She's...tired. She's weary and bored and straining from the effort of keeping an old facade in place.
It's showing. Her exhaustion is beginning to sell her out, who she really is beginning to slip through the cracks in her mask and who she knows she should be is beginning to look like a glorified motto that children believe in, in the absence of any real adult emotion.
Her flaw is desire. The desire to be wanted and admired, the desire to be flattered and envied, the desire to be desired. They all have them, Stanley's is his wrath, Stella's is her naivety, and her willingness to overlook uncomfortable topics.
She wanted to be good. She really did. She strived for the heavenly piety and the sense of self worth that came hand in hand with the quenching of temptation. All it got her was a short walk to asylum.
"the only way to banish temptation...is to yield to it..."
Really? Beacause it seemed to her that all it did was intensify the craving once you knew exactly what it was you were missing. When you could recall each feeling, each look, every syllable of flattery found in forbidden practises, it only made it harder to forget what it was you wanted.
Or maybe dear Oscar was saying that the disgust you should feel at yourself and the self loathing that should result in you weakness should be enough to conquer any withdrawal symptoms you may have. Actually, he probably just wanted an excuse for why he did whatever he wanted.
Blanche wasn't ashamed. She didn't feel guilty or weak or dirty. She felt liberated, and empowered and alive. In a world ruled by men where nothing was taboo to them, and women were nothing more then possessions or conveniences, fated to belong to one person when they couldn't even be sure that that person belonged to them.
Blanche had been jilted by one man before. And it was her left behind to pick up the pieces and take the blame for the weakness of his suicidal act. Women were only good for two things; one in the kitchen, one in the bedroom. Blanche du bois doesn't enter kitchens so that only left her one use.
And she liked it.
She liked the way her Sister's husband's eyes followed her around. She enjoyed seeing the way Stella looked just a little bit insecure when she wore her form fitted dresses and teased Stanley gently.
Most of all she loved the raw masculinity that her husband had never been gifted with, but Stanley seemed to have in abundance.
She secretly coveted the feeling of being thrown around and surrendering control. Maybe she had finally met her match with this arrogant, powerfully assertive male.
She soon found out that when its forced on you, it isn't like the fairy tales.
In fact it leaves you damaged and dirty, and curled in a ball on a bed in a hospital full of screaming mentals. Her insides felt used and bruised, her own filth disgusted her.
She hadn't even been worth him picking her up and covering her up afterwards.
Blanche Dubois wasn't worth anything. Not anymore.
Once again, a man leaves her to fix her life and this time, she decided that her life simply wasn't worth fixing.
She only hoped that somewhere, somehow, Stella was suffering for what she chose to ignore.
Fin.
I rushed it. Can you tell?