(no subject)
Looking back on the things I’ve written here lately, this has been developing for a while.
It - I’m not sure where to start. I’ve spent most of the last week in a tangled knot of emotion and guilt and actual physical illness, and I’m still not sure what reaction is what. I probably wouldn’t have had such a strong emotional reaction if not for the physical illness, but maybe.
Let’s start somewhere - well, it might not be simple, but it is identifiable, which is better than nothing.
Redemption arcs are important to me. Redemption arcs for characters that may not deserve it, who have made bad choices and hurt people without caring about it. Bad people, who chose to be that way, where it’s their fault and no one else’s. Monsters. I want /them/ to be saved.
A lot of people don’t. And I can understand that - a lot of people have been told their entire lives that the people who hurt them don’t deserve hatred, that it’s not their fault. He didn’t mean to hurt you, he just lost control. He was drunk and lonely, it’s not his fault he cheated on her. She’s not a racist, she didn’t mean it, there’s nothing to be hurt over. Abusers hurt people because they’ve been abused. Etc. It’s not their fault, they didn’t know any better.
It’s dodging blame, and a lot of people are - rightfully - completely sick of it. Tired of being told to have sympathy for abusers. Victims and survivors look up at the people who have hurt them and say, “fuck you, you don’t get to pretend you didn’t hurt me. This is not my fault, you did this to me and my anger is justified.” It’s a defensive anger, a protective anger - because abusers and predators use their victim’s sympathies to control them, part of the process of healing and keeping safe for victims is cutting off that sympathy for their abusers. And that’s totally fair!
And narratives that support that are important. We learn how to be people from the stories around us - if every story we see says we should be happy and content as we are, then it’s much harder to realize that anything is wrong. Every story that says that pain is valid, that you have the right to safety and security and not being afraid - all of those are important, and helpful.
But I need a different narrative. And sometimes it’s in competition with that one. What I need - or at least, what I feel like I need - is the opposite. The redemption arc - second chances for villains and monsters.
Let me get virulently personal for a while, here.
I grew up in a religion that had shades of fundamentalism to it - the young women were allowed to wear pants, but that was as Modern as things got sometimes. The Pastor’s wife joked that she was shocking for having dyed her hair. It was not - abusive, in any of the more dramatic meanings of the word. I was not beaten. I was not publically punished for my failings. I was not cast out, or shunned - or if I was, I didn’t notice.
No, this was - microaggressions. Philosophies, rather than incidents. Maybe they weren’t destructive to other people, but they’ve lingered in me. The things I internalized: be cheerful, because God is sad when you’re sad. Be calm, because worry means that you don’t trust God. Don’t complain, because you have been given all you need. Don’t think the wrong things, because thinking the wrong things leads to doing the wrong things. Looking at someone with lust is as bad as adultery, hatred as bad as murder. Put others before yourself. If you’re uncomfortable with what your instructors tell you, that’s just your Sinful Flesh rejecting the Truth. How could you disobey God, don’t you know what He did for you? God will separate the wheat from the chaff, the sheep from the goats, the worthy from the unworthy. If you can’t hear God, then you aren’t really listening. God speaks to all of His children.
God never spoke to me.
Obviously, that meant I had hardened my heart to Him somehow - I had done something, hadn’t reached out properly, my Sin had gotten in the way - and I hadn’t /done/ anything, so it must have been Pride, or something I had thought about but hadn’t confessed - (Maybe I hadn’t been thankful enough. Maybe I looked at that girl a little too long. Maybe I was too proud, too angry, not Committed enough. I knew what I was supposed to do, I just didn’t do it.)
I knew, from a fairly young age, that there was something wrong with me. I didn’t connect to others or understand them the way they understood each other. I wanted things I wasn’t supposed to want, I was interested in things I wasn’t supposed to like. I was a Bad Person, disguised as a good one. It was a very good disguise, but I knew the truth. I could try very hard to be good, but all of my badness would leak out and hurt everyone around me, like books and teachers said that it would.
Looking at that as an adult, I can see the flaws in the logic, the manipulation and the coercion. Looking at it as an adult, I can know that that’s not how it is, and that people can know my true self and find value in me, and that I’m not just one mistake away from being discarded.
