true crime and nightmares

Restless through the night. I toss my body around as I try to find a comfortable position for sleep. No avail. After my shuffling, I abandon the effort altogether and leave for a quick shower. Under the showerhead, my mind clears, and the nightmarish thoughts after seeing Don’t F**k With Cats begin to fade away. 

When I read or watch a tv show, I begin to identify with the characters and their moods. A few years ago, when I was reading Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s Hundred Years of Solitude, it was the grieving Amaranta who grabbed my attention. After pushing the charming Pietro Crespit to suicide, she burned her hand and began to wear a black band on it. I found this remarkable, and I began to don a black band. I wanted to remember my promises. When people began to question the band, I stripped it off. 

Last night, I began to recall my post from yesterday about the mirror. It was admittedly very dark like Luka Magnotta’s writing on the wall, “If you don’t like the reflection. Don’t look in the mirror. I don’t care.” I asked myself if I had something in common with this person. And do I? 

I am a happy and optimistic person, but occasionally I have dark thoughts. Being sensitive to characters and ideas, I become cautious when I observe evil personas. The fear lies in our own potential. When we are young, our grown-ups tell us that we can do anything. We can be astronauts and paint the moon. We can be movie stars. But rarely do they mention that we can be evil and that we should watch out for those behaviors in ourselves and others. They don’t examine the war criminals, but those stories can teach many lessons. Primarily, that we have the seeds to become them because they have their own origin stories. 

That’s what I fear. That there is a Mandela in me, but also that there isn’t and there could be some bad. 

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