+ 3 Faces Of The Goddess : Maiden, Mother, Crone +
Writing Prompt: Yes
Date: 14th Nov 2021
Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I’m not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I’m still waiting
++Paris, France. It was a hot late summer. In a loft apartment in the heart of the city, windows open the sheer drapes dancing in the breezes, on a king size bed I was brought into this world. The men congratulated each other on being prized studs, the doctor applauded himself for his skills and ALSO being a prized stud, the nurses wrapped me in a family heirloom blanket and then…silence. I wasn’t crying. In fact I wasn’t making any sounds. At all. A fog mixed of worry, pre-postulating that “it must be HER genes”, and embarrassment begins to loom over everyone’s heads. The doctor, now nervous and second guessing his every move, inspects closer. Okay I’m moving, that’s good. I seem to be looking around, observing my surroundings, okay she isn’t blind. Great. Good. Safe so far. He tings a nearby medical instrument to simulate sound next to my ear. Did she respond? Damnit Nancy, pay attention I’ll do it again. So did she? Yes? Oh…Oh thank God. She can hear. So the worst case scenario is she is mute? My hands are clean then. We’ve done all we can, prep the family. I wasn’t mute, obviously, though in retrospect being mute would have been easier to manage than what was truly going on. Of course the damage was done. My Father rejected me as tainted. If Filicide was legal and forced sterilization could still be enforced, he would have opted for both. My mother was merely the vessel that brought me into this world. She was never born with the capacity to raise a child, nor the desire to do so. With the loss of the union, the rejected child, the scarlet letter tattooed on her skin, she had to protect her own interests. Because there is only dying and surviving++
Brigette: If I could just put her in a dumpster somewhere and forget about all of this I would but I need her to get the money.
Cécile: Not necessarily. I came here to have my baby and give her up, but Thomas back home is expecting me to return with a daughter. YOU have given birth to a daughter who has been rejected. The doctor who attended to the birth is still in the thick of it. If we work fast, we might be able to get him to write a report saying the baby was still born. We can get a letter typed up on official stationary saying that HE had corrupted genres and as such you were released from your obligation, etcetera, etcetera. The old woman won’t press for more information if the proof you provide her looks very official. I’ll take your unwanted goods back home with me, Thomas will be none the wiser and you can STILL collect your inheritance, provided I get a cut.
Brigette: Are you fucking serious, Cec? You want a portion of my inheritance? Because from where I am standing doll, you are in the same sewer I am. YOU need a baby girl. Without MY bastard kid, you are stuck. No. No cash. Goods and services only. You want a sports car? I’ll finance it. Trip around the world? Sure. But I will not give you cash. Just so you can burn through it all at the casino. Agreed?
Cécile: Fine. It’s a fair trade off and as much as I hate to admit it, you’re right. Without the little bastard I’m in as much trouble as you. Did you even name her?
Brigette: Elizabeth. I mean if she’s a mute then the name is wasted, it was meant for a child that had the world at their finger tips. A name that sounded old, wise, but also with authority. If she’s mute, well then I guess it’s just a name without a meaning. A formality.
Cécile: Fair. Even if she isn’t ivy league or Oxford material, at least with a name like that on a local level, it stands out. I can work with it. I’m the soccer mom, the PTA head. If shes dumb, I can use her handicap to my advantage. It all works out in the end. So do we have an agreement?
Brigette: Yes. You go get the quack over here to hear the proposition. Nurse???!!
++A young girl, a nun just entering the convent, came in and took me from my mother. From that point on until I left to the States with my aunt, I was cared for by wet nurses, nuns and nannies. An after thought. Something shameful. To see me was to offend your own eyes. On a summer day in Paris, France I was born into this world, and I was instantly a disappointment. By the way, about two days later I had a screaming, crying massive baby fit, so I guess I wasn’t mute after all. Fast forward to present day, I’m still fucked up. You would be too. I had no purpose, no drive. I grew up with no goals no aspirations. I was angry and unstable. I’m still angry and unstable. I always will be++
Dr. Rochele: Elizabeth, how are you doing with the higher dose of Zyprexa? I know you were hesitant so how has it been? Any audio or visual hallucinations? Self-harm? Homicidal thoughts?
