The continuation of the Drumbeat Shorts, a story of a guy full of self doubt, until he takes a walk one night into the woods.

Drumbeat Shorts V - The Second Self

I'm starting to question myself if this drumbeat is real.

I know I said that I was sure it was, but something that happened today seems to bring it back up again. Wrapping myself in the usual layers, I left the house with a half hour time limit.

Why can't I talk to that person?

My first self is in enough disarray on it's own. But when it's mixed with conflicts of the second self, more troubles arise. I was walking along my usual path, stopping by to visit the drumbeat as usual. I skipped the Road, laying down and closing my eyes with the wheezes of the breeze. Last time I didn't mention this; but those pills, you remember? Yeah, now I'm on a stronger version of it. For a few weeks now, actually. The side effects seem to be stronger too; because before my lips were just dry, but now my whole arms are dry. So that probably means, the depression will get stronger as well. Anyway, by the time I had already gotten there, my head was full of things involving my second self, so I took a picture because that's the theme of this whole entry. The self that you see.

The first self hates itself already; but it hates the second self even more.

I wasn't as worn out as yesterday physically, but since today was a gold day at school, I was beating myself up. I wasn't that tired, though. But even out there I couldn't stop. I still had the evening pill to take. I had brought along this totally awesome walking stick, one that I found and shaves years ago. I leaned on it almost the whole time. Being that today was during a school week, I was thinking mostly negative emotions, every thought directly connected to yesterday. This entry will wrap up most things about my own self; leaving way for a concluding entry later.

The second self should not exist.

The second self does not exist.

There is the second self; the self that exists within the minds of others.

The first self hates it so.

Most of the time I could give a rats arse what people think of me. Most, people. There are a few of whose opinion I care deeply for, and whenever I might be uncool around any of them, you can imagine what's going on in my own mind. One of those people was the one I want to drag out there with me; maybe, someday. Point being, I think that person, or those people, think negatively of me. Mostly because I can't start a conversation to save my life, that I have a lot of trouble taking the initiative to start one, but also because when we do exchange or something, that I can't help but mess up. At least, that's the way I see myself. My first self. My second self is all up to the people who are reading these words.

I hear voices.

There ya go. What's my second self now? Is it crazy, disturbed? Loner? You tell me.

I heard the voice of one person while out there, and it wasn't the first time. It's happened mutiple times; the most recent one maybe two weeks ago. On the bus, in the hallway, even when I'm in the same class. I really don't know where to begin, how I can explain it, but I felt like the person was right next to me. I felt crazy.

The second self is what lets others know you exist, on the physical plane.

Was this drumbeat a part of my second self? Were these voices, something sprung from my overactive la la land imagination, or is it something from my second self? Is it from the Blue Hero? Once again, I don't know where to begin. But one thing was for certain; this voice, this drumbeat, it wasn't going away anytime soon. I heard both of them at the same time. I kept thinking to myself, telling myself to mentally project a huge shut up in my mind. It stopped for the time being. I needed a walk. So I left, and headed in the direction where I stopped at entry III. Now, it was really dark out this time. There were some people that saw me. I couldn't care less.

Now I began the walk on the really long trail, which I think I'll call the Path of Blind Lights. You see, on this path, at the very end there's an intersection, and the cars always flash their lights even from all the way at the end. Blinding, obviously, but I began walking through it. I could see other high schoolers walking around too. Not too many, all being social and playing basketball, or with their families or something. I don't know if any saw me. I still didn't care.

The second self is a cardboard cutout.

It can bully the first self.

It is not of this world.

Right now, reading this, you might not understand me. I'm not expecting you too. But when it comes to certain people, when it comes to what they say about me, my first self can't help but cower in the corner; as the second self yells it into submission. Some of you, either from prior judgements or even now, might think I can be over dramatic. And that's what a certain one of you thinks as well; you know who you are. And...I know that person thinks that. And quite frankly, when I heard what was said, I started....well, by the end after a whole lot of it, my eyes were red. That's happened many times, both before and after. I want that person to know I'm not. I'm just sensetive; which as you can see, explains a lot of the stuff in this, and the previous entry. I want you to know if you're reading this. But you're probably not, I'm expecting, but I wanted to say it anyways.

