyway? I don’t even recall my own name.

So, empty and cold, lonely and afraid, with this lingering pain that I can’t explain the source of, I’m sitting and wondering who this man is. Wondering who I am. Wondering what I should do, where I should go. I wonder where home is, if anyone has missed me. And there are no answers, I’m just afraid.

Does that question even matter, when I don’t know who I am now. I am sure of what I DO. I am sure of what I care about, and what jobs are mine. I know my name, and can identify my feelings. But who AM I? I don’t know.

And it’s not as though anyone can tell me. So what’s wrong with me? Do I know myself this little? I think I knew, once. How did I let that knowledge get away? It’s not the sort of thing you forget. I don’t think.

I feel lonely. I’m trying not to. I’m trying to know that I’m not alone. But…when I don’t know what I am, who I am, how can I know who is with me?

I feel like I’m being smothered, suffocating. I can’t breathe, and it’s terrifying me. My heart is racing, I can’t slow it down. I feel like my body is betraying me, like my whole self is about to self-destruct.

I’m rapidly detaching from the reality everyone else is living in. I’m floating away. I’m just…maybe it isn’t even floating, more of fading. If I don’t know what I am, who I am, then what purpose do I have? Am I even needed? I am unnecessary, perhaps even a burden. I am holding them down, so I fade away to save them.

Still, my lungs are crying for air that I can’t find. I’m struggling and I don’t know what I’m fighting. Who am I? What is happening? How do I survive?

How is this happening? How is no one noticing?

I want to self-destruct. I want to cry. I want to lie down and not move. I want someone to NOTICE and come tell me it’ll be okay.

But no one will notice, because I’m hiding it. Just notice, brush back my hair, and make it better. Just find me, understand what I’m trying to say, hold me and kiss me and make it better.

I doubt it. Because I am alone, we are all alone, and we only are alone if we choose to be. I’ll handle it. Alone.

Powers I wish you knew and could make me smile again before I destroy myself.

I wish. I wish for so many things right NOW, and I don’t dare speak those wishes. Because they might come true.

I wish you got it. I should be able to be strong. I should. I should be able to tuck my head, regroup, and determine the fight. But you want me to stay behind? You think I can let you walk away from me again, knowing you’re walking into that?

I’m waiting for something. Waiting for something to happen. Waiting for life to suddenly right itself, and everything to stop being upside down. I’m waiting for the panic to drain away, leaving a smooth, clear spot in my mind. But it won’t. The world is this crazy. I am this frightened. I am this powerless to effect change. Nothing is right.

I’m afraid, and I’m waiting–I’m tense. I feel like I’m vibrating, shaking with trying to hold still and wait. I don’t think I can wait like this. I want someone to touch me–and I’m afraid if you do I may explode. But I want to know. I feel alone.

I feel alone. You’re right there. RIGHT THERE. And I still feel alone. I want you to hold me. I always do, after all.

I don’t know how to live in this month anymore. I don’t know how to live in this time. Something bad is coming. This isn’t the worst. It’s going to get worse. Make the nightmares stop. MAKE THEM STOP. He isn’t there to save me again. He isn’t going to come and blast them away for me. You’re just there. You’re just hanging there, looking at me, wondering why I CAN’T DO ANYTHING. What’s wrong with me?

It’s okay. It was okay. You were all okay. You were saved. Weren’t you? When does the world start working again? When do you treat me like a student, friend, lover, mate again? When do I stop feeling like a stranger? WHEN?

When can I feel again? When can I remember good things again? When does the pain, blame, horror end and when does it start again? When do I stop waiting?

STOP.

I can’t do this. This is allowing a past, a broken, miserable, misshapen past that almost destroyed me once to keep on trying. I can’t do this.

So, maybe it’s not the past.

I still want to be touched. I still worry for them. I still worry for you. I want to go with you.

Don’t leave me behind. Don’t forget about me. Don’t leave me. Don’t forget. Leave. Forget.

I’m shaking again. The world is too bright, and too dark. I can’t see, can’t feel, can’t breath. Don’t leave me behind. DON’T LEAVE ME BEHIND. Don’t forget me.

Darkness. I don’t know how to shine, how to fight, how to do what needs to be done. I know I can’t do it alone. I know you have to be in danger. Just let me share it. I should share it. I should follow you. Or walk beside you. But not alone. I can’t. Alone.

Wishes. One doesn’t dare wish. A wish is dangerous. So I hold them close and closer.

