Beauty in the Darkness

Prologue: My Harsh Existence

The world is a dark, lonely place. And that is the utter truth. Depressing, yet true. And it is in our existence on this treacherous planet that we humans search in desperation for happiness. This particular search is the result of what all civilizations are based on. Art, poetry, athletics, hobbies of all sorts are outcomes of our exploration, this especially being associated with religion. Every religion is based on one main idea: achieving Nirvana. All of our primitive minds wish to seek Nirvana, Utopia, Euphoria whatever you like, and we are so incredibly desperate for this that we build up false beliefs, false systems to relieve our minds of all worries, for we will only be depressed for so long, soon we will enter Heaven. Or so we believe.

But all of that is beside the point. This planet is tragic, utterly dull, with only one thing to offer: beauty. Yes, beauty surrounds us here, and as others choose to ignore it, I embrace it. Beauty itself is the only reason why I am able to endure this existence.

Though, some of the beauty in which I see is not particularly what some label as "orthodox". For example, I find blood exceptionally beautiful. Not dried blood, but rather fresh blood just aroused from the tender skin in which it otherwise remains dormant underneath. Norong, I do not enjoy the sight of blood flooding down the side of a cheek after a fight, or blood that puddles around a body at the scene of a murder. That blood is dirty, it is released at the result of a malicious act, that blood repulses me. The blood in which I find beauty is that which is drawn in an act of love, during perhaps intercourse.

So, yes, hopefully it is benevolent to you now that I, indeed, am a masochist. And I know the stereotype of people similar to me. Let's see how does it go, oh yes, "we are all sick, disgusting freaks that enjoy being chained to walls and whipped wildly until we can no longer breathe. And in this twisted process we enjoy wearing black tight leather." And while some of this is a bit erotic, I must admit, much of it is simply not so.

I enjoy pain, but not any sick kind of pain, as some pictures I have seen of people attaching mouse traps to their nipples and such. I would never dream of doing anything that twisted! Here are the truths and fallacies about me- truth: I enjoy pain, I believe blood is beautiful, and beauty is all that matters to me, fallacy: I am sick, twisted and need mental help. I merely enjoy the breaking of skin and the feeling of that pain during the complete bliss of sex in which brings me back to the world. Pain allows me to re-enter reality, and as well keeps me in touch with the feelings in which I lack. I am a numb person. Some call it apathy, I call it existence. Existence, among other horrid reasons, has allowed me to become a callous person and loose base with the gift of feeling. I have no emotions, I am completely, and utterly numb. Though, I do envy those whom can feel, how hypocritical is that? Since envy is a form of emotion perhaps I do possess some strange form of feeling, possibly love.

Maybe one day my feelings will be provoked, though in the meantime I will remain with my immediate fix.

Pain helps me feel something. I would much rather feel pain than nothing. Ait be preferable to go to Hell than life just ending, nothing else, you're just gone?

So perhaps now you understand me better. And with this understanding perhaps I may present you with my dilemma I have faced for what seems an eternity, yet possibly can be shortened to realistically four years.

Four years ago, when I reached the age of thirteen, I became sexually active. Young, I know, but I live a fast life. It has been in these four years I have discovered my masochism along with my homosexuality. Yes, if nothing else could be wrong with me in the eyes of society I am as well, gay.

My dilemma involves two factors: one is the fact that no teen, such as myself, is gay nor will ever admit if he indeed is; the other is the sheer impossibility that any man I do find will even enjoy pain as I do.

I can still remember the first man I attempted to inflict pain upon; in hopefulness he would do the same unto me. I still am able to see the cruel fear in his eyes as he looked at me in hate. As he punished my lust with harsh words. I remember the blow of his hand upon my cheek, and the sting after it was lifted. I still can picture my crumpled body lying on the ground, weeping from the pain of hate, not love.

God, the world is cruel. And so being numb is the only way to survive, I suppose. I have no idea how others should survive, I am no Freudian who has a philosophy of how all should live life. I merely attempt to live mine.