Unfortunately, knowing and believing are two different things. I can know something perfectly well, but my instinctual reactions are still what they are. I can know that I’m trying my best, and still believe that I am a Bad Person. I can know I’m a person and still feel like a monster.
Monsters don’t get second chances. Bad People are already too far gone to help, and they’ve dug their own grave. Monsters don’t deserve sympathy or concern. Bad People are just going to hurt you if you get too close.
But I don’t want to hurt people. That’s as deeply woven into this as anything else - I don’t want to hurt anyone and I’m terrified that I can’t help it.
So I try very hard. I worry about my actions. I try to make myself small and harmless. I put other people first rather than taking time for myself. (Bad People demand more than their share and take advantage of people. I’m a Bad Person, so what I want is bad. What right do I have to take anything for myself? Other people deserve it more.) I live with the surety that I am a monster, not a person, and already beyond saving. All I can hope is to minimize the damage. It’s not always articulated that way, but it’s there, underpinning the structures and tinting all of the colors.
But sometimes, I find stories. Redemption arcs, where a Bad Person learns how to be Good. Where Villains learn how to love and empathize, where monsters learn how to stop hurting people.
And they comfort me, and encourage me. It helps to hear that people still deserve to exist and keep trying, even when they’ve made the wrong choice and hurt people - that once you have fallen you don’t have to keep falling. I don’t know how to convince myself that I’m not bad, but I like knowing that I can learn how to be good. I need to know that monsters can become human - because that makes me feel like maybe one day, I can learn how to be a person.
Sometimes people object to those kinds of stories, for the very good reasons I mentioned earlier. And obviously, since I’m a monster, and those people have been hurt, they deserve it more than I do. That seems natural to me, so I concede. But it hurts a bit, giving up this too. I feel guilty for wanting it.
But that’s - not right, I think. I am allowed to be comforted, or so I’ve been told. I deserve validation and support, second chances and more. That’s what people say. Maybe I’ll believe it, one day.
….I think I’ve run out of things to say. I’ve made progress, though.
It - I’m not sure where to start. I’ve spent most of the last week in a tangled knot of emotion and guilt and actual physical illness, and I’m still not sure what reaction is what. I probably wouldn’t have had such a strong emotional reaction if not for the physical illness, but maybe.
Let’s start somewhere - well, it might not be simple, but it is identifiable, which is better than nothing.
Redemption arcs are important to me. Redemption arcs for characters that may not deserve it, who have made bad choices and hurt people without caring about it. Bad people, who chose to be that way, where it’s their fault and no one else’s. Monsters. I want /them/ to be saved.
A lot of people don’t. And I can understand that - a lot of people have been told their entire lives that the people who hurt them don’t deserve hatred, that it’s not their fault. He didn’t mean to hurt you, he just lost control. He was drunk and lonely, it’s not his fault he cheated on her. She’s not a racist, she didn’t mean it, there’s nothing to be hurt over. Abusers hurt people because they’ve been abused. Etc. It’s not their fault, they didn’t know any better.
It’s dodging blame, and a lot of people are - rightfully - completely sick of it. Tired of being told to have sympathy for abusers. Victims and survivors look up at the people who have hurt them and say, “fuck you, you don’t get to pretend you didn’t hurt me. This is not my fault, you did this to me and my anger is justified.” It’s a defensive anger, a protective anger - because abusers and predators use their victim’s sympathies to control them, part of the process of healing and keeping safe for victims is cutting off that sympathy for their abusers. And that’s totally fair!
And narratives that support that are important. We learn how to be people from the stories around us - if every story we see says we should be happy and content as we are, then it’s much harder to realize that anything is wrong. Every story that says that pain is valid, that you have the right to safety and security and not being afraid - all of those are important, and helpful.
But I need a different narrative. And sometimes it’s in competition with that one. What I need - or at least, what I feel like I need - is the opposite. The redemption arc - second chances for villains and monsters.
Let me get virulently personal for a while, here.
