So very cold inside.

I look back at the last two years and I'm just struck with amazement over how different I've become. I feel like this trial has increased my potential while at the same time dragging me down into the sewers and beating the shit out of me.
I'm tired. It's not the cold thats been passing around (Which doesn't help). It's that I am tired of fighting inside myself. I'm tired of being all torn up inside.
I went from being the person who helped others to the person who needed help most of all; I have come to appreciate the shift in perspective... but what I really want is to be me again. I want to reach out and fullfill my potential again and look to the future instead of wallowing in my past.

I've been running and running afraid to face anything.
That changes now. Right as I type these words to you.
Change that I have fostered in myself is too slow. I do in increments what I should do with a force of will.

I have felt trapped in this last year. Trapped in a life not of my creation. In a world that I stumbled along, that instead of embracing me kept me around for pity and memory. I wanted to get angry, it's been built up inside me for so long and now it's finally come to forefront. Burning anger. Boiling emotion.
If your sick of my exposition let me switch gears for you.

Cold does not foster the change I am looking for. Emotions obey the same universal laws as everything else. Anger, passion and fire. It goes beyond simple metaphor and becomes something primal about creation itself. Love is capable of changing someone, passion is capable of changing someone and so is cold.
But cold doesn't make you into a passionate person, it doesn't burn away the impure and leave the pure and the most desired. Cold locks things in place and keeps them from being natural. It kills the lively and preserves that which is already dead. In people the cold makes for isolation, ignorance, bigotry and close mindedness. It's no wonder that such people are called "frigid" or "cold hearted".

Yes I hurt people with my words and my thoughts earlier, but I hurt myself saying them. I hurt after I wrote them and as I write this I hurt with the memory of it. Yet I do not regret it. I had to torch the ice around my heart and if the only fuel I had was anger then so be it. It does not burn as clean or long as a heart filled with the passion of love, or the warmth of friendship. But it does burn brightly and intensely. No more running and certainly no more wasting time when I should moving ahead with all speed.

I burn away the shackles to my past, the grudges so ill-conceived and the pain of memory. I may writhe in fire but I will finally be free.
Enough metaphors. I'm going to bed.