Dr. Rochele: Different than the ones attributed to your concussions and brain damage, or new experiences?
Elizabeth: How could I even tell the difference? Isn’t a hallucination, a hallucination? No matter why you are having it?
Dr. Rochele: Well you aren’t wrong, but there is different types of hallucinations. For example, if you are having hallucinations, but you are consciously aware that what you are seeing is a figment, not real then that is a self-aware hallucination. Individuals who have had multiple concussions, head trauma, those types of situations, we EXPECT to see that type of behavior. The brain is damaged everytime you have a concussion.
BUT, if you are seeing and hearing things, and you answer back for example, or you start thinking they have some good ideas then that is something that we need to focus on. So are you aware that they are hallucinations OR is the hallucination that is telling you that you can fly to jump out the window and be free, sounds like he is on to something?
Elizabeth: No. I know they are hallucinations, but some of them DO have some good advice. You call them hallucinations, I call them ghosts. Fragments of bad memories that come and go. It’s like playing a video game, and you’re going along minding your own business, then suddenly you start having flashbacks to an event that happened right where you were standing. Max Payne. Christ that was a great game. YouTube it when you get home doc, maybe you can better understand what I’m trying to say.
Dr. Rochelle: The flashback from the nightmare maze with the PTSD moments. That was classic video game cinema. It was one of those game experiences that just stuck with you. They don’t have that kind of content in games anymore. No. I completely understand how you are trying to describe it. So for you, these hallucinations are like cut scenes in a game or movie, replaying events that happened, people you harmed, regrets you have. That is a very unique take on it but it still tells me that you are fully aware that the hallucinations aren’t real and that is all that is important. However you choose to reconcile the hallucinations with your psyche and day to day life, is your prerogative. And it sounds healthy to me. So you said on the phone you wanted to talk. You sounded very conflicted. What’s going on?
Elizabeth: My mother.
Dr. Rochelle: Go on, you have my attention.
Elizabeth: She contacted me the other day out of the blue. Last I heard she was on a world cruise. Free of charge of course as her favorite new toy is the ship’s Captain. The last time I had even spoken to her was four years ago. She drunk dialed me, to tell me how she really felt about me. Again. I’ve come to expect a call like that every few years. This time, she was sober at least I think, and she wanted to talk. She said she was sorry. She went on to say that she never knew her sister was the abusive, spiteful woman she was. She admitted that Cer was a snob, always scheming, she made manipulation an art. She admitted that all the girls were like that. Their mother was like that. And their grandmother.
Dr. Rochelle: Generational influence on the women in your family it seems. But the true question is, do YOU believe her? Did anything she say have a tone of sincerity?
Elizabeth: She WAS sincere. It’s not that I question her motives or her sincerity, it’s her timing.
Dr. Rochelle: Go on..
Elizabeth: I’ve been home in France. I attended the harvest ball in Alsace-Lorraine at the Lodge. I don’t think I need to really explain that any further. It was the first event involving the Order that I had attended since the early 2000’s. Annika attended with me, along with my partner, Eric. Well one of my partners. You know I really wish I could find a word that truly romanticizes the existence of multiple partners, that they have their own singular verb. I digress. It was enjoyable. I met some of the legacy members, some council members. I chatted with some of the Crones and new acolyte maidens. I even got to witness my first union announcement. I never got one of my own, so it was nice to finally see one. How does this relate to my mom calling? It was two days later.
Dr. Rochelle: So you think someone that was in attendance tipped her off then? That she still may have friends active in the organization?
