Psychic Tempest

My blood has become fire that burns as it traces its way through my body. I have to think through the raging fires of my mind to remain calm and cool. Above all, I value my privacy. Hidden in my room are layers upon layers. Among the pages of my book are words written in my own hand, words that reflect the depth of my soul. In the boxes that I stack in the corner are secrets of a life I don't want my family to know. I have several mementoes from my past that I treasure so very much. They may appear to be meaningless and trivial to most, just words on paper, or gifts still in their wrapping, but to me they are so much more. Which is why it pains me so much to learn that someone has torn the wrapping away to peek into what lies underneath. I have lost the papers that I value so highly. It may look stupid to most, it's just paper with simple words on it. But dammit, it means so much to me. Yet, if I had not been looking for my earphones, I might not have seen the signs that someone has tampered with my belongings. I hate emotional confrontations, I have had enough of those to understand that while I may win in the heat of battle, I still lose the war. I must, must clamp down on my rising anger. Yet it is hard, when I see what has been exposed. A teddy bear stripped of his two year wrappings. It's fucking sacred to me! These words, no one may understand them, but they come from deep within me! To throw them away like bits of confetti, to rip away the wrappings that keep me together, to stride into my castle uninvited, it's like a slap in the face. Within the chaos of my room, there is an odd order. To just tear away the paper from a bear that has not seen the light of day for two FUCKING years...to touch something that I consider sacred... This is all that remains of something that was so beautiful it still moves me to tears when the stars smile down at me. I can't find the right words to describe it. It's like my own personal temple has been desecrated. That was the only thing that gave me hope on days when the skies were dark and gloomy. Our words on paper. The way we talked, written down in both our hands, him trying to cheer me up after our fight. They were physical manifestations of emotions I can never truly isolate and identify. It was all I had left. The presents, the papers with words of such simple beauty. I left the presents in their wrappings because I couldn't bear to open them. I read our conversations on days when I thought life was being a bitch. It gave me fresh hope and strength to carry on with the day. Those words and the presents themselves had meaning. I've been crying ever since I realised the intrusion an hour ago. I've lost the papers, and now the presents have been manhandled. The wrapping paper torn and ripped. I can't look at them anymore. The night had been so beautiful, and I was so content to sit in my room with my keyboard, weaving soft gentle melodies that soothed me. It all fell apart when I was looking for my earphones and realised the wrapping paper had been torn. The papers are gone. These tears that fall...I don't know if they are for what has been lost, or for the fact that the sanctity of my private space has been violated in the vilest manner possible. The fires that race through me will become a violent tempest come dawn. How dare she. This is my private space, with my words and thoughts spilled all over the place. This room holds many secrets, in every nook and cranny, details of my life, of the bits and pieces that merge to form who I am as a whole. The thought of her waltzing in and rooting around my private items, reading words meant only for two people enrages me more than I can say. Yet I know if I unleash my fury now, this tempest will affect me too. It is useless for me to say more. Not many will understand the significance three bears and a stack of papers have for me. Misery, pure fiery rage, sadness...only a few of the emotions that swirl in my heart right now. Love immortalised on paper. Pity that immortality was only a fleeting illusion that lasted two years. Now they're gone, I imagine lying in a rubbish heap somewhere, with the waste of society. The words of a beautiful soul, sullied by filth. The indignity of it threatens to cut off my air. I cannot grieve, not when there is a lesson I have yet to teach to the one who constantly intrudes into my personal space like a thorn that I just can't seem to get rid of. Words alone will not do; no. I must structure them in such a way that the reader understands the barbs hidden behind every sentence, understand that such intrusions must stop. These secrets are mine to keep, and seldom do I dispense them. I had hoped such measures would not have been necessary, but circumstances warrant the use of my cunning. These items, mere objects, yet relics of a past so powerfully moving that I know this loss will hurt for months to come. I have often scarred with just my words, yet I find such abuse of my gift tires me. I will not hurt for the sake of hurting, not intentionally, yet know a reason for such intent has arrived. It is time I placed limitations on who enters my castle with such impunity. And know now, all who know me and read my blog, that I will not hesitate to sear those who draw my wrath, as has this unfortunate soul who has spent the past year trying my patience. I have had enough. It is time to draw the line.
Alecto, Tisiphone, Maegaera, furies of vengeance, sisters of darkness, awaken and arise from the pit of forgotten shadows, from the abyss of nightmares into which you were condemned.