I hate what you think of me.

The first self dictates the second self, if you are strong.

The second self dictates the first; if you are weak.

And if they both dominate your one self; you are pathetic.

I am pathetic, and I know that.

One of the reasons I'm writing this is to help vent. But it's not helping. Just writing it down for some random people to read, doesn't help. I guess I'd want to talk; but I'd only want to talk with one person, and even if I did my eyes would get watery so fast...I'm not even gonna go on with that. With my point being, with it being almost two months now since the big letter, it feels like twenty, yet I still can't seem to accept it.

I thought about it a lot, and I'm certain I don't want myself to be sad. I really looked at my conscious and subconscious from every angle, and I'm certain that's not why. So it's just what it is; no strings attached.

Don't let what people think of you affect what you think of yourself, unless that person is worth it. Take advice from somebody who knows; it will only end up hurting you. If you do you have to hope you come out the other end, with that one person.

I reached the end of the trail, and ended up in another neighborhood. I had minutes left on the clock, I had to leave right then. I'd come back foh reals, though. I ran the whole way back, my eyes beginning to well up. I thought about everything over and over, and over again. Of how I have so much trouble taking the initiative.

Of how a somebody, can't seem to understand me.

Can you try?

I ran the whole way back, with that make believe drumbeat ringing loud in my mind.

Drumbeat Shorts VI - The One Self

Tonight was my sixth visit, and one of my last. Tonight I will conclude with you my general thoughts of the self, and with it, bring the last three entries including this one, all together.

I had my usual half hour time limit, like before, wrapping myself in layers and heading out the door with my walking stick. I had a math test tomorrow, and I personally hate math, so it was nice just to get away from the stress for the time being. I wandered back to the field, and the drumbeat that continues to perplex me, once again. This time, my thoughts were thought for you, so that you may understand that nature of selves. Tonight, I thought about the one self. It was why I took the pills. It was why I was so cold all the time. It's the reason why, nobody is out there with me. My eyes watered for a moment.

The one self exists beyond the boundaries of the two selves.

As I looked up again at the sky, I thought about everyone. Everything, that had happened with everyone, once again. I still wanted to bring someone out there, and I would continue to.
Later that night, I would receive a message from an old friend of mine that would give me just what I needed to hear. And just today, I am the same as I was that night. In shambles. I curled up in the grass. It didn't matter that I may not be physically nearby, but I always wondered if they thought about me. Ever. I wondered, what they thought of me. I already had the general idea, but I wanted to know. I wanted to know as I wondered, if maybe any possible connection that may come, is as deep as I think it is.

The message I would receive later that night, had said just how much they were moved by out conversation I had told him about. He said, "When I read it, I could tell how deep your affection ran for [that person], and I was moved Blaine". And this made me feel a little better. Though there might be a first self, and a second self, there was one self that rarely showed itself; the one self.

The first self, as well as the second, restrain the one self in the physical world.

That message just sorta reminded of who I was, or at least the general idea of who I thought I was. Even though, at least in the physical world, one soul cannot completely understand another, I thought that old friend was pretty close. Unfortunately, today, a few days later from that night, I would be back to the same first self I was before. And I would hate myself for it.
Even if our connection might not be active, I could feel it's deepness run though me. That's the reason I hope, I suppose. There was so much, left untouched (har har). I don't want to give up just yet. I won't ever give up. This time I felt that I would really go through that, as well.

There is the first self; the self that exists within the selfs own mind.

And there is the second self; the self that exists within the minds of others.

Both of these selves come from the same self.

Both of these selves come from the one self.

