I am descended from two very messed up bloodlines. My father's side is what I call pure evil. And my mom's is crazy. Me, I'm a very nice person who is passionate and loving and good.
I'm also just a little bit crazy and a tad evil.
Not a lot. Not like the others in my family, that's for sure. I talk to myself, I live in imaginary worlds, and I tend to freak out in crowds. That's about as crazy as I get anymore. And I'm not very evil. I don't like to hurt other people and I don't plot to take over the world.
But I do have a very cold, calculating side to me. It usually only comes out if I sense a threat to myself or others, but it's always there, beneath the surface of my soul.
And it's always scared me.
This side of me adds up the universe in cold, uncaring sweeps, and looks at the world and sees logic and math, not people and lives. It sees probabilities, and how to use people to get what I want. It's never hot, never passionate, and it is achingly patient.
I recently commented on YeamieWaffles blog, and I said some things from that side of myself. I told him about how to destroy a person using social connections and how simple it was if you just did it subtly. And I used that side of myself when I was raped. I calculated how best to handle this potentially violent man and how to get away relatively unscathed. This side of me did not care that if I followed through on this plan, I'd lose all chance at prosecuting him for his rape. It only cared about survival.
Now he's free to go on raping other women. Nor does he realize what he did was even rape.
That is the consequence of my choice. But that side of me still doesn't care. Because it was the best way to survive, and that was all that really mattered.
The man I told everyone about yesterday has always scared me, too. Not because he's dangerous. But because he reminds me of this side of myself. That evil little piece inside my soul that can destroy a life. He revels in that side of himself. He's everything I am in that segment of my heart and that scares me.
Because I don't want to be like him. Or like the other evil people in my family.
I still care about others. I still hate hurting people. I will never be a violent person. But I do have a strong vindictive streak. And I hate that this side of me is so alive and active right now. I'm sure it has to do with the anger I'm feeling.
I wish anger was hot and terrible for me, like it is for other people. That it flamed as high as when my mom loses her temper, and then fizzles itself out when it runs out of fuel. My anger is cold. It feels like my emotions, usually so alive and active, just die inside me. Like all the heat of my soul is extinguished beneath a glacier of uncaring anger.
It releases from me in one of two ways. Either it builds until I explode and use words to tear a person into shreds. Or it slowly and systematically strips a person of everything they care about in the same social destruction I described to YeamieWaffles.
It scares me. And yet it has saved me many times. Rarely do I allow my anger to do what it wants. I've seen too many people do irreparable damage both to themselves and others by indulging in their anger. But I do allow it to save me when I need it. Like the rape. And when I was stalked by a guy at work. And when that girl followed me home from school and threatened to throw a knife in the back of my head. And when my mom and dad get a little too abusive.
I wonder if I'll ever learn to trust this side of me. Or at least accept it. That would be a change I'd like to see.
I went to a friend's birthday party the other night. And she was with a guy that I have been in love with since I was 15. The friend knew full well I've had feelings for this guy for all these years, yet she loves to rub him in my face, anyway.
I understand why she does it. I've always understood her.
People don't understand why I let her get away with those things. And I won't for long. I'll get sick of it again and cut her off, just as I have in the past. But the reason I put up with her, the reason I let her get away with it is that I understand.
She really does like me. But she also hates me.
As long as other people aren't in the picture, she and I get along fine. But as soon as another person enters the scene, suddenly we're competing to be the best and the center of attention. Only I don't fight. I just smile and be myself, and oh well if that doesn't make the other person see me more than her.
But it does hurt me. Both because she's supposed to be my friend, and because it damages my self-image. I feel for hours and sometimes days afterwards that I'm simply not good enough.
I also see the guy she's now dating for who he really is. He's a very complicated guy, and I have always had the ability to see right through him. Ever since we were kids, I've seen him for what he is. He can charm and fool all the rest of the world, but I always got him. He isn't a smarmy idiot. He isn't a charming, cool person. He isn't nice or friendly.
