Entry 5︎︎︎ Cyclone
Written by Isabel Romero
It is tumultuous. This swirling chaos, this natural disaster. I face the twister as I would any part of myself that feels uncharted, as I would anything unknown. And yet, there is familiarity that is toxic and burning. It is metallic and strong, binding to my core like poison. My community of nerves react like it is consistently under threat. An intruder is there, yet it is not unknown to me, rather a familiar face.
It is adjacent to the phenomena of murders being mostly done by someone known to the victim. It is always personal, if not to the crime itself. It is a disaster, and while it is not preventable, it is one of the glorious lessons in life that must be experienced, not taught. It is painful, excruciatingly so. Like a deep burning in your core, relaxing and contracting all muscles until you feel like the pulp of yourself, mushed and scrambled. A messy conglamoration of what you are, a product of surrounding and reaction.
A liability, is that what I have become? Am I innately. I am innately people pleasing. I have been conditioned and perpetuate the conditioning towards a vacuum of liable actions, making an outcome of horrendous measures. It feels as if I have been impaled, with a blade of my choosing, and when I see whose done it, it are those I’ve surrounded myself with, with my own action the final twist of the knife. Struggling, I have a difficult time differentiating the victim and the abuser. It is a mirage of my own doing, my own condition.
I am young, confronted by the revelation of this cyclical cyclone of chaos, interrelationally and internally. Unbearable, the confrontation.
It is adjacent to the phenomena of murders being mostly done by someone known to the victim. It is always personal, if not to the crime itself. It is a disaster, and while it is not preventable, it is one of the glorious lessons in life that must be experienced, not taught. It is painful, excruciatingly so. Like a deep burning in your core, relaxing and contracting all muscles until you feel like the pulp of yourself, mushed and scrambled. A messy conglamoration of what you are, a product of surrounding and reaction.
A liability, is that what I have become? Am I innately. I am innately people pleasing. I have been conditioned and perpetuate the conditioning towards a vacuum of liable actions, making an outcome of horrendous measures. It feels as if I have been impaled, with a blade of my choosing, and when I see whose done it, it are those I’ve surrounded myself with, with my own action the final twist of the knife. Struggling, I have a difficult time differentiating the victim and the abuser. It is a mirage of my own doing, my own condition.
I am young, confronted by the revelation of this cyclical cyclone of chaos, interrelationally and internally. Unbearable, the confrontation.