MINGLE - Post-Op(era) Recovery

[pumpkinhollow]

On this night we drink to the death of Sorrow.

After the Fall of Efrain With the Prince of Sorrow's Song dead and gone, the opera dissipates, spitting its victims out on the summit of Crane's Ridge where the Dance of Celestine was held some months before. It's getting late, and there is no one yet in town to run the train. Some will brave the trip home simply for the sake of collapsing into their own beds and achieving some sense of normalcy. Others will do so with the hope of returning with help. But many others will simply say "fuck it" and camp out on the mountain, still fitted with extra firewood from the festival and the means to build temporary structures in nearby storage sheds. The journey down will be safer in the morning, and there's solidarity to be had in a cool spring night spent under the stars.

Oh, look, there's even some non-perishable food and wine from the Dance. Combined with what can be hunted or foraged, as well as snacks and drinks stolen from the concession stand, there's plenty to go around. This might even be a little bit fun! Anyone up for another game of Never Have I Ever? Maybe a little Truth or Dare? Or perhaps you just want to chat and unwind with your friends. Whatever the case may be, have fun. This is your time. After darkness, there is a dawn. At the death of Sorrow, there is joy.

Comments

[tehilim127_1]

"I mean," and her voice drops a little as well, not much louder than his but as clear as she can make it, "that by our law, if someone attempts to kill you, your obligation is to save your own life. By getting away if you can, by other means if you can, but ... ultimately by killing the pursuer, if that's the only way you can survive."

She takes a breath. "I'm not saying this because I think you need to agree, I know there are differences in interpretation. I just want you to have an idea where I'm coming from."

cw passive suicidality, The Most catholic guilt

[lovethyneighb_or]

"... Right," he says, unable to erase the shake in his voice. "Right, of course. I understand."

Of course. Right. Another one to sit him down and explain in their words why nothing wrong happened. It's alright; there's little else to expect by now.

(Don't be unfair. Even Christ held the whip--
--that was not murder--
--even Michael--
--he is an Archangel, he directly carries out the Will of God--
--even Peter drew his sword--
--it was not his place.

No. No. No.

No, it's not fair. It's not fair. Why does he get to hear this now?
Don't get ahead of yourself. It's not for you. It does not apply to you.

Ash. He reaches for purchase, the answer to anchor himself towards, and finds obliteration. He is not a saint; he will not even go where they are going. There is no justification or forgiveness that will resolve the fact that there is something wrong with him that caused him to sin so grievously. Mea maxima culpa. The answer is going to kill him one day. The answer holds his suffering, which he put there. The answer is to die.)

He looks at Zivia. He lowers and shifts his jaw just slightly, in the manner one does for speaking. "I'm sorry, I just don't think..."

(If it wasn't murder, it doesn't matter if it was your fault if you never even--) (It was. I did.) He stops. He wraps his arms around himself, hands gripping his sleeves.

Unsteadily, distantly, maybe a little desperately: "Well, no matter what you'd like to call it, I took a man's life that he was not willing to give. The least I could have done is remember even doing it."

[tehilim127_1]

"Do you --" She breaks off, tries to frame the sentence in her head before saying it. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to minimize what you did. Taking a life is ... it's a terrible thing to have had to do. Even if you feel, even if you are wholly justified in doing it, it's heavy. I wouldn't ever say it should be otherwise. But ... do you think it's your own fault that you don't remember doing it?"

[lovethyneighb_or]

There is an answer there. Somewhere in the ash. Yes is the one the simple part of him reaches for, but that's ridiculous. That's not how rages work.

"... In a sense. I... don't believe I could have avoided it necessarily. Not while doing what I did. But I wish I had... I wish I had better control of myself about it. However I could have struck him, or even should, there was no case in which I had to do it like that."

Monstrous.

[tehilim127_1]

"I think I get that." Softer, again. "Like ... it would be different if you'd decided to do it. Made a decision either that it was the right thing to do, or that it wasn't but you were going to anyway, and then carried it out. But ..."

And she stops there, trying to work it out.

[lovethyneighb_or]

“But I didn’t. And if I were a—“ (better,) “—stronger man, maybe I could have.”

[tehilim127_1]

"But that's not --"

And she stops, frowning. And says "Oh," very low.

[lovethyneighb_or]

Mulcahy says nothing, and does very little besides look down, and breathe.

[tehilim127_1]

"That's part of the problem, isn't it." Still very low. "Because if it were a sin, you could atone for it, and be forgiven. And instead you just have ... this shame, trying to make you think it's guilt."

Half a beat, and -- "Sorry. That was too ... I'm sorry."

[lovethyneighb_or]

Without moving: "No, you... you're far more right than wrong."

A longer pause. "... What do you mean? By..." the words almost burn his tongue to say, getting them out is like dragging fishing line and hook out of lake muck, "... shame, trying to make me think it's guilt?"

[tehilim127_1]

Right or wrong wasn't the trouble; it felt too deeply personal an insight to say aloud without warning. But now he's asked her, so --

"Well ... okay, people use those words differently a lot, so here's how I learned it. Guilt is the feeling you've done wrong. Sometimes people get it for bad reasons, or no reason, but it's about behavior. Something you did, even by mistake or without knowing it, that you shouldn't have done. Or something you should have done and didn't. Shame ..."

She takes a breath. "Shame is feeling bad about being something. Almost always something outside of your control. Shame masquerading as guilt, that's what someone I know used to call it when you feel ashamed of something you know you can't help, but at the same time somehow feel like it's your fault."