Chaos (What are you? What are we? What am I?)

(This is cross posted with Tumblr - I hope that is okay. I don't entirely know which section this belongs in... it's scaring me a bit, this realization or whatever it can be called. I don't even know how connected it is to DID/multiplicity)

There is a part of us that is unlike anything else I’ve identified, recognized, or even felt. It’s something that has always been there, something that is woven in all of my memories, our collective memories as a group, or median. I don’t know if it is even related to plurality – it almost fits more under the umbrella of non-human. Whatever it is, it is clearer now that it ever was. Have I just identified it? Am I finally willing to accept it? I don’t know. But it scares me a little – that I know. “I am an agent of chaos.” it said through my mouth, with my voice, to my friend. “That is my true nature.” It wasn’t a switch, not even when it (I?) tried to knock my friend off a step stool. Only a few moments later did it hit me that that was NOT me. That I didn’t even know where that came from.

And as soon as I realized that, I did know. It filled my (our?) body and hissed back, leaving me shaken and with the knowledge I don’t know if I needed or wanted. Chaos. What Chaos sees, thinks, it sees and thinks not as a section of the median, but as a layer, a coating, a parasite. Chaos is in all of us, is all of us, part of all of us.

It’s in me, Phi, in my cynicism, my messiness, my inability to follow through, my non stop flow of ideas, my resistance to schedules and planning, my hate for categories.

It’s in Meshe, her volatility, her fear and anger, her instability and mood jumps, what pulls her to and pushes her from the same things all at once.

It’s in C, in her childish disregard for place and time, her physical sprawling, even her regression and existence. It’s in her quickness and her haste, her changes and her lack of reserve.

It’s in Sage and xer lack of tracks or target, hir breakneck brain and speech, his never ending scramble, her lack of care or even distastes for society, rules, and consistency.

It’s even there in Writer. It looks calmer there but it isn’t. It is in Writer.’s work, in the ends of the worlds, in the psychology of characters, in the madness and the sickness and the suffering. It is in a distastes for realism and the mundane, a need for adventure and conflict. It is, maybe, most there is Writer.

It dictates, I think, our headmates too, somehow. Chaos and the Between. A mentally unstable pyro with no certain allegiance. A tactician and schemer whose meticulous order is likely as much a mask as the ones he uses to bring about confusion, demise, and devastation. A boy, now young man, torn between two forces, forever looking for what’s next, what else there is, never quite content. A literal servant of Hecate, who would overturn a social order to save a library. A lost girl, expelled for breaking the laws of nature and causing unrest.

Chaos has plagued me with strange vision, strange thoughts. Chaos’s eyes, over ours, see everything broken, and how it can become broken. It sees crowds and plans ways to cause panic. It whispers about how foolish and trusting people are, about how many people use public water fountains each day and what would happen if you just… It asks 8 year olds why there aren’t more not-so-accidental accidents, just for fun. It didn’t know about terrorism, it predated that war. It didn’t know about the Joker or any such villain. It has just always been here.

It wonders what you could put in that that air vent. It revels in thunderstorms and the prospect of destruction from lightning, strong winds, and floods. It is why I can’t not pick at scabs and pop pimples. It wants to tear fabric. It wants to be given a chance to cause as much damage as possible to a room with a sledgehammer. It’s wanted that since we were 7. Walls, it thinks, are so breakable. People, it thinks, are too. It squeezes cuts so they keep bleeding. It wants to get sick to feel that deterioration. Once, it cut a computer screen just to see resistance and the effect. It wants to burn things. It doesn’t want to wait for the water, just in case, or too move the flammable things away. It drops things on the floor, even when the shelf is right in front of us. It litters. It picks at the insulation of public signs and buildings. It pulls every stray thread. It loves when things unravel. It is why we bite through rubber bouncy balls, swallow gum, and snap plastic.

Chaos is always there, somewhere. It is an impulse. But tonight, I felt it clearly. I saw clearly through it’s eyes, everything broken and it’s potential to break, to be torn asunder. It sees the physical, of course, but all the social. It can hear, almost, the screaming, the fighting; feel the pain it could so easily cause. I felt it’s tremor rising. I felt it’s need to tear and to tip and spill and burn. It bellowed up. It growls- roars, rolls it’s (my? our?) neck and hisses. But it is no animal – it has no name, no “kin.” Relationships and labels are order. It loathes order in any form.

I wonder how much more of my/our life is tied back to Chaos. I sleep during the day and stay up all night. Randomly, I cannot sleep at all. I cannot abide by schedules. I cannot remember dates or names. Memories run free, without time and storage – with ageless actors on too clear stages. Time itself is too orderly, maybe – which is why, perhaps, I can never seem to make sense of it. Perhaps it isn’t time being irregular, but me – and time is too orderly for something as laden with Chaos to exist with it in tandem.

I am an agent of Chaos. That is my true nature.

Now that I have seen, felt, held witness, where do I go?

——————-

I wrote this a night ago. It’s been bugging me since. I’ve talked it over with Riku and with an IRL friend. The IRL friend kind of blew it off - not so much out of spite or lack of caring, but because srangeness and how I think are just not… odd anymore. Plus, I can’t present things with as much weight as they truely hold. I preobably made it sound like not such a big deal.

Riku was a bit more helpful. He said that for him, there isn’t Chaos, but there is something that feels almost external, some kind of driving force that has always been there. He never put it into as many words (figures) but it is somethink like a drive or a will to do, to keep going, to do more. He talked about it the same way I talk about Chaos - like something beyond possible rationalization, something that pushes and pushes and invades other thoughts and feelings. His Drive and my Chaos - they aren’t the same force, but they seem of the same ilk. (On a side note, speaking about this, we both got very antsy about this new game. It seems like so much is going to be revealed. We wonder how much. But that is for another time. And probably the other blog.)

If anyone has any ideas, understanding, tips, whatever, please, please share.

i really...am failing at finding words tonight. i read it. that's really as much as i can say. i read it and it seems to resonate in some way inside. but i can't really understand or explain how. we have someone who's pyro inside. i don't know who, though. they won't tell me. and some of this is familiar in how Lolly thinks...she likes to cause pain, but not just physical pain, she likes to find out what would hurt someone the most, and use that, that's what she wants to do...she's been...not "neutralized" really, but sort of...calmed down? so that she won't actually go out and do things? but she still thinks that way, thinks in what ways we could really harm people, turn them against each other, make them afraid and upset and angry...and it's creepy...


Sarah really shouldn't be thinking too closely about these kinds of things, if you don't mind. It makes things that best lay dormant stir. But we--while we do not have the Chaos that you speak, threads of chaos run through our system and certain of our system members. In that, you are not alone.

Devon