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Alter Egos

I do not need to self-injure. I can confirm that exercising is socially acceptable and does a lot more damage. I managed to run and trip and splatter myself all over pavement. My knee is still sulking.

on a different note....

For years I was addicted to a French comic book called Thorgal about a man raised by Vikings who goes off to have wonderful and bizzarre adventures with lots of mythological beings and runs into a few Gods and never seems to spend more than five minutes with his wife before some new crisis compells him to go sort it out.

Anyway, one episode Thorgal decides that he has had enough of everything and he wants everyone to leave him alone, so he gets told by a wisewoman of a stone in a floating citadel which contains the name and the destiny of every living being. And Thorgal, ambitious sod that he is sets off to reclaim his name from the Gods.

He does. He passes steep obstacles and challenges and eventually gets given the opportunity to erase his name, his existence from the stone of life. He wakes up with his runic name burnt into his hand and no memory.

THis lands Thorgal in trouble because he forgets all about his long suffering wife and goes off with the wrong woman and becomes a pirate king but that is skipping off on a tangent.

It is an intriguing idea.

To be erased, reborn, remade a new. Wiped blankly as slate. Have no feelings or memory. Start again somewhere, from scratch. No memory, no links to the past. No past to speak of.

Feelings are a burden. A joy certainly. But also, currently, a burden.

If I could walk away from my life today, erase myself or fade out like the ending of a scene, I would name myself something like Inez, and I would be a photographer. My past would be quite censored and edited. I would tell anyone who asked that I had a large extended family who I was attached to but didn't see often. That I had wonderful parents who loved me very much, and was raised by a delightful, eccentric Russian grandmother and that I had a rich cultural heritage and an idyllic childhood (which i did do to an extent). That the war was a regrettable thing but had no lasting effects on me. I'd had perhaps one or two relationships and I wasn't in love. I had a good eye for colour and shape but no passions or desires. I would have a snobby cat and many acquaintances and few or no really close friends.

I would feel no love, no anger, no passion, no grief no regret. I would not hate or love anyone. I would not need to be loved. I would be unhurtable, untouchable. I would be invulnerable to hurt and fears of abandonment because there would be no one to be abandoned by.

It is tempting to walk away. I think of it every single time I leave my house. It flashes through my mind, to just keep walking. I have no clue where to. Somewhere nobody knew me and I didn't know anyone.

I want to be new again.
I want to be a blank page- beautiful and limitless and untouched.
White and smooth and impersonal as bone.
I would be first snow: pristine, infinate and untainted.

Be as boundless and weightless and superficial and innocent and cruel as someone who never felt Sadness or Love.

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rainsinger
deep sky, firefly

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