Who am I? I don't know who I am, but I know a pretty decent amount of who I am not. I know I am a romantic. I know I am an artist, at work. I know I am a storyteller. I know I am a gentle, generous, warm spirit. I know I can be stubborn. I know I can be sensetive. I know all these general things, but do I really understand the one self at work behind everything?
The first self can restrain the first self at certain degrees. If the one self is truly overpowered by the thoughts of the first self, than the one self will not be shown to the world. But if hiding is part of the one self, than it is being shown though it may not appear like it. But even then, it should not be. I was hiding behind my first self, taking the blows of the second. But this one self, it is the soul in its true form. It is who we really are, it is how we all come from the same self.

I am I.

I struggle to be myself around just about anyone. Is it insecurity? Only around one person. Is it fear? Maybe, though I don't think so. Well, what is it?
It's shame.
I'm ashamed of myself. I hate myself, and I hate that first self that binds me to my actions, though I set these chains myself. But then I feel worse, and as I've said, just continue to beat myself up through that vicious cycle.
When I am my one self, I really feel comfortable around the one person.
But I have only been so, a few precious times.

The stars shined.

My soul did not. I was fueling the chaos of my own world. I wasn't getting any better at it, either. I'm the kind of person that feels comfortable, when someone talks my ear off for a bit, and then I feel comfortable and reveal my one self to them. But to my own lesson, that one person doesn't do that. And as hard as it may seem, it really is better for me in the long run. It really is hard. And it doesn't help, when I feel like I annoy them, or I remember what they think of me. And....I back out. I want to be myself, because whenever I have been, there was always that deepness that gripped me and pulled me forward.
I needed to shed myself of these two monsters. These two creatures that devoured me day by day. Whom made my cry, day by day, as I hid in the bathroom during lunch, or my bathroom at home. I want to kill them. I hate them. I love my one self, as rare as its visits may seem. But I fear, that the lesson that comes with this one person...that I will continue to fail it, time after time, after time. It's been two months already, and I just feel worse.
I don't know if they've noticed. Maybe, maybe not. I don't want them to. You, may be reading this, but that person is definitely not. I know this. So I feel free to write about it. So I shall vent, for this moment. Getting up, I began walking along the second Road of Dust.

When you catch me by surprise, you catch me with red eyes.

They did, once. I had cried for fifteen minutes straight, and I stopped for five so the redness would go away, but it didn't work. They say. Yet I think my excuse worked, since I really do have allergies, but I can't get caught like that again. I don't want their thoughts of me to worsen, I don't want to feel even worse around them. I want to feel myself (HAR HAR), but really. I am I. But who am I? I am not a first self, nor a second self.
Neither are you.

The one self is the self that we all share, yet we shape on our own.

Is the Blue Hero of this self, in its own image?

If we all come from the same self, and if the selves that me and that person shape go together when we are of our one self and not our two selves, then it could be beautiful, really. Shut up! It could, and I'm sticking with that adjective. I just need to show them who I really am. I just need to stop acting on those two selves that yelled at each other in my head, with the drumbeat coming right along with it. I went home. I was going to snap if I didn't get out of my head.
Wrapping my face in layers, I walked home with tears soaking my scarf. I couldn't stop just yet.

My journey of voices, would come to a close next time. Would the drumbeat end with it?

Drumbeat Shorts VII - The Mournful Piano of Dead Starlight

Today was my seventh visit. And soon after coming back, I would figure it to be my last, until I felt okay to be out there again. Tonight was the conclusion to starlight, dust, blind lights, and my selves.

That's it, this drumbeat can't be real. It just can't.

I came upon the trail as I usually do, for the first minute, but when I came near the crossroads in the initial set of woods, I began to hear piano music. This is just like my first visit, when I heard the drumbeat. At first it sounded like it was coming from the house right next to where I was walking. I was sure.
But no.
Soon after passing it, it immediately jumped to a house a couple doors down. I thought that it might be just...I don't know, wherever the sound was coming from, it was moving. But it just jumped. It couldn't be real.

