The blank page is a dangerous thing. It lingers at the forethought of every writer who has ever penned a word to page in the hopes that somebody will read it some day. Like those writers of past and present, I too find myself gazing upon this blank space and wondering what to place up in.

Hence these words are created.

My head aches, my skin crawls and I am tired. Tis a sad thing to think that we have only been at sea for a few weeks and already I am itching to be on shore again. The allure that it once had, the sea, just can not carry my mind in the direction which I believe it should. More so, I find the days tedious and boring, leading more and more to a situation where I am far less focused upon my actual job and more upon attempting to escape the monotonous nature of day to day (or should I say night to night) operation.

This vast ocean creates a situation where man either spends too much time chasing an elusive dream of happiness, or haunted by the ghosts of memory. I am the latter, and in such, memory both pleasant and obscene roll through the confines of my mind, leaving me drained and ill equipped to deal with the ever-present stupidity around me.

I am exhausted; my mind aches; my body screams and my tongue is tied. I look to the sea and dream of slipping beneath its waters and the peace that would follow. This of course, is not an option, but the thought is there none the less. Tis not a scary thought, for after all these years I have grown quite use to its whisper within my mind, however, if this thought were to reach the wrong ears there would be unwanted drama.

I move in cycles. From light to dark and back again; it is my life and my condition. It is who I am and I accept that. I dream of a day when I no longer have to go through this ride alone, but recognize the fact that it is difficult for any person to get close to me because of my dysfunctions. Tis easy to say that any person can find love but what is more majestic is for that person to find understanding. Without both, somebody like me will never walk with another and be happy with the choice.

There was a time when I haunted the clubs, drawing them like moths to a flame. I cared not for the future, but for only a momentary escape from the confines of my own flesh … and into theirs. Now, as I have aged, I see that such things are only a distraction from my true wants and in such I find that I am far more alone than I have been in a long time. This does not change the fact that I enjoy living my own life, and doing the things I want to do; how I want to do them. However, it also does not mean that I do not want to walk with another. When it comes down to it, I won’t sacrifice who I am today for my future wants.

This adventure into the military has been an interesting experience, albit one I can’t wait to be concluded. I dream of slipping back into the shadows of creation, a child of darkness, and live out my days in the shadows. Although life was often more than I could take, I feel I was more myself all those years than what I see today when I gaze upon my image in a mirror.

I am what I have constructed. I am, but I am willingly tossing it away to become what I use to be.

I guess you could say that this experiment has failed.