Gail Simone, Wonder Woman: The Circle
I was ruled by my Gemini moon, and I succumbed to it’s impulsive revolution of creativity, bouts of distractions and cradling of my personalities.
It’s a struggle full of truth and sacrifice. I conquered nothing. I was governed by my strange existence and pursuit of mental innovation. I worshipped the mystery that engulfed darkness and defeated all trance of thought.
The colorful tributes of personality that plagued those I envied forced my personality to become divergent. There are certain marks on my legs that are worth only a cheap lunch break and wooden floor fetal positions. Perhaps my episodes were spiritual catalysts. Words became pine needles, and emotions became a vibrant language I never learned to pronounce.
There are times and hours of the early morning when I can encompass the hues of negativity I colored within myself. In the slightest way, it wasn’t a negative ritual. I was able to compress that day’s recollection into a thesis of understanding or a reflection of aesthetic, dark serendipity. It was a lonely existence that cycled until I realized I couldn’t escape. I reverted into the dusty attics of safety that existed before SSRI’s and counseling sessions.
I wanted to possess the stature and essence of a beautiful woman. I attempted to reenact security other woman emitted. Self-directed observation and selective taste of colors had feminized ways of re-affirming my personal gender typing. The goddess archetype was an alluring energy. Divine and nurturing, it was a spiritually attractive quality that I felt I could never mirror. I was socially prescribed from early experiences and I never felt I fit into any social structure of behavior being consistent with a gender (female) that I felt I deserved. I consistently struggled to reassign my role as appealing. I felt my masculine features structured how others saw me versus how I strived to be seen. Other women were tall, had larger breasts, and a body that had matured. I was short, and I felt like the neglected toy doll that wasn’t as attractive as the others. I did not strive towards traditionalized feminine pursuits of a passive existence in society, but rather the glorification of the innate goddess within all women, although I could not find this in myself.
There was an internal driving force within me that was full of immense power and throughout my whole life, was a constant dedication to find beauty in whatever force fueled me. I still have not found out if this driving force of energy (in my eyes, bad) could ever translate my unique traits as visually pleasing. In times of mental crisis I would revert into the things I was not, frolicking in the fantasy of bracelet flowers and the comfort of my father complimenting the beauty I had not seen.
An armed conflict of adjectives and splitting, I fed off my battlefield and the apathy of people who differentiated from me. It was a personal offense if I was rejected, and a reaffirmation to keep myself enlisted into a scrambled identity of tremulous emotions and romanticization of the ‘sad girl’ image that I could reenact. It was a temporary image until I was able to luckily find parts of my own internal paradigm. I failed to comprehend the fundamental difference between myself and others. Rather the mystery I hid myself into became the basements of insensitive comments and repressed expression. I felt my furnace of unresolved trauma, I never put it out. A fire of distressed emotional operations and adopted sadness. It kept me warm, a comfort only the lonely can handle.
What’s meant to be
will always find a way.