"Then it comes to be that the soothing light at the end of your tunnel was just a freight train coming your way." ~"No Leaf Clover" by Metallica
God, please, please; this is a battle I cannot win without you. I want to win it. But the mind doesn't rule the heart by me, and this means I need you to help me. I need you to because I can't help myself. I'm so awash with longing that I can't see the future. And if the past is always more real than the future, if I'm always living in a poppy-filled imaginarium of opiate wonders, even if I never so much as sniff the drug, I will never get out of the labyrinth. I will never, ever get out. And you have got to get me out. Because I can't, I can't get out by myself. I'm asking you, God; no, in truth I'm begging you. I can't want it enough with my heart because my heart doesn't belong to me anymore. And because I'm afraid of the pain. It doesn't matter, though. "To the pain!" cries Wesley and I shall echo him; let's dance, God, shall we? Let's duel to the pain and you'll leave me my ears to hear the screams of the children.
I know you only help those who help themselves. I know I have to want it. But it's like Evey says, "I can't feel anything anymore." I'm riding a merry-go-round that always stops in the same place, a carousel where I never move forward but always backward. My life needs to revolve around a different spool of thread; the Fates cut the other one long ago. But I can't do it. I can't. I need you to make me. I need you to love me enough to help me love myself. I know my mind but I can't feel. I don't dare.
Wake me up with different eyes so that I'm not consistently seeing what already was in lieu of all that will be. I've been branded so that a flame, a fire, burns in my mind always. And I can't wish it away of my own initiative. I love that fire. I long for that fire. But that fire is hurting me. And I cannot be Karenin's wife in the path of all that beautiful light...
The train is coming for me; the question is whether I will, like Richard, 'have a fatal accident today' or step on it and survive the ordeal of the Blackfriars. You're on my side, so you give me a Door, you hear me? I'll pick her bleeding off the street so long as she cuts our way out of the Angel's loft. Take the fire out of my mind and then I'll be able to live again. At least make it possible for me to imagine that.
I love you lots, God; I only wish sometimes that it was easy.