August 11 -- What have you done?
(( SO many songs go with this one. Most notably:
What Have You Done by Within Temptation
My Last Breath by Evanescence
and
Doomsday from the Doctor Who score
Enjoy. ))
Dear Diary,
I had a nightmare yesterday.
Technically, would it not be a nightmare because it happened during the day, while I was on pain potions? Would that be a daymare?
...why am I worrying about this.
It started out as a normal enough dream. I thought it was real at first because it was so normal. I came downstairs in the morning after Oliver had spent the night killing and was euphoric over it. We had a pleasant enough conversation over tea, and our words eventually turned to those horrible scars on my back, especially the Eye. I've been talking and thinking about getting tattoos to cover that mess--not to cover that it exists, but rather to turn it into something that means more to me than "I was a victim and I'm still alive."
After several nights ago, when Oliver and I played at carving runes in my back in the dream, I'd been toying with the idea of having his runes put there. I don't mean it as a sign of death or a symbol of me becoming his undead mindslave or an extension of his blade (though in the nightmare yesterday, I realized that was exactly what would happen). It's more of a sign that Oliver is my life and of the way he's helped me since I got back from Ahn'Qiraj. In the dream, I'd decided on it, even though Oliver said that if the runes were ever activated, I might die or become an extension of him and his blade (Angravar is the blade's name, not Sharp). When I made that decision, Oliver told me to undress and come stand by him, and I did. He wrapped one arm around my middle to hold me up and then burned the scar away. I could feel my skin bubbling and rising and tearing and screaming.
But that wasn't the worst part of that particular act. The worst part was how much he enjoyed it. He's always enjoyed causing pain because of what he is, but with me, there was always a love and tenderness to it, like he was hurting me because I liked it and vice versa. He enjoys causing me pain, but whenever he does it, he does it out of love for me and not the act of causing pain.
Except this time.
In the dream, I mattered less and less to him. The more I hurt, the happier he was. He was proud of the scar that he made on my back, proud of how it hurt me, proud of how it got worse when he pressed me back against his tabard so that the Blight there ate away what skin remained over that burn. When I told him that he didn't used to be this way, he laughed and said that it was my doing, that all of my digging and poking and prying had caused him to be like this. That how much I loved pain and encouraged him to accept the darkness inside of him brought him to this point where he was no longer the man I loved and married but a monster I'd created by my own stupidity.
That was when I started to scream.
He thought that was funny. He asked me why I was screaming and kissed my cheek and told me he loved me, but some part of him, some buried part, the part that I killed hated me. Loathed me. Wished I'd never met him. And that was true agony.
When I realized what I'd done, when I realized that I'd created that monster, that soulless monster that wanted nothing more than to cause pain, nothing mattered any longer. I would have done anything he asked, and indeed, I told him that whatever he wanted was his. He threw me to the ground and I saw his sword making streaks of blue above me, and then I was in Oliver's body.
I watched through his eyes and felt his mindless glee as he murdered me and ravaged my body, leaving it in a puddle of blood. He destroyed our home, he went quite mad and destroyed everything we loved in there, and only when morning light hit him did he realize what he'd done. He tried shaking me to wake me up, but he's not stupid and knew he'd killed me. He knew I'd be found and that when they found me, they'd kill him and he would be damned. He couldn't kill himself because he was too afraid of damnation. He was so afraid and so alone. Finally, he walked into the ocean, letting it swallow him, the water that we both hate so much.
And then I woke up with the blankets over my head.
Light, it was such a dream. It made me sick. When I woke up, as soon as the blankets were off, I went and threw up and I couldn't stop crying. I went to Stormwind to find Oliver, and he was actually surprised at the dream, though he was also incredibly evasive until I finally told him that I didn't want him to embrace his Scourge side, only to accept that it was there and try to be a good man in spite of it. After a while, he thanked me for allowing him to retain his shame, but I didn't think that was enough, so I took him someplace quiet and private.
I brought us both into the dream and made him feel alive again, as much as I could. And then I searched through his mind until I found a memory of him calling on the Light (I had to do it that way because I'm not Light-touched and can't call on it myself) and gave him that experience again. He was weeping, calling on the Light again and again, remembering what it felt like, and he was horrified when it was gone, when I let him come back to himself. He told me that he was afraid, that he was so afraid of being alone and of what he was. When he embraces that he's a Death Knight, he said, he's not afraid. When he doesn't, he's afraid of so much: of being damned, of being alone, of what he could do to me, to other people. I told him--I swore to him--that as long as I was able (and I will find some way to make that a very long time), he would not be alone. That I'd be there to make him less afraid. He was only a ltitle comforted by that, but it's all I can do. I wish I could give him life again and do more.
The nightmare made me realize something about myself, too: that I'm right back where I was after Mystadon. Oh, I'm more self-aware now and more able to recognize it, but that hollowness has returned. I didn't need to actually almost die to feel it creeping back. It consumes everything. It's never satisfied. And I know that it only starts to go away when I recognize it for what it is and take steps to try and close that hole or at least acknowledge it and live with it instead of trying to fill it with unhealthy things, like torture and wanting to die.