Elizabeth: Most likely and that is the problem. On one hand I have no expectation of loyalty to her. I SHOULD tip the council off that she has connections within the private organization that is leaking private information back to her. I mean obviously she’s a security risk if anything. It would also look good on me if I did that, as I have just really come back into the fold recently and it would show my loyalty and dedication to our culture. On the other hand, what if this is not the ONLY instance of this? AND could we use these situations to our advantage? On one hand, doing the right thing would help me just as much, it’s a safe bet and low risk. But on the other hand, maybe it is time that the rules and bylaws were sorted through with a fine tooth comb to see what is archaic, obsolete, inhumane and what can be salvaged and what can be improved on. It is a crisis of self. Do I do the right thing, by proxy hurting her OR do I pass on the personal vendetta and focus on something far more important than gossiping hens? I’m leaning away from instant validation in favor of long term progress and validation of a supreme level. Is that progress? Is this what we have been working towards? Is this the goal? I’m asking honestly because I can’t tell.
Dr. Rochelle: You’re choosing task and purpose over malicious compliance, and that IS a big step for you. You have soundly processed both options, weighed their benefits as compared to their longevity, and instead of instantly going for revenge or pettiness, you sound like you have decided on a long term goal and that you don’t really care about if she gets found out. Of course, it stands to reason that even by choosing the goal over revenge, you can still get your fix by exposing her later, once you’ve achieved your other goal. No this is good. This is a very logical decision and I’m very proud of you. This is a milestone. You acted on logic rather than instinct. I know that is hard and it shows me that the current dose of Zyprexa is working just fine. There’s no need to raise or lower it. I think we can stop here for today. Next week we’ll do a zoom call as I need to attend a conference. Sound good for you?
Elizabeth: Yeah that sounds fine. Hey…if you’re going to be out of town what should I do if I relapse? If I become UNSTABLE?
Dr. Rochelle: Use your support checklist. Just like last time.
++When you spend your life guarded, you get used to keeping your true self masked and wearing different faces for different people all in an effort to keep them distant, hesitant but curious. I would rather people create these elaborate theories in their head about me, about who I truly am and what I am up to, than they know the ugly, decomposing truth and ruin the Illusion. Playing my role has never been hard. It comes naturally. My personality is stand offish to start so never revealing my true self came pretty easy. It still does. Though now people watch and observe and see me act one way, but yet in the very same situation only with different actors involved, I do something different, worse. Men I am with see how well I treat men I USED to be with, and wonder why not them? Men I USED to be with, see me treating my new companions lovingly and passionately and they stomp and rage and scream “WHY THEM!?”. That is BiPolar Disorder. That is Borderline Personality Disorder. That is the vicious, non-sensical, cycle that we repeat again, and again. Is there a reason? Nine out of ten times, yes. But to even FIND the reason to even begin to explain it, is exhausting and overwhelming. Eric was lying on his stomach beside me, his shirt on the floor, his long blonde hair draped over his shoulder. He rolled a bit more towards the light and that’s when I saw the scars. In the dim light of the moon I saw the scars. I KNEW they were there, but this was the first time I was truly seeing them. Seeing them for what they were. A reminder of my awfulness. I reached out very gently and lightly traced one of them. I figured he was asleep and didn’t feel it. I quietly muttered to myself++
Eric: I know you are.
++He rolled onto his side facing me and looked at me with his head resting on the pillow++
Eric: I know you are sorry chickie. And it’s okay. I forgive you. But like, can I ask you why you do stuff like that? Are you a sociopath? Like are you secretly a serial killer? You can tell me, I promise I won’t tell ANYONE man.
Elizabeth: No. I’m not a serial killer, I just…hurting others makes me feel human. I’m so numb after all the years of bullshit. Enduring so much trauma and pain. I need to hurt others to feel pain, to feel…something. I’m violent and cruel, I know I am. I’ve done things that are deplorable. I also take things too far. I get too emotionally or mentally invested in a person or a situation and then I become obsessed and almost fanatical about it. I take disagreements and petty feuds way too far. I hung a woman, by a dog chain, over the banister of a 10th floor stairwell Eric. Because she tried to use my name for clout. I handcuffed a man to the corner of a ring, hung his legs and repeatedly zapped his johnson with a cattle prod, because I had a “face good enough for a sloppy blowjob, but not much else”. When I was done he had a dick good enough to piss with, but not much else. I hurt you because…I didn’t want to hurt Eoin. I wasn’t emotionally invested with you so it was easy to separate things. Do you know what I did after that night? I went home and called my dealer. I put in a pretty nice order, tipped him extra to hit the packie, then smoked, popped dilaudid and partied with Molly until I didn’t feel like a piece of shit human being anymore. Then I go and I repeat the cycle and I do it all over again.
