She felt suffocated. Not being able to trust herself was the biggest downfall of her relatively short life, she had no idea how to distinguish top from bottom, good from bad. Her boyfriends, girlfriends, job prospects, places to live - all presented themselves as a myriad of different values and sides - both good and bad. In a world that's not black and white, that forces you to make the decisions and fill it with your presence, can we just say fuck this and let someone else decide? The responsibility seems absolutely overwhelming.
Numbed by the consumerist experiences and overwhelmed with the therapeutic process undergone the years prior, she found herself reacting unfavourable to both things going her way, and things remaining the same. Too much boredom, or the platitude of mild satisfaction with having plans, slowly, mercilessly working towards them and achieving them seemed to have quite the opposite effect to the one she thought it would elicit. It's in the times things felt bad she really found herself. How could she not, it's all she's ever known?
Inbetween, she found herself pointing the sword of her ambivalence into her own flesh and forgetting even if she's holding it herself. Naturally, she assumed it was someone/ something else holding it, and so she commenced a blind attack, swords flying in the air not understanding fully what she's aiming it at. The casualties is what brought adrenaline into her life, a bit of unpredictability, a bit of fun. What she couldn't stand, though, was the madness created from self-imposed boundaries, from staying within your lane to ensure measured, calculated recipe-like happiness. This is what she knew in her head happiness was, but she found her very own being rebelling against the idea.
She had no idea what else to do, how else to live, and knew of no better way to orient herself in this world. Sometimes, upon improving her circumstances, be it through getting a better paid job or a better flat, she found herself furious.
Perhaps, she thought, the very nature of her is the intimidating Kali. She felt like a destroying goddess, wanting to step on the decapitated heads of men and her superiors. The last thing on her mind was succumbing to the idle routine of her own life - she was fierce, alive, ferocious. She wanted to claw, beat, see blood, taste it on her many tongues. Stand barefoot, with ankle bracelets, on top of the carnage of her own creation, seeing the torture, the suffering spread before her. With all her might she fought the harmony that average life brought her, the insufferable suffocation of measured normalcy. She wanted more. She needed much less. She could have probably used a hug, or a punching bag.
The closer she got to success, like Icarus flying up to the sky, the closer her rage was to burning bright, to making her fall. The pure desire to be safe, to be content in a world that time and time again proved cruel and ruthless was to be transformed into a pulsating rage, destroying those who were not patient enough to learn to love her.