It's something that comes with being a victim in a very specific way. It's not something that you'd have in you if you just were injured or saw a trauma, but it's something that you have in you when something like choice is taken from you. When there's nothing you can do but watch as your life is ordered for you, and all you can really do is pray and hope that the Light hears you and that someone comes to save you because you can't save yourself. And that's what really causes the emptiness and the ache is the helplessness. You're not just being made a victim; you're a victim who can't help yourself. No matter what you do, you can't stop it or make it end. Playing nice doesn't work. Fighting back doesn't work. Nothing works. You're just their toy and they're the ones who take charge of when and what happens to you.
And it starts to erode who you are. And when you come home, everyone wants you to be well and fine because they saved you, and they want to believe that they saved you completely, not just a little bit, not just your body, but your spirit, too. And that's just not the case, but you pretend anyway, because not pretending makes them angry, makes them hate and resent you, makes them throw you away because you're not smiling, but they don't realize that every time you try to smile, the hole feels bigger.
Because the hole feels like it's going to destroy you, you start to try and destroy yourself. You grab for the things that will destroy you faster than the hole will because it's better to have those things extinguish you than to extinguish yourself. You hear everyone admonish you for being so self-destructive, but you realize they don't understand that if you don't destroy yourself, the hole will destroy you, and that's terrifying.
But it's wrong. They're all right. You have to stop running. The hole won't destroy you. It's not a destruction. It's a new birth. You're not the person you were before. You're someone new, and you shouldn't try and destroy that. Those acts of self-destruction are really just the violence of your new life coming into being, and when you're on the other side of it, everything is so quiet and so peaceful. The hole is still there, but it's slowly wrapping around itself and closing until you don't remember it. And then you just have to pray that nothing else happens to create a new hole.
Unrelated, Oliver and I ran around doing community service with the Sigil last night. We were assigned to a cleaning group with a blind draenei named Jorath, and we went to clean around the Blue Recluse. That ended up being kind of awkward, since they kind of have their own cleaning crew, but I polished a mailbox until it was perfect and managed to call Dad from it and Oliver repaired a wall. Later, some random woman decided that Oliver needed a hug, and it rubbed me the wrong way. Seriously, what about my rotting, plate-wearing husband says, "HUG ME, STUPID WOMEN"?
Not that I can completely talk, but at least we're married and so it makes sense. Light.
-S.
LOG: Senkha's Nightmare, with special thanks to Kat for being an amazing RPer. Goes best with "Doomsday" on repeat.
What Have You Done by Within Temptation
My Last Breath by Evanescence
and
Doomsday from the Doctor Who score
Enjoy. ))
Dear Diary,
I had a nightmare yesterday.
Technically, would it not be a nightmare because it happened during the day, while I was on pain potions? Would that be a daymare?
...why am I worrying about this.
It started out as a normal enough dream. I thought it was real at first because it was so normal. I came downstairs in the morning after Oliver had spent the night killing and was euphoric over it. We had a pleasant enough conversation over tea, and our words eventually turned to those horrible scars on my back, especially the Eye. I've been talking and thinking about getting tattoos to cover that mess--not to cover that it exists, but rather to turn it into something that means more to me than "I was a victim and I'm still alive."
After several nights ago, when Oliver and I played at carving runes in my back in the dream, I'd been toying with the idea of having his runes put there. I don't mean it as a sign of death or a symbol of me becoming his undead mindslave or an extension of his blade (though in the nightmare yesterday, I realized that was exactly what would happen). It's more of a sign that Oliver is my life and of the way he's helped me since I got back from Ahn'Qiraj. In the dream, I'd decided on it, even though Oliver said that if the runes were ever activated, I might die or become an extension of him and his blade (Angravar is the blade's name, not Sharp). When I made that decision, Oliver told me to undress and come stand by him, and I did. He wrapped one arm around my middle to hold me up and then burned the scar away. I could feel my skin bubbling and rising and tearing and screaming.
But that wasn't the worst part of that particular act. The worst part was how much he enjoyed it. He's always enjoyed causing pain because of what he is, but with me, there was always a love and tenderness to it, like he was hurting me because I liked it and vice versa. He enjoys causing me pain, but whenever he does it, he does it out of love for me and not the act of causing pain.
Except this time.
In the dream, I mattered less and less to him. The more I hurt, the happier he was. He was proud of the scar that he made on my back, proud of how it hurt me, proud of how it got worse when he pressed me back against his tabard so that the Blight there ate away what skin remained over that burn. When I told him that he didn't used to be this way, he laughed and said that it was my doing, that all of my digging and poking and prying had caused him to be like this. That how much I loved pain and encouraged him to accept the darkness inside of him brought him to this point where he was no longer the man I loved and married but a monster I'd created by my own stupidity.
That was when I started to scream.
He thought that was funny. He asked me why I was screaming and kissed my cheek and told me he loved me, but some part of him, some buried part, the part that I killed hated me. Loathed me. Wished I'd never met him. And that was true agony.
