::: CHAPTER EIGHT :::
What was wrong with me? I tried to figure out the reason for my latching unto a stranger. It wasn't sex. It wasn't loneliness. It wasn't the need for a father figure. I knew what it was. I couldn't admit it. For once in my life, I didn't wish for Death to visit my tomb. Through his angst, I had found solitude. I could never imagine finding a creature more twisted and ragged than I and then behold a sinner came into view. I realized that it could have been anyone. It just happened to be someone who wouldn't give a second thought to killing me. Finally, I didn't want Death and still it found me. And still I knew death was too good for me. Whatever I had done, whatever negative karma I had gained was irrelevant -- Death didn't seem to want to scoop me up in its arms . . . it rather watched and reveled in my misery.
This gave me a false sense of immortality. And that is why I had decided to turn my back on goodness. I was a destroyer not a creator. Everything I touched wilted and burned. So why not use this devilish gift? No other talent . . . no other chance. All I wanted was a little control. Preordained destiny, I believed, was very much true, which boggled my mind. Because even though I played these mind-games with Riddick, they were still played to the tune of someone else. So by default that stripped away control rather than endowing me with it. I craved attention . . . . I acted like I didn't care for it but if someone acknowledged me, I felt supreme. And the funny thing is it didn't matter who agreed with me . . . . I had standards but when it came to followers, I would accept anyone.
If existentialism stresses individual right, than my form of it was even darker and more extreme. With no "right" or "wrong" or "good" or "bad" to guide me, I was free to set my own boundaries. The only problem was that I set absolutely no limits. I didn't believe in them. Choices were choices . . . No one choice was better than the next. The reverse of existentialism was freeing . . . . Instead of living a moral life because of a cold and impersonal universe, I embraced my amoral ways. I was outside the sphere of norm and as senseless as a rainbow in the midst of a storm. Life was anguish and the way I saw it a mixed bag of absurdity and disturbing coincidences. The only way for me to feel whole was to reject all things that tried to define me. The challenge, however, was that everything was able to define and in my despair I alienated myself, thus pushing myself to hover over the edge of an abyss. The causality was love. Love was supposed to make people selfless and equal, but it didn't achieve that in me. Instead, any potential love was poisoned by hostility and doubts. One in love does not adhere to their "other" seeking additional essences. However, how can you spiritually and physically combine two souls forever? Forever was just another word for a never-ending circle that eventually transcends into nothingness.
I was a twisted child. Perspectives warped, opinions challenged, and feelings burdened. The fact that Riddick was a murderer helped to convince me that I could take out frustrations on him. Which blinded me even more because I did not believe in 'good' or 'evil' . . . just existence . . . just a role you have to play. It wasn't Riddick's fault that he was chosen for a job no one else could handle.
I wanted to feel for him . . . I really did. We could have been something special. But my spirit didn't let me. It wanted to be alone . . . . It wanted to manipulate . . . . It wanted to create sadness not happiness . . . and it used my body as its tool. I couldn't help thinking that if I could just shed the past, I would be able to be someone else. That was impossible! I was who I was. I was Jack, a girl who thought too much and came to the conclusion that in the end one idea can wrap around and be the reverse, the inverse, the 'good,' the 'evil' all at the same time. Which, ultimately, meant that all that mattered was how much you worked at that one idea . . . how much self-energy you mastered to contain something. So what does it matter that I decided to contain another soul?
If this is what psychosis felt like, then I must admit it was empowering; it was fanciful to lose control by controlling someone else. Whatever would happen would not affect me, I was sure. Sure it affected my physical body but my soul, the real me, would always go back to its home among the energies of the universe commanding lives. I slipped into depression and didn't try to seduce Riddick for a long time. I just didn't care anymore. Confusion seeped in from all angles, and I was trapped in my own game. I have never felt like a child but in that immeasurable amount of time, I felt tiny and lost. I was a bygone after all -- a contradiction.
The saying had become true for me: The opposite of love isn't hate . . . it is indifference.