I grew up in a religion that had shades of fundamentalism to it - the young women were allowed to wear pants, but that was as Modern as things got sometimes. The Pastor’s wife joked that she was shocking for having dyed her hair. It was not - abusive, in any of the more dramatic meanings of the word. I was not beaten. I was not publically punished for my failings. I was not cast out, or shunned - or if I was, I didn’t notice.
No, this was - microaggressions. Philosophies, rather than incidents. Maybe they weren’t destructive to other people, but they’ve lingered in me. The things I internalized: be cheerful, because God is sad when you’re sad. Be calm, because worry means that you don’t trust God. Don’t complain, because you have been given all you need. Don’t think the wrong things, because thinking the wrong things leads to doing the wrong things. Looking at someone with lust is as bad as adultery, hatred as bad as murder. Put others before yourself. If you’re uncomfortable with what your instructors tell you, that’s just your Sinful Flesh rejecting the Truth. How could you disobey God, don’t you know what He did for you? God will separate the wheat from the chaff, the sheep from the goats, the worthy from the unworthy. If you can’t hear God, then you aren’t really listening. God speaks to all of His children.
God never spoke to me.
Obviously, that meant I had hardened my heart to Him somehow - I had done something, hadn’t reached out properly, my Sin had gotten in the way - and I hadn’t /done/ anything, so it must have been Pride, or something I had thought about but hadn’t confessed - (Maybe I hadn’t been thankful enough. Maybe I looked at that girl a little too long. Maybe I was too proud, too angry, not Committed enough. I knew what I was supposed to do, I just didn’t do it.)
I knew, from a fairly young age, that there was something wrong with me. I didn’t connect to others or understand them the way they understood each other. I wanted things I wasn’t supposed to want, I was interested in things I wasn’t supposed to like. I was a Bad Person, disguised as a good one. It was a very good disguise, but I knew the truth. I could try very hard to be good, but all of my badness would leak out and hurt everyone around me, like books and teachers said that it would.
Looking at that as an adult, I can see the flaws in the logic, the manipulation and the coercion. Looking at it as an adult, I can know that that’s not how it is, and that people can know my true self and find value in me, and that I’m not just one mistake away from being discarded.
Unfortunately, knowing and believing are two different things. I can know something perfectly well, but my instinctual reactions are still what they are. I can know that I’m trying my best, and still believe that I am a Bad Person. I can know I’m a person and still feel like a monster.
Monsters don’t get second chances. Bad People are already too far gone to help, and they’ve dug their own grave. Monsters don’t deserve sympathy or concern. Bad People are just going to hurt you if you get too close.
But I don’t want to hurt people. That’s as deeply woven into this as anything else - I don’t want to hurt anyone and I’m terrified that I can’t help it.
So I try very hard. I worry about my actions. I try to make myself small and harmless. I put other people first rather than taking time for myself. (Bad People demand more than their share and take advantage of people. I’m a Bad Person, so what I want is bad. What right do I have to take anything for myself? Other people deserve it more.) I live with the surety that I am a monster, not a person, and already beyond saving. All I can hope is to minimize the damage. It’s not always articulated that way, but it’s there, underpinning the structures and tinting all of the colors.
But sometimes, I find stories. Redemption arcs, where a Bad Person learns how to be Good. Where Villains learn how to love and empathize, where monsters learn how to stop hurting people.
And they comfort me, and encourage me. It helps to hear that people still deserve to exist and keep trying, even when they’ve made the wrong choice and hurt people - that once you have fallen you don’t have to keep falling. I don’t know how to convince myself that I’m not bad, but I like knowing that I can learn how to be good. I need to know that monsters can become human - because that makes me feel like maybe one day, I can learn how to be a person.
Sometimes people object to those kinds of stories, for the very good reasons I mentioned earlier. And obviously, since I’m a monster, and those people have been hurt, they deserve it more than I do. That seems natural to me, so I concede. But it hurts a bit, giving up this too. I feel guilty for wanting it.
But that’s - not right, I think. I am allowed to be comforted, or so I’ve been told. I deserve validation and support, second chances and more. That’s what people say. Maybe I’ll believe it, one day.
….I think I’ve run out of things to say. I’ve made progress, though.