Eric: You said packie.
Elizabeth: Fuck you bean boy. Spent too much time around you and now your language is rubbing off on me. Why don’t you go park a car at harvard yard and get the fuck outta here. How the fuck you going to knock the Yankess out of the series then fuck your own selves out of it? Red Sox? More like Red Dead.
Eric: Yeah..well….soccer sucks. SO THERE! Wait is there Soccer in France? Shit now I think I sound dumb…do you even like sports? Man I blew this really bad…fine just…fuck you fancy European lady! Who may not even like sports!
Elizabeth: Look lets just agree that at least we aren’t Philly or Detroit fans and agree to disagree. As I was saying…I know the things I do. I could lie and say I’m doing them subconsciously but I’m not. I hurt you on my own free will and volition. I need to feel control. I need to BE in control. I’m a fucking disaster and I know it. I’m a terrible person and I know it. Deep down there is a part of me that longs for a normal, stable, non-violent life. A deep rooted desire to be a good person and do good in this world and I try my best. Soup kitchens, charity, donating goods and clothing during disasters. Eric, do you know I am a member of the disaster response team in Atlanta, with the American Red Cross? I’m on alt terrain search and rescue up here in the north. I KNOW how to be a good person, I like BEING a good person. I like helping people less fortunate than myself because I know my own life could have gone so differently. I’m blessed. The goddess showered me with a boon of good fortune and prosperity and it would be disrespectful and selfish to not share my prosperity with those without. But I also…hate people. I detest society. I have wished death upon those who wronged me and attempted to kill those who incited my rage. I have anger issues. That is another truth that I have no choice but to accept. There is no moderate in between, I exist only in extremes. Good and bad. How can a woman who helped pay for a local girls college tuition, so she could pursue her dreams of becoming a criminal profile, also be the same woman that has arson charges in three different states? None of it makes sense and it bothers me. It drives me up a wall. I stay up at night, talking to myself trying to reason things out, figure them out, have complete conversations with myself after I’ve driven myself into a manic episode, and asked myself deep, probing questions about how I feel about some things, certain people. The awful fantasies I have had about what I want to do to them. Even so much as asking myself why I am so angry all the time. It is so hard to be aware of what’s happening, but be completely powerless to fix it, because you both want to and don’t want too. Stuck in a perpetual status of indecision. I know what I do but I also LIKE what I do, just as much as I hate it. How do you reconcile that? How do you make that work? I’m sorry…I know this is way above your head I just needed to say some of this stuff out loud.
Eric: I’m this version of Eric, because of my mom. She was addicted to drugs and was an alcoholic, so I was born an addict. This version of me was born this way. Sometimes I wish I could be another Eric. A different smarter Eric. An Eric that maybe went to college and got a fancy job. Sometimes I even wish I was a sober Eric. But being sober means actually dealing with real life and I don’t want to do that. Cause I already know it sucks man. You need to like THIS version of you, or else you won’t ever be able to BE another version of you. Embrace it. Embrace THIS Minxy.
Elizabeth: You’re an enigma Eric, do you know that? You are so soft spoken, and mellow. You light up like a Christmas tree when someone mentions Aliens or UFO’s. You were like a little kid at the observatory, wide eyed and drunk on astronomy, the stars and just being around it all. Yet sometimes you have these moments. Times when you say something so profound and thought provoking, that it makes even me have to sit for a minute and think about what you just said. Sometimes you give insight into something, that is so logical, it actually puts a situation in a whole new perspective. You are more complex and have more depth than you think you do. And you don’t even realize it.
