Freedom; The escape from self-loathing.
What people fail to realize is that I do not say the things I do for attention. I honestly believe them with every fiber of my being. I am one of the most self-loathing people you will ever meet. There is no object, or belief, or subculture on our green earth that I hate more than I hate myself. I do not enjoy it. I never have, and I never will. These thoughts cause me no form of joy or pleasure. Every day I can see them pushing the man I love away from me, and still I can not shut the voice in my head that drips these poisons up. I have given her a name- Araea. She is the woman I would like to be. Physically she is flawless- Tall, thin, with unmarred white fur and silken black hair, she is a jackal like me. My opposite, almost. Her eyes are a sharp, cold blue, with a gaze that would chill even the most hearty man to the bone. Emotionally, she is confident and cruel, a borderline sadist. Her pleasure comes from my pain. The voice that issues from her soft throat is deep and elegant, and her accent is aristocratic. I'm not sure when she became a part of my subconscious, but she's been with me since I was at least 14. After five years of her whispering to me how I will never be the woman I want to be, I believe what she whispers in the dark above the word of all others, even my fiance. As time passes, it's harder to put up with her voice. It grates on my ears, and when I see her I wish she had a corporeal body I could choke. I would love to get my hands around her swan's neck and watch the life fade from those icy eyes, as she stares at me in shock, surprised I could ever grow the balls to stand up to her. I am sick of being a plaything for some imaginary cunt. Who does she think she is, that she can dominate my mind and get me to treat myself like worthless trash so that others don't need to.
So many nights, I've lain awake in the dark with tears streaming down my cheeks as she cackles and sits on the head of the bed frame, comparing me to ex-girlfriends or boyfriends or former friends with benefits or faceless internet groupies or the entire fuck-forum, telling me how I will never compare or be good enough, or how I've been settled for because nothing better came along... it hurts. Everything she tells me cuts deep. Her smile's always so radiant when she's basking in my misery, it's almost unfair she can look so stunning while she crushes my spirit beneath her four-inch heel. Now, I'm not claiming any sort of mental illness- I know how it might seem, some sort of schizophrenic disorder, but I don't believe it is. I think it's my imagination teaming up with my subconscious- I'm a very imaginative person, and sometimes it gets out of hand. I believe this is one of these cases. Sometimes we have to personify objects and emotions, it's done often in literature, so why can't it be done in real life?
I have some goals, I'm just not sure how to accomplish them. "Quit" seems like the worst advice that could be given on the subject, so please don't say that. It's not that easy, it has never been that easy, and you are delusional if you believe one can just 'quit' feeling a certain way at the drop of a hat. I'd like to me more emotionally strong, to fight all these fears and insecurities. I would also like to be much less sensitive to the opinions of others- I'm not entirely sure why they matter so much to me, but I want to impress almost everyone; at least, the people I feel are worth impressing. The fact that I require validation from other people bothers me, but I haven't yet discovered how to deal with it and move past it. Another of my hopes is that I can finally drown that gorgeous woman in my mind who seems to think I'm her personal playground. She WILL drive me to ruin if I let her. I just don't know how to handle her. I've tried combating her with imagination, and it doesn't seem to work. I've tried telling her to shut up, but the moment I'm alone she claws her way through my defenses and drips her poison back into my mind, and no matter how many times I tell her I don't believe it she gets to me.
She especially loves doing it to spread fears about my mate. Every person I've shown an interest in over the years, even the fictional ones, and especially now that I'm engaged, she loves to plant the seed of worry in my mind, so that I'm always wondering who they're talking to, what they're doing, who they're with, if the women around them are flirting with them, if they're flirting with women or men on websites or cybering, if they're even thinking of me when we make love, or if their excitement is caused by someone else earlier in the day. See? Do you see what she does to me? She turns me into a paranoid delusional trainwreck. I will destroy her, in time, I hope. I WILL get my claws around that milk white throat and force the life out of her accusations and whispers. Her Grima Wormtongue impression will end, eventually. I just have to figure out how to put the plan in motion. Will doing it in writing help? I assume it's worth a shot- so I will try here. Pardon the sloppy tense-shift, this is going from nonfiction to obvious fantasy. Wish me luck.
As I entered the beautiful bedroom, my eyes were immediately drawn to the pale, white-furred figure reclining on the bed with a book. I felt almost dumpy in comparison, but I knew most of this was only a trick of the creature before me. Araea, the room almost whispered. The grin that split her muzzle revealed her perfect ivory fangs, clean of the blood of my self-esteem for a change.
"Well, the pathetic excuse for a woman has finally worked up the nerve to confront me. I must say, Vorel, I'm surprised you have it in you. So what are you going to do, hm? Show me how 'strong' you are, then, girl. I've ruined much more impressive humans than you." I told myself to be strong and willed myself forward, black hair drawn back so that I was fully visible, wearing my bruises and scars with pride, glaring my golden eyes at this... thing before me. With the full capacity of my mind, I held her in place as I approached her bed. Her ice-cold gaze first narrowed with hatred, then widened as I wrapped my small hands around her elegant neck and willed them to be strong enough for the task I required of them.
"You are in my mind, my domain, and I am here to tell you you have no power over me. I shape this imagination, I shape you, and if I wish your death I will have it. I am no longer you sick puppet, Araea. I am my own being, my own woman, and I am owed for all the psychological damage you've inflicted." I flexed the muscles in my hand then, feeling her pulse beneath my fingertips, feeling her trembling, taking in all the sensations I could. When I had taken in all I could, I placed my fingers over what would be her windpipe and crushed with all my might. As I looked into those crystalline eyes, I felt a calm washing over me. The malicious light that had been glowing fiercely behind her gaze began to fade as her claws dug at mine, still applying as much pressure as they could to her airway. As her struggles grew weaker and the light grew dimmer, I felt more like myself with each passing second of her life. After what seemed like an eternity, her arms fell limp and her eyes stared at me with emptiness. She had fled from this imaginative body and had therefore left me. It was only then I realized I was sneering at her beautiful corpse. I was a little disgusted at first, but then I remembered I deserved a little bit of joy- she had made my life a living hell, and now, hopefully, she would be gone for good. As I watched, her body turned to dust, which I shook out the window via the sheet. I took one last glance around the red room, and made my exit. Carefully, I locked the door behind me.
"Goodbye."
...I feel so much better. I'm honestly surprised that worked- although how long it will STAY working, I'm not sure. I thank you for reading this, and I hope I don't sound crazy, or like some pathetic teenager who pretends to have problems. Sometimes... sometimes to fix a problem, you just have to make it real.