But that...MELODY, it was so gripping and dark. It nearly peeled at my brain, the hairs on the back of my neck sprung up when I heard it. I'm serious, it was such a masterpiece. But it wasn't any song that i recognized, and it wasn't coming from a movie or something, or any house for that matter. I wish I could have recorded it in time, to share with you all, assuming it's real.
But I loved it, and I also hated it. It was like it was mourning something, like it was the death of the world, but just what was it mourning?

The Blue Hero already knew the answer.

OH NO, I thought to myself. PLEASE, NO. I thought again. It couldn't be mourning that, please don't let it be mourning that. Please, PLEASE. Soon, after thinking this, I could hear the piano beginning to move slowly farther away. It wasn't coming from any device, or anybody playing it. I don't know what it was. I know that it wasn't real, though. What I did know? It was heading for the road of dust. NO, I thought again. I darted for it, running as fast as I could. I lost myself as I ran down the trail once again, coming up to the field. I choked.

The drumbeat was dead.

The Starlight was dead.

My eyes began to tear up.

I couldn't face that.

I couldn't face the death of my escape.

I ran to the road, hoping it would be there.

With my stick raised on my shoulder, I darted down the rest of the path until my feet landed flat on the dust.

It was gone; buried, in the cold, dead earth.

So then, I ran down the road. I was hoping that by some chance, it might be out there somewhere. It wasn't. There was no piano, either.

The funeral was over. The Starlight had left me. I couldn't face it, and I ran back. This place was dead to me.

It still wasn't there. I didn't lay down; to me, this place was no different from the glorified lake in the first visit. I was disgusted; with myself. I was getting so torn up, over something that probably only existed in my own mind. How pathetic was I? Was I so depressed, that I was hanging onto a FREAKING DRUMBEAT, so that I might have something that's real in my own life? Was I really that much of a hopeless romantic, a loser? I don't know how I can BEGIN, to answer that question. I was scared. I was scared of just what in the world was happening to me. I'm not going to ask you to understand, I'm not going to ask you to feel sorry for me. I don't want any of that. I do hope though, that through these stories you may relate to your own lives, and the false hopes you have created in your own mind as well.

My first self was torturing itself again; this time, it its own twisted way.

Was all of this, were all of my visits, all in my own head? Did any of these things actually exist? These stars, the drumbeat, the piano, the dust, or was it a false hope of mine? Was it a hope that I had stumbled onto something so magical, and I was so afraid that it wasn't there?

I was never going to f*cking win.

I just sort of stopped there for that moment in time, an eternity of itself, and just broke down on all fours and started crying. I'm not sure what brought such a strong response on, but I couldn't deny just how horrible I felt. I was always going to fail. I was never going to escape those two monsters. They could continue to eat away at me, day by day, tear by tear, until I snapped.
I am going to eventually. I don't have an outlet for my anger anymore. I forgive and forget as much as I can, but there are just some things that my selves just love to feed off of. I needed an outlet for that. I quit Karate years ago, that used to be my outlet. I regret so much quitting.

But now, I had nowhere to put it once again. I'm just, so....ANGRY, all the time. And I'm sad all the time, to add to it. These two selves ate away at me, enjoying their trick that they had placed. Their trick that I had fallen before.
How, could I EVER, think that Drumbeat was real? Why did it make me so happy? Why was I crying about it? I still don't know the answers to these questions, but I imagine, because it was an escape. I dream all the time of going to Fantasy worlds, and now that something like that finally "happened", I loved it. But it never did.

The piano was dead as well.

I would continue to play myself. Could I ever win? Would this drumbeat come back? I don't know. I haven't gone there since.

I got up from all fours, leaning on my walking stick as I stood up.

The more we sadden, the more we can lead ourselves on. I was tearing up everyday, and look where I got. I got a fake drumbeat, and a teasing piano. Both of which never existed. But then again, that subject is up to debate. You could indeed debate it is real, as thought itself can be much more real than anything physical.

Was it real?