And instead I ask. Maybe you’re right. But let me go too. Touch me once, twice, once more. Let me exist. Or tell me what I’ve done wrong. The distance, the silence, that frightens me.

I want the pain outside, not in. I want to see it, where I know how to fix it. I want to feel something–a touch or a knife. I want the sensation. It can be bad or good. I want good. I WANT, even if I shouldn’t, I do. I keep whispering it to myself at night, trying to say it loud enough to be heard. I keep failing. I need a feeling.

Generally, I despise being proven wrong. It irritates me. When I come to a conclusion, a decision, or make a choice it’s usually after a great deal of thought. Generally, I hate being wrong.

Today I don’t. Which is…odd? Maybe not. I don’t know. I’m sort of…torn? About many things, really.

I’m…finally, maybe almost sure of what my path is, for the moment. I don’t know–I feel…sure of what I’m hoping to do. I also expect resistance. I expect it will be a struggle, and that there will be dissent…arguments…I don’t know. But yet, if it was easy, I suspect it wouldn’t be worth doing.

And then there’s them. They…exist. They live. If it wasn’t so serious it might be funny. The last time I wrote I was sure they were dead. And so, I’m glad I was wrong. I’m thrilled to say that I’m wrong.

I don’t know what to do. In a way I’m still sad, angry, upset. I missed so many things. I missed never sleeping. I missed all of the things I was struggling to be prepared for. Twins. Twin infants, and I missed it. They’re still babies, of course, but almost a year old. A year at the end of this month. Almost toddlers. But…complaining about that seems so petty, so whiny, given that I can HOLD THEM. Given that I have held my son in my arms while he sleeps and given that even now I can reach over and rub my daughter’s back when she fusses and can’t sleep. It’s…beyond anything I expected, after what happened.

Still…it feels like he doesn’t want them. Or rather, it feels like EVERYONE doesn’t want them to be back. I expected…I don’t know. I expected joy, a hug at least. Some kind of rejoicing. And instead they’ve all just sort of…I don’t know. Been disbelieving. I don’t know. I don’t know what I was hoping for, but somehow this isn’t everything I was imagining.

And again, I shouldn’t complain. Perhaps I’m just…never content. I don’t know.

I don’t know a lot of things, right now.

But I know I need to try. I know that I shouldn’t give up, ever. And I know, I KNOW that when there is something I feel, something I believe, I have to at least try.

Now we have a break. We have the time I’ve been promising. We’ve been promising each other. The time to remember how to love each other again. Can you do that? If I walk towards you, can you walk towards me? I want to try–will you try with me?

We’ve been broken. We’re battered, but healing has to start somewhere. Together I think we can start.

The third age is beginning. We knew it would, win or lose it had to. I don’t know what it will mean, I don’t know what will come. I know that I want you by my side when it does. Will you be? Will you join me?

I am…I don’t know. I don’t know anymore what I am, but I am ready to start to breathe. Ready to cry, to admit that I failed and that is okay, and that I will never be the same.

But how is that new or different? With every breath we will never be the same. Each new day, I will never be the same. Some changes are large, some small. But nothing is ever the same.

Losing them, it was terrible. It tore my heart out, put marks on my soul that will never leave. It changed me deeply, it was a bing change moment. I will always love them, my dead children. They are dead–that I am sure of. I will always love them anyway. But I can begin to let them go to their rest now.

Still…I think I may always fear the dark, always fear being left behind, left alone with nothing, trapped away from all of it. My heart is broken, and when breaks heal there are scars.

Take my hand, let’s begin, let’s find the future. The past has shaped us, now begin the journey with me, survive, LIVE, thrive with me. I know we can, if we allow ourselves.

In the rising of the sun, and in its going down,
We will remember Devin and Aryn.
In the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring,
We will remember Devin and Aryn.
In the blueness of the sky and in the warmth of summer,
We will remember Devin and Aryn.
In the beginning of the year, and when it ends,
We will remember Devin and Aryn.

I still want them back. I still ache. It’s been months, the world keeps going, from fall into winter and spring and now beginning the heat of summer. When does it stop? When do I get to talk about it?

Where are you? Do you ever think these things? I still wonder about just joining them, you know?

I never got to kiss them, and I hate myself for it every day. When does that get fixed? When does the wonderful, amazing, magical fix for all the problems sweep in and make this better? Aren’t we supposed to be heroes? If we are, why can’t we fix this?