It feels liberating that no one can stop me when it comes down to it. The thought is scary and lone, but I think everyone has thought it at least once. That liberating rush of control. That warm but dark feeling. Knowing that you shouldn’t be doing this but you still do because you can.
It’s utterly terrifying. But the control is like a rush of wind over a grassy pasture. So liberating and free that you want to bask in it. So grand but so horrible that you want to hide forever and forget about what you’ve done. Who you’ve hurt. Who you will hurt.
What you’ve done wrong, what you might do wrong.
It’s all built like a house of cards. A stacked stack of crisscrossed cards waiting, precariously – in a sense of the word – to tip over. Who knows what’ll tip it over. Maybe it’ll be a hurricane, or maybe it’ll be a soft brush of air; but either way, the house of cards would be lost to the world until it is rebuilt. To say someone wanted to fix it in the first place, that is.
The liberation of it is also accompanied by a drowning sensation inside. It’s scary. Feeling so free yet being so trapped. Trapped inside a box, like Pandora’s, you’ve been locked away. It’s like having your lungs filled with water.
You gasp, you sputter, but the gagging never ceases and you never stop dying. You never stop drowning in your own consciousness or your own ill-made guilt. The funny thing is, you realize the things you’re guilty about probably aren’t even your fault, but you feel the need to blame yourself anyway.
It’s silly, but it still happens.
Someone dies.
You blame yourself, though you know that they had some sort of unimaginable illness and in no way could it have been your fault. Liberation soars through your veins the day before you decide to do it. The water churns and the level rises within your lungs. The drowning liberation of it all brings such a sense of imperfect imbalance that it sends you over the deep-end.
Then, you regret it. Because faintly, you wish you had never tried to begin with.
You can’t get rid of what you’ve done, and the side effects of what you’ve done are permanent.
Drowning in you own liberation is, indeed, a hard thing to do; but it happens to the best of us.
It happens, and we drown and drown and drown in the freedom we thought we wanted.
It teaches someone that even getting something you really wanted can’t make you happy.
It’s a bitter resentment that sinks in your gut
…
Ans it doesn’t disappear.