Postby Ataraxia » Fri Jul 01, 2016 8:28 am
“It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.”
- With sentience comes the desire to assert power over another. Sadism is an abhorrent creation of either Gods, Men or other cruel species. It is a distorted form of displaying power born in a mind that has reinforced a bond between two ideas – the suffering of others, and pleasure. In pain and pleasure lies the dichotomy that binds all beings, chaining them to flee at a scent of the former all the while chasing and treasuring the latter, and it is these opposing forces that are exploited by a sadist. As with all crucibles, there are only three possible outcomes for the one crushed under the power of another who takes pleasure in their suffering. The first outcome is to rise despite the odds, to look back and never feel regret for the hardships that made us stronger. The second is to never succeed, to die in the challenges that fall on our path. And the third, it is to overcome, but ever broken by the inability to accept and even love our obstacles for the growth they gave us.
Torture comes in two forms; physical and emotional. There is no consensus to my knowledge regarding which is more preferable, or least damaging, and there is no truth that tells whether it is better to resist or succumb willingly. To accept what you cannot control, weather the storm of fate upon your back, can both be interpreted as a sign of weakness and a sign of strength. The same can be said of defiance, and a childish willingness to fight against all odds. I’ve thought long and hard on this; to find some sense in gratuitous violence, some sort of secret – revelation – to withstand every sword and heartache, to free myself from the destiny that had been forced on me, to flee from pain.
The only truth that one can truly take to heart is their own. What works for one spirit may not necessarily work for another. Many have become adepts of sorrow, wallowing in their misery as it is the only thing that keeps them alive, ever tormented by a future and peace revoked by those who had power over them. Others detach themselves from their body, deadening the senses and allowing their spirit to die, grow dull and unaffected by the crime-less punishment that they never deserved. As my only friend said, life has immense power over death, just as death has immense power over life. What matters is not to pick a side, but to know which to favor at opportune times.
My revelation, my truth, came as seventy three whiplashes of red-hot wires flaying my back and filling the room with the unforgettable scent of my own burning feet in the grave. The pain was greater than my memories allow me to recall, but I was torn apart not by the torturous device but by my own mind, unsure as to where to stand. In that final dissonance, I focused on my greatest demon, a memory that split open my oldest scar so fiercely that it completely eclipsed the present torment. In that fleeting thin thread of a moment, something emerged. There was invincibility, power and a presence that filled me with adamantium.
A firm hand on my shoulder. The tranquil realization that I could not be hurt anymore.
If fate wanted to plunge a blade into my heart, she would have to hand me the knife.