What was wrong with me? I tried to figure out the reason for my latching unto a stranger. It wasn't sex. It wasn't loneliness. It wasn't the need for a father figure. I knew what it was. I couldn't admit it. For once in my life, I didn't wish for Death to visit my tomb. Through his angst, I had found solitude. I could never imagine finding a creature more twisted and ragged than I and then behold a sinner came into view. I realized that it could have been anyone. It just happened to be someone who wouldn't give a second thought to killing me. Finally, I didn't want Death and still it found me. And still I knew death was too good for me. Whatever I had done, whatever negative karma I had gained was irrelevant -- Death didn't seem to want to scoop me up in its arms . . . it rather watched and reveled in my misery.
This gave me a false sense of immortality. And that is why I had decided to turn my back on goodness. I was a destroyer not a creator. Everything I touched wilted and burned. So why not use this devilish gift? No other talent . . . no other chance. All I wanted was a little control. Preordained destiny, I believed, was very much true, which boggled my mind. Because even though I played these mind-games with Riddick, they were still played to the tune of someone else. So by default that stripped away control rather than endowing me with it. I craved attention . . . . I acted like I didn't care for it but if someone acknowledged me, I felt supreme. And the funny thing is it didn't matter who agreed with me . . . . I had standards but when it came to followers, I would accept anyone.
If existentialism stresses individual right, than my form of it was even darker and more extreme. With no "right" or "wrong" or "good" or "bad" to guide me, I was free to set my own boundaries. The only problem was that I set absolutely no limits. I didn't believe in them. Choices were choices . . . No one choice was better than the next. The reverse of existentialism was freeing . . . . Instead of living a moral life because of a cold and impersonal universe, I embraced my amoral ways. I was outside the sphere of norm and as senseless as a rainbow in the midst of a storm. Life was anguish and the way I saw it a mixed bag of absurdity and disturbing coincidences. The only way for me to feel whole was to reject all things that tried to define me. The challenge, however, was that everything was able to define and in my despair I alienated myself, thus pushing myself to hover over the edge of an abyss. The causality was love. Love was supposed to make people selfless and equal, but it didn't achieve that in me. Instead, any potential love was poisoned by hostility and doubts. One in love does not adhere to their "other" seeking additional essences. However, how can you spiritually and physically combine two souls forever? Forever was just another word for a never-ending circle that eventually transcends into nothingness.
I was a twisted child. Perspectives warped, opinions challenged, and feelings burdened. The fact that Riddick was a murderer helped to convince me that I could take out frustrations on him. Which blinded me even more because I did not believe in 'good' or 'evil' . . . just existence . . . just a role you have to play. It wasn't Riddick's fault that he was chosen for a job no one else could handle.
I wanted to feel for him . . . I really did. We could have been something special. But my spirit didn't let me. It wanted to be alone . . . . It wanted to manipulate . . . . It wanted to create sadness not happiness . . . and it used my body as its tool. I couldn't help thinking that if I could just shed the past, I would be able to be someone else. That was impossible! I was who I was. I was Jack, a girl who thought too much and came to the conclusion that in the end one idea can wrap around and be the reverse, the inverse, the 'good,' the 'evil' all at the same time. Which, ultimately, meant that all that mattered was how much you worked at that one idea . . . how much self-energy you mastered to contain something. So what does it matter that I decided to contain another soul?
If this is what psychosis felt like, then I must admit it was empowering; it was fanciful to lose control by controlling someone else. Whatever would happen would not affect me, I was sure. Sure it affected my physical body but my soul, the real me, would always go back to its home among the energies of the universe commanding lives. I slipped into depression and didn't try to seduce Riddick for a long time. I just didn't care anymore. Confusion seeped in from all angles, and I was trapped in my own game. I have never felt like a child but in that immeasurable amount of time, I felt tiny and lost. I was a bygone after all -- a contradiction.
The saying had become true for me: The opposite of love isn't hate . . . it is indifference.