He's a jerk. He sees the world around him as a giant game of chess, and he's always 6 moves ahead of everyone else. He plays with people's minds and uses words to effect them in ways I've rarely seen anyone able to do. And he's got a strong cruel streak. He likes to hurt people, and he's always been a user. He'll use them up and then move onto the next victim in line.
And I've always refused to be a victim, no matter how I might love him.
He's always been fascinated with me, but also hated me. Because I really see him, while most people don't. They get controlled glimpses, but they don't understand that he only lets them peak in on the parts he knows he can play them into believing won't effect them. I get how he works and that scares him. But it also draws him, because he's never played chess with someone who knows the moves like he does.
Thinking about these two, and how I really see through them into who they really are beneath it all, got me to thinking about character. Characters are a huge part of writing fiction. There is no story if there is no one there to tell it.
Building characters has given me strange insight into how people tick. Because the key to character building (at least in my experience) is backstory. Who are they when the chips are down and the world is going to hell around them? What has happened in their life to shape and mold them into the person they are now? And how will that effect the story I'm telling now?
The same is true in life. If you can look at people, really look without letting emotion blind you, you can see how they tick. You can connect their actions into a much larger framework and see what they have done in the past and what they will do in the future.
It's a very useful skill. It's also a fun game, if you get the hang of it.
Unlike the boy I love, however, I can't just play with people and act like it has no consequences. Seeing how it all fits together has given me deep insight into how my actions effect others, too. What I do to this person will affect their future choices, and I don't want to make them more broken than they already are.
I want to make them better.
So I was at work today and I decided to splurge for the first time in a VERY long time on some beauty products. For some reason, I felt this need to experiment and play with a whole new look.
In other words, I bought a whole lot of new make-up.
That got me back to thinking about my life change again. I don't want a superficial change, like some new make-up to make me look better. I want a real change, like writing every day and running and eating healthier. The superficial can make everything look and maybe seem a little better, but it's just a trick.
It's like putting a new paint job on a broken down Pinto. You're still stuck on the side of the road wondering where all your money went.
I'm not returning the make-up, because I like a nice paint job, thank you very much. But I can't stop there. I need to get this life change back to the center of my life. No matter what is going wrong, this change has been an extraordinary source of strength for me, and I'm not ready to lose that.
And I like where I was going when my engine was running.
Like most writers I've met, I believe that words are a form of magic. They weave a spell around our souls, capturing the world in a few seemingly simple words. They aren't an illusion or a trick. They are power beyond measure. They are true magic.
They have the power to do incredible good and terrible evil. They can twist into lies, or bring forth great truth. They can be emotional, logical, or a mixture of both. They can comfort and caress, or they can punish and slap. It all depends on the user.
I have studied their use for many years. My entire life, to be honest. And while I may only be a 23 year old girl, I've watched and learned far more than most my age.
Because the magic of words fascinates me.
How can such small things shape the world so much? How can one word change an entire experience? What is it about words that holds such power?
And how do I harness that power for myself?
Those questions have dominated my life. I have pursued a life dedicated to the study of words and their power. And writing has been one means I have found to study it. But social interaction has opened up previously unexplored territories for me.
I have been quite surprised to discover that interacting with people on a daily basis has increased my writing ability. You'd think it would be the opposite, right? After all, pursuing social interaction takes away from the time I have to write. So why does it increase my skill?
But, of course, social interaction is all about words. Every word you say is used both for and against you in every interaction you undertake. Effective communication is the only way you can guarantee people can see you for who you are. That means you have to learn to say things just right, or people will never learn to like you for you.
And thus, social interaction actually makes you a better writer.
It all boils down to the magic that words hold over us all. Can you weave the spell just right, or will it backfire on you?
