museworks: (Lucrezia)
[personal profile] museworks
Chesric sometimes says I should rid myself of the Tome. I disagree, but I understand why he says as much. There are sometimes conversations that come up that make me want to just...scream at the people there. I do know that since I started reading (and occasionally writing) in it I have found myself either having less control over my normal, somewhat calm and cool demeanor, and/or having the urge to just scream and hit some people in the face with a gauntlet-clad fist.

Is this part of the process? Is this going in the right order? I kept everything mostly locked down, save for those very few times I let it out to Chesric, and writing in this journal, but it is becoming more difficult to keep everything in, and to keep from lashing out in anger. Because that is what this is: anger. It is different from a warrior's battle-rage, though it can fuel that, and perhaps I should let it. I do not know.

But I want to hit things, hit people, until I can't anymore. I want to ask why for everything. Why me. Why him. Why was he like that. Why did he feel he was right in what he did, or right enough to do it. Why the others felt as he did. Why he would twist up my mind as he had. Why I started to wonder if he spoke the truth.

Why I might have deserved

Why. Just why for all of it.

Why I am still almost terrified of setting foot inside Silvermoon City.

There are days where I am confident, where I will not let him dictate where I go and what I do, if indirectly. And then there are days like this where I know I cannot, because something will set me off and I will end up in a jail cell, perhaps turned over to him once more.

I do not want to lose control. Especially around, for instance, Lazirus. After we parted ways following our evening pondside conversation I felt peculiarly warm toward him, the first time since before that I had for any other than Ches. I do not want to care, but I do. I cannot help it. It is perhaps no surprise that I did tell Lazirus to consider me a sister if he wished; he has no siblings, and I am fond of the boy (the 'boy,' who stands a good foot taller than I!) and would not see him harmed.

But I also do not want him to see me like this.

I don't know. I just want to know why, for an infinite number of questions. I cannot decide if this mindset is one to go to the Firelands, or perhaps that lump of gods-forsaken rock and mud called Tol Barad, or if it is one to keep to myself at home, in the quiet. I wish I knew.

I wish I knew.
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July 2011

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