Even if it was, it was dead now.

If it had affected me in such a way, more than most things would affect me, was it indeed something I could call real? Maybe. That's the thought that stopped my from crying, that shut up the two monsters yelling in my head. And now, we move onto our final movement of the Drumbeat Shorts

Are these stories real?

They're more real than what I wore today. They're more real than the leftover food I have here, sitting at my desk. But the question remains; do any of you believe that these stories are real? Do they sound realistic to you? But then again, do they have to? I'm not going to say whether or not they are. I may have said it was previously, but keep in mind this was when I was in the characters perspectives. Not from my current perspective.
But the bottom line is; if these stories made you think, if they changed you, your thinking of someone, or your thinking of life, changed you...it's real. That's the bottom line. Have faith in whatever you believe; for that is the purpose of all of these stories.

When I first began to write this, whether it's physically real or not, I left out names of whomever so that I may make this universal. I spoke of righteousness & the lack there of, I spoke of understanding, priorities, doubt, insecurity, the soul, and of loss.
Whether it actually happened or not, all of these stories are more real to me than you can imagine.
As I supposedly walked back on that final night, I felt like I was leaving a different world. And maybe I was. Perhaps it was all in my head, but maybe, it came from another world. I've always been a big believer in different worlds, dimensions, universes...and I couldn't help but feel a sense that I had heard something slip out between the cracks of our own.

The Blue Hero would always be there.

I wouldn't come back for a while, if ever. This place to me has served it's purpose, it's imagery I described very much, real to me. Whether I'm telling the truth or not. What's real to me, right now, as I write this, is the piano that mourned the Death of Starlight.

That starlight. Was it the existence of another world that had died, beaming across our universe, it's light continuing to travel on freely even if the star had died? Was it the message of a lost world? Was it really just, the pipes that may or may not be placed somewhere below the ground?
I like to believe it was an old soul.
I like to believe, that even after it had been born and experienced it's first lifetime, after it's star had gone out, that the light of it's soul continues to travel across whatever universe it may stumble upon, to infinity. Looking for a new home, a new life to experience. Whomever it may be, I thank them for the message. That's assuming I'm not crazy.

The Drums are beating somewhere else.

That Road of All Dust. That is something that exists within a persons own mind, it will always be real to me. For each time, I walked along one of them, thinking over everything, feeling it all come together for these stories you have read. You can find one of these anywhere, you don't have to search one out to pull everything together. You could just write about a fictional road, and write as you make the experience up yourself, making yourself feel like it actually happened. Same effect. Did any of this really happen? Who cares. Walk along your own Road of All Dust.

Piece by piece.

The Path of Blind Lights...I'm sorry I couldn't have an entry just about that. I intended to have it, but I didn't know that the Starlight would die. If I go back and it's alive again, you can look forward to an entry on that. I had gotten across however, that it was a path of false hopes. Of how things are never, ever, how they appear to be. This applies to every moment of your waking life. Your own life is full of Blind Lights, of artificial rights...self righteous truths, that block your mind, your two selves, your monsters...from seeing what things really care. As their one selves. Never assume everything. Never assume anything.

It disgusts me.

The three selves. We all have this. Few of us have ever fully escaped them. Many of us feel like we will never win, like we will never be able to slay the three headed beast. These three heads being the first self, the second self, and who we are not of the one self. Me being one of them, absolutely, as you can see from all these stories I've shared with you.

The monsters.

And now the Death of Starlight. Has the old soul passed through this world onto another? Have my selves pulled a trick on me? Were the pipes fixed? Am I just feeding you bull?
If it's changed you it's real.

It's real any way you slice & dice it.

I continued my walk back, no longer running. I think I was at peace with it. That's alright, I had a big math test to study for anyway. I wrap my scarf around my neck, to feel no warmth once again. I had been out there long enough.

Yet as I was almost out of the trail, I kept looking back, hoping to hear that piano, celebrating the life of that drumbeat.

It certainly deserved it.