When I realized what I'd done, when I realized that I'd created that monster, that soulless monster that wanted nothing more than to cause pain, nothing mattered any longer. I would have done anything he asked, and indeed, I told him that whatever he wanted was his. He threw me to the ground and I saw his sword making streaks of blue above me, and then I was in Oliver's body.
I watched through his eyes and felt his mindless glee as he murdered me and ravaged my body, leaving it in a puddle of blood. He destroyed our home, he went quite mad and destroyed everything we loved in there, and only when morning light hit him did he realize what he'd done. He tried shaking me to wake me up, but he's not stupid and knew he'd killed me. He knew I'd be found and that when they found me, they'd kill him and he would be damned. He couldn't kill himself because he was too afraid of damnation. He was so afraid and so alone. Finally, he walked into the ocean, letting it swallow him, the water that we both hate so much.
And then I woke up with the blankets over my head.
Light, it was such a dream. It made me sick. When I woke up, as soon as the blankets were off, I went and threw up and I couldn't stop crying. I went to Stormwind to find Oliver, and he was actually surprised at the dream, though he was also incredibly evasive until I finally told him that I didn't want him to embrace his Scourge side, only to accept that it was there and try to be a good man in spite of it. After a while, he thanked me for allowing him to retain his shame, but I didn't think that was enough, so I took him someplace quiet and private.
I brought us both into the dream and made him feel alive again, as much as I could. And then I searched through his mind until I found a memory of him calling on the Light (I had to do it that way because I'm not Light-touched and can't call on it myself) and gave him that experience again. He was weeping, calling on the Light again and again, remembering what it felt like, and he was horrified when it was gone, when I let him come back to himself. He told me that he was afraid, that he was so afraid of being alone and of what he was. When he embraces that he's a Death Knight, he said, he's not afraid. When he doesn't, he's afraid of so much: of being damned, of being alone, of what he could do to me, to other people. I told him--I swore to him--that as long as I was able (and I will find some way to make that a very long time), he would not be alone. That I'd be there to make him less afraid. He was only a ltitle comforted by that, but it's all I can do. I wish I could give him life again and do more.
The nightmare made me realize something about myself, too: that I'm right back where I was after Mystadon. Oh, I'm more self-aware now and more able to recognize it, but that hollowness has returned. I didn't need to actually almost die to feel it creeping back. It consumes everything. It's never satisfied. And I know that it only starts to go away when I recognize it for what it is and take steps to try and close that hole or at least acknowledge it and live with it instead of trying to fill it with unhealthy things, like torture and wanting to die.
It's something that comes with being a victim in a very specific way. It's not something that you'd have in you if you just were injured or saw a trauma, but it's something that you have in you when something like choice is taken from you. When there's nothing you can do but watch as your life is ordered for you, and all you can really do is pray and hope that the Light hears you and that someone comes to save you because you can't save yourself. And that's what really causes the emptiness and the ache is the helplessness. You're not just being made a victim; you're a victim who can't help yourself. No matter what you do, you can't stop it or make it end. Playing nice doesn't work. Fighting back doesn't work. Nothing works. You're just their toy and they're the ones who take charge of when and what happens to you.
And it starts to erode who you are. And when you come home, everyone wants you to be well and fine because they saved you, and they want to believe that they saved you completely, not just a little bit, not just your body, but your spirit, too. And that's just not the case, but you pretend anyway, because not pretending makes them angry, makes them hate and resent you, makes them throw you away because you're not smiling, but they don't realize that every time you try to smile, the hole feels bigger.
Because the hole feels like it's going to destroy you, you start to try and destroy yourself. You grab for the things that will destroy you faster than the hole will because it's better to have those things extinguish you than to extinguish yourself. You hear everyone admonish you for being so self-destructive, but you realize they don't understand that if you don't destroy yourself, the hole will destroy you, and that's terrifying.
But it's wrong. They're all right. You have to stop running. The hole won't destroy you. It's not a destruction. It's a new birth. You're not the person you were before. You're someone new, and you shouldn't try and destroy that. Those acts of self-destruction are really just the violence of your new life coming into being, and when you're on the other side of it, everything is so quiet and so peaceful. The hole is still there, but it's slowly wrapping around itself and closing until you don't remember it. And then you just have to pray that nothing else happens to create a new hole.
Unrelated, Oliver and I ran around doing community service with the Sigil last night. We were assigned to a cleaning group with a blind draenei named Jorath, and we went to clean around the Blue Recluse. That ended up being kind of awkward, since they kind of have their own cleaning crew, but I polished a mailbox until it was perfect and managed to call Dad from it and Oliver repaired a wall. Later, some random woman decided that Oliver needed a hug, and it rubbed me the wrong way. Seriously, what about my rotting, plate-wearing husband says, "HUG ME, STUPID WOMEN"?
Not that I can completely talk, but at least we're married and so it makes sense. Light.
-S.
LOG: Senkha's Nightmare, with special thanks to Kat for being an amazing RPer. Goes best with "Doomsday" on repeat.