Elizabeth: Enigmatic. It means mysterious or hard to interpret and difficult to understand. Kind of like a paradox. Hm. Wait. Eric, are you familiar with the Paradox episode from DC Comics? Where due to messing with the space continuum timeline, it created paradoxes in the time stream?
Eric: Aw shit! DCUO! That was a raid in the fuckin game bro! That shit was my jam man. Such good shit. So like what IS a par-ad-ox, like I get the reference chickie I just don’t know what a par-a-dox is.
Elizabeth: A paradox is when something that shouldn’t make sense, is actually real and exists. Like proving a contradiction, um, okay like saying something is opposite of what it is, but it IS actually that. It SHOULDN’T be but it is. Like when people say aliens are shapeshifters and they have always lived among us, but there is no proof that says otherwise so, technically, its a true statement.
Eric: Woah girl, that’s like a really fucking good idea though. I’m going to have to talk to my UFO buddies about this. Woah. But yeah dude I understand now. So is this a good thing or?
Elizabeth: It is a good thing. It’s a special thing. It means you’re a unique person who has unique perspectives on things that sometimes those of us who are too intelligent and polluted by media and brainwashing, can’t see. It’s nice and refreshing. It’s also something that hits close to home. I’m my own paradox. I’ve mastered the art of being enigmatic. It’s practically a fucking crutch. Like a heroin addiction. I don’t know how to be ME anymore, because I lost track of who I WAS, or who I wanted to be. Needed? It’s just an amalgam of all of it. I’m…a mess.
Eric: You’re like a puzzle, with really fucked up edges, and they don’t like fit quite right and you keep trying to like force it and shit, and you get angry and pissy and you keep trying even fucking harder to make those god damn pieces to fit, and they still won’t and then like you get that lightbulb that goes off and you’re like “hey, maybe these pieces AREN’T supposed to fit” and then you just put it together as best you can because you know the pieces were never supposed to fit right and then you finish the puzzle and super glue that son of a bitch and slap that fucker on a wall and say “job well done”.
++I lied there looking at him as he started to ramble about his suspicions that the valet at the restaurant last night, was a demon. A demon LIVING on earth, amongst us, because hell is full and they decided paying overpriced rent for shitty shoe box apartments and outrageous bills was the closest experience they could get to the REAL hell, I guess. It was still fun to listen to him and hear his pride of how seriously he took things like UFO’s and demons, or ghosts and cryptids. I guess maybe that was why I indulged him. I was going to surprise him with a cryptid hunting trip for his birthday. Was going to take him to the Mothman Museum, hunt for cryptids and folklore monsters on the appalachian trail. He deserved it. And it WAS fun. I envied his ability to still experience joy and contentment, not in a bitter way, but a sad lonely way. One more thing I could never be or have++
“If he’s come round, he’s been awfully secret about it. Let’s face it Karolina, he’s probably at the local FBI office, spilling his fucking guts to save his own ass. Whatever happens, happens now. What needs to be done, will be done. That is the way we do things. Any word from the gentlemen we sent to Ireland to ran sack the fucking house?
Karolina: Nein. Nothing yet. They are due back in a day or so. Got held up due to weather. I slipped a door man at the tower a small fortune to snoop through the apartment, it came up clean where he was concerned, not so much elsewhere. Listening devices. Called in a favor to your favorite Doll to see if she could work some magic on their origins. It was as suspected. They’ve been dead though since the night he disappeared and that can NOT be a coincidence. I’m sorry…
Elizabeth: It is what it is. I hate men so much. So deeply and with such conviction I hate them. And yet, I crave their particular flavor of pleasure. I just can’t replicate it, no matter how hard I try. Vibrators and dildos pale in comparison to the feeling of ACTUALLY being penetrated. There is nothing a man could give me that I could never give myself, that I have not given myself, and yet they are like a blight that lingers. It breed such disgust and anger inside me that I hate them SO much and yet, need them for my own pleasure. It isn’t fair, because they never stay. They always think they can do better and they leave. Something or someone comes along that looks more enticing and despite giving them a reason to exist, giving them a purpose to work towards they leave and say YOU were the problem. Yet you made them who they are. Ungrateful. Fickle. What’s done is done Karolina, I just have to move on.