Back when I was reading everything I could get my hands on about change, I remember I would cringe every time it got to the part about relationships. Each one said the same thing: You need to surround yourself with people who are supportive of your change and who emulate such an example in their own lives, if you really want to make an effective change in your life.
These are called healthy relationships.
And I encourage such relationships in my daily life. I'm quite good at finding and continuing them. I make friends with people on here and at work who help me stay on track with how I want my life to be like.
Unfortunately, I know that the 2 most influential people in my life DON'T support me. In fact, you could say they do everything in their power to stop me.
These people are known as my parents.
Not because they don't love me. It's not even envy. In part, I think it is a subconscious desire to keep me young and dependent on them for everything. Also, I've had a pretty rough life, and they've been along for that ride. They are terrified that I'm going to get hurt even worse and want to "protect" me from the world.
Getting raped did not help matters. I admit, I need to learn a lesson from what happened in how to handle men and dating in the future. I do not agree with the concept that I should give up on going out with my friends at night because (and here I quote) nothing good can come from being out late at night.
Allow me to insert the fact that I'm 23 years old in here.
I understand my parents' need to protect me. I understand that they want me to stay safe. But I refuse to quit living because someone decided to make me a victim again. I've allowed my fear of living to hold me back from too many things in life, and it's not going to happen again. I can't go back to that sad, little depressed soul who barely left the house. I just can't.
My mom and step-dad have fed into my depression for years. I don't think they are even aware of doing it. But they've kept me wrapped up in them and myself for as long as I can remember, encouraging self-destructive behavior that I now realize should have been stomped out long ago.
I can't let that continue. Even though it has harmed my relationship with my parents, I want to be a better person and I determined at the start of this that I would do whatever I had to to place my relationship with them on a more healthy footing. For all our sakes.
The current situation has set me back quite a bit, however. I don't know how I'm going to set my family life back on track, but I'm going to take a guess and say it will be a rough ride.
Here's hoping I can hold on.
Strength is such a complicated word. I find strength in words and power in the mind, where I explore a rich internal world. But other people find strength in brute force, money, beauty, and social connections.
Don't get me wrong; I can see where those things have their benefits. I just don't care about them as I do words and imagination. To me, those are the true strengths of humanity, the true powers that can beat any odds.
Each source of power and strength has a place in life, of course, but I think if words and imagination were the primary source of power in this world, it would be a much better place to live. And if you use the other sources of power in combination with these two, you'll be unstoppable.
I don't have incredible beauty, I wasn't born rich, I'm not a very social creature, and I'm definitely not a physically blessed person. But I was born with a rich imagination and a love of words. Capability to use those two gifts effectively came from much trial and error, but the fascination was inside of me from day 1. And it lives on inside of me to this day.
What do you think about strength? Is it a complex assortment, delved from multiple sources? Or is it much simpler than that? Does brute force mean more than intelligence? What is your source of strength?
So I have missed 2 blog posts in a row. I should feel bad, because this is basically me holding onto my life change by my fingernails. But I'm still holding onto it by my fingernails!
And that makes me feel pretty damn good.
I mean, I haven't given up. I could use what happened as an excuse to quit, to say it isn't going to work this time and move on, and who would blame me? But I'm not doing that. I want this too bad to give up. I won't let anyone steal this from me.
I can and I will get back up and make it work. I can be strong.
But I'm also going to have to be realistic. I can't go back to a strict regimen and routine and expect myself to just jump into it full-fledged ahead. I don't have it in me right now. And that's okay.
I just need to do something. Anything. I need to get back up and try again. I need to give this a chance to work, because I know it can. And I'm going to need all the help I can get to do that.
I want to thank everyone for their very supportive comments. And when I have a little more socialization in me again, I'm going to go back through and reply to them all. But I want you to know I've read them and truly appreciate your kindness. And that what you've said has meant something to me. I may be holding on by my fingernails, but I'm pretty sure you guys are what those fingernails are holding onto.
I apologize for the scratches.
