Ties that Bind

You like pain. Let’s admit it. You relish the sting, the sharp edge of hurt that beckons you to say, “Give me more.” You think this hurts? Bring it on. Yes, I fucking like it.

In the alchemy of my emotions, three triggers ignite action: love, sex, and anger. Love is like ecstasy—a blissful high that lulls me into inaction, while sex taps into primal instincts, stirring a more urgent need. But pain? Pain is my amphetamine. It drives me forward, obliterating fear, doubts, rationality, and tact. In those moments, I feel most alive. Every painful chapter in my life offers a lesson, urging me to shed my fears and confront my weaknesses head-on. Acknowledging them is empowering; it renders me invincible to the outside world. But it’s a constant battle between self and self.

As difficult as it is for me to admit, I am idealistic, peaceful, soft like a donut. Yet when anger surges, I transform into a sword. My mind sharpens, my tongue cuts deeper. A force takes hold, and the mediator within me vanishes. In those fiery moments, I produce my best work—writings that resonate and paintings that breathe. It terrifies me, for I despise violence. I oppose it, shaped as I am by a tumultuous childhood where fury reigned. I thrive on praise, yet when faced with difficulty, I have internalized a need to be beaten. I carry this hatred toward my parents like a stone around my neck, questioning the love that feels more like a burden than a gift. This notion that love justifies all actions—what a twisted irony.

What is love, really? A means to an end? A justification for behavior that leaves scars? The lines blur between affection and manipulation, control and pain. If this is love, I want none of it.

And then there's karma. It isn’t the universe’s way of settling scores; it’s unresolved energy. The cosmos does not discern good from bad; it simply witnesses our experiences, both mundane and profound. We thrive in the fight-or-flight mode, drawn to the intensity of stress like moths to a flame.

We are all interconnected, passing on emotions and energies without intention. Our lives are not solely our own, and therein lies my understanding of karma. We live not just for ourselves but for each other. Being motivated by something negative can, paradoxically, be the most potent way to channel that karma. You can sit and cry, lash out, hurt others, or, ultimately, transform it into something greater. Every emotion is just that—an emotion.

The duality between violence, love, and passion intrigues me. Pain wears many masks. For some, violence in intimacy offers liberation; for others, it provides a fleeting sense of control. Yet this cycle perpetuates, as we pass energies from one person to the next instead of allowing them to dissipate. The residue remains, indelibly marked upon our souls.

Control, manipulation, and abuse stem from fear. The choice to channel pain into neutrality emerges from a place of peace. You carry the burden, even if you were powerless when it was thrust upon you. It feels unfair, for not every experience strengthens you; some merely shatter.

Can violence be beautiful? Can it be peaceful? I ponder the meaning of words, for they are mere vessels of experience. They shift with human perception, morphing into good or bad depending on the observer. Touching certain energies leaves a trace, flowing from one person to another, changing, evolving, never truly dissolving.

I see how violence has marked generations within my family, destroying connections rather than forging them. Violence, alcohol, remorse—this cycle of blame creates an unending loop of pain. Yet I strive for peace, hoping to break free from these familial patterns, to emerge from the shadows.

“All is fair in love and war?” I question. But is that really true?