Karolina: Be candid with me love. It is just us here. Confide in me lover. I can handle you expressing your affection for another lover, trust me. Let it out. Speak it into the air.
Elizabeth: I apologise. I sometimes forget that you and I are cut from the same cloth and see things very similarly. We view relationships and sexual partners in the same way. So again, I apologise. It just…hurts Kitty. I knew things would end like this, deep down. It just was never going to work. We live in two different worlds. He’s a realist, a simple man. While he has some things to offer that I enjoy and look at very favorably, his kinks mostly, he’s emotionally immature. A little lost puppy dog, whimpering at your feet and begging for help, attention, salvation. Too weak and feeble to help themselves. He’s fixated on things like love and monogamy. I don’t have time for that. I don’t own emotional maturity for dummies. I need a man who is his own person. Who knows who he is, has an identity, a style, a way about themselves. I need someone who is self-reliant, confident, reliable. I need someone that knows how to entertain themselves and is okay with me having my own time to myself, who doesn’t need to be comfortably lodged up my rectum 24 hours a day. I need a man who is just as okay with living his own life, as he is with living a life with me. You know, a REAL man. Eoin, was only half of that. And that is being generous. Still, the fault is my own. I let myself fall for him. I fucked my own self..
Karolina: You know I don’t like when you talk like this. You are a woman. You are passionate and raw. The sooner you accept that you are still a human being and are susceptible to things like feeling an emotional connection with someone, the better off you will be. You cannot kill your humanity Lisbeth. It is still there inside you. Even with all the vigor and vulgarity that predominantly makes up who you are, your soft and tender humanity is stil there inside you. It has to be, or you would be a terrible lesbian and you make me climax every time so clearly, you still have some shred of humanity. Kitty used logic, it was very effective.
Elizabeth: Well played but still…I feel so foolish and stupid. And the timing couldn’t be worse. I can’t even properly sit down and process this whole fucking awful situation with Eoin because I have to keep my focus on FIGHT. A goal has been made. Pieces are being strategically placed on the game board as we speak and I have a lot of ground to make up thanks to the disaster and circus that was The Cure. I let my own career suffer and for what? What did I get out of it in the end? Hell even Brandon got the fucking prize money. All I got was BITTER. Not at Brandon mind you. No. He is an artist. I respect his work. Besides I would rather see him get the prize money rather than have to split it amongst a group that never belonged. I paid those whom I felt deserved a pay day, out of my own money because I’m a professional and we have standards, even if we lack morals. I have too much to prove now and I need to prove it.
++Karolina was German. She was a dear friend I had mad when I spent my summers in the region back home. She lived in the Black Forest region. About 2 hours drive from Alsace but we traveled there frequently during the summer, and always during winter. She was my first female sexual partner. We were 12, it was one of the last times I saw here before my life fell apart in the States. Over the years we had kept in close contact. She held a special place in my heart. Like a sister, but closer. She was beautiful and intelligent. Athletic as well. She was built very masculine so she excelled in more male dominated sports. She always struggled with her own identity. She hated the sight of her own face in the mirror, she felt ugly and unattractive. She would call herself Frakenstien. All she needed was a good hair cut and styling, some dye and just a little bit of facial reconstruction along the jaw line, which was her biggest complaint about herself. She started taking more estrogen to balance out the hormone imbalance and started to love herself, get to know herself. We had both gotten drunk that night on cheap wine her brother bought us. He was such a lad, he deserved better than to die like he did. Spineless bomber. We got to drinking more, smoking some pot again courtesy of her amazing brother, and we both decided to try E for the first time. Twelve years old and zero inhibitions, what a way to live. I miss it. That night she confessed her desire to have sex with another girl, she wanted to know for sure she was right. So I offered my services. Twelve years old, and a better more free and welcoming stance on homosexuality than most adults in 2021. She was right. She was bisexual. But I already knew that. She was curled up on the couch, knee high athletic socks, boy short evee panties, novelty t-shirt. She was gripping the controller to the XBox with such ferocity. I was sitting on a beanbag on the floor, enjoying my high. Google Home, who I named Winnifred because she sounds British, was playing softly in the background. Garbage. Something so intoxicating about how #1 Crush sounded. Kitty was intensely playing Rocket League on the XBox. Suddenly I blurted out a hearty laugh and she looked over to me curiously++
Elizabeth: I wished I could have taken a picture of her face when I kicked out of her finisher. That snobby cunt was so sure of herself. She adapted to living at the top mighty fast. Came in looking like a virgin on prom night and now she’s queen bee. It goes to your head fast. It also leads to overconfidence. They think because they won at the end of last season that we’re all the same people. We aren’t. I’m not. That bitch sees my failure and touts that as gospel that I am a failure through and through. She looks at me and sees a pathetic puppy and then rears her fucking heel back and kicks me right in the ribs and laughs. So she really thought that match would be a walk in the park, because she went in expecting HER version of me, not who I actually am. It was so fucking satisfying. The sound her head made when it connected to the mat. It was orgasmic. My panties got wet at the sound of the thud as I executed that DDT. It was liberating. And it reminded me of certain things. They can’t say I didn’t warn them. Whether they chose to take me seriously now after the fact depends on their ego and willingness to admit that some of the people they THOUGHT they had figured out, well they were wrong. Then again if they maybe might have been around for the period of PRE-FIGHT, in the beforetime they would have known that my journey started on a different path. The Cure was just a god damn detour that turned into Wrong Turn the fucking movie. It was a bad decision, but that doesn’t mean I can’t return to my original plans. And I have. I just expanded those plans, really dedicated myself to them. Because it is something that speaks to me and I believe in.
But Jesus fuckin’ Christ Kitty, it felt so god damn good to make her eat her fucking words. I needed that. I needed it SO BAD. And I get a chance to reproduce last weeks results again this week, on yet one more friend of the badly named collective that is NSQ, New Status Quo. Lycana. She’s…interesting to say the least. Seems she has a fascination with blue hair, now where have I seen THAT before. Already off to a bad start.
Karolina: She sounds like she’s a hipster, that only drinks a no foam soy latte, thinks oat milk is delicous and likes the aestetic of being a witch, without doing any of the actual work. A poser. Angeber as we say in Germany. It seems all of those involved with this supposed “new regime” all come from the same mold. Obnoxious, overfed egos, oversure of themselves, overconfident in their abilities. They act as a world power, with all the finesse and tact of a second world country, with a third world countries economy, so America I guess. I guess this makes them America in the grand scheme of things. How proud they must be. So now that you have had your passion reignited, what about this week? What is sustaining your will to win again this week? You know you are capable of it, now what do you plan to do to keep the momentum going?
Elizabeth: I am fueled by bitterness and hope. The bitterness that my reputation is as it is because of a poor career decision and a lot of wasted time. Bitterness that there are people around me that doubt my ability, who laugh at my expense, when the truth is they don’t know ME at all. They know a version of me that fits their overlapping narrative from last season. That I am beneath them. As I’ve said before, NONE of them would even exist in this community if I had minded my own god damn business and let their god & savior Warstien, sit on the fence like a fucking pussy. I helped kick start their whole fucking career in this company.
Lycana had a very strong decisive victory over Ricky. I don’t doubt her or anyone else in NSQ of their talent and abilities, it’s their undeserved egoism that I don’t like. I’m sure by now they have filled her head with stories about my incompetence, my weaknesses, all my failures thus far and all they are doing is giving Lycana a false sense of security.
Hope? Hope that I don’t lose my way again and get mixed up in more bullshit that isn’t my business. Hope that I see this through. I’m on the cusp of a whole new era of my career and I can feel it in my bones. The acid of anxiety is pumping through my veins.
Bitterness and Hope. But mostly bitterness.