Asked to contribute a guest post to a blog on writing, I
decided to discuss the use of fiction writing to address times when we can
think of nothing but revenge and thus achieve Catharsis. [This
post can be found at http://rickbylina.blogspot.com/2012/03/guest-blog-catharsis-anyone-by-dr.html].
As luck would have it, shortly after writing it, WHAMO! You guessed it. One of those unpredictable, uncontrollable
situations – in essence a repeat performance from a place I thought could no
longer hurt me - reared its ugly head.
Let’s just say it involved some place I had worked for some
period of time at some point in my life that I was convinced I had moved well
past. But if I was over it why did I
keep hearing the theme song from “Deliverance” playing in my head?
“Not
okay,” I determine. I’d arrived
at that place I speak about in the guest blog – the desire for revenge, which
as a writer I can best carry out on paper in the hopes of experiencing
catharsis, ridding me of my anger. The
resulting passage? Read for yourself.
_______________________________________________
The Obituary
Done
with the paper, Nicole closed it and placed it on the table in front of
her. Getting up to make herself another
cup of coffee, she froze halfway to the kitchen. She flipped around and half ran - half
skidded back to the table, remnants of coffee sloshing everywhere as she all
but dropped it missing the coaster entirely.
Grabbing the paper, she quickly turned to the obituary section, certain
she couldn’t have seen what she thought she had. Not even they
could stoop that low.
But
there it was. Center page, the large,
bold name couldn’t be missed. Her
large, bold name couldn’t be missed.
Collapsing onto the couch, she attempted to brace herself for what she
knew was more than merely a coincidence or mistake.
_______________________
Nicole
Anderson Helped From This World
Nicole Anderson died under circumstances of her own choosing
on an unreported date, with the help of a member of an unnamed euthanasia
society. Ms. Anderson was praised for
finally allowing herself to perceive her many limitations and accept the
necessity of asking for help in order to successfully end her life despite
being a recognized coward and multi-phobic.
She was known to be irrationally terrified of needles, blood, injuries, inability
to breath (once when briefly employed using all her sick time in a single month
due to a simple cough leading to the belief she would stop breathing any minute),
heights, drowning (even refusing a free cruise paid for by her generous
employers to decrease her mental distress, because of her inability to see land
at all times making it impossible to maintain the delusion that she could swim back
to shore if necessary), and swallowing pills, becoming hysterical when required
to do so.
Believed to have lost her way very early in life, she none-the-less
developed the ability to cope with this sad state of affairs, even managing to
maintain a relatively happy existence through reliance on an active fantasy
life. Unfortunately, this protective
shield began to deteriorate when confronted with numerous false claims she’d
made based on her fantasy world such as having earned a Ph.D., formerly serving
as the Director of a Graduate Program, and working as a Senior Clinical
Supervisor at an institution said to have never heard of her. Sadly she suddenly found herself unable to make
her way back to the fantasies that had sustained her throughout her life, and
was forced to face the facts that truly defined her years.
Coming to realize that she had only managed to work for
brief periods in unskilled positions, a homeless shelter her only known place
of residence, she sought out assistance to end her misery. While, at least in her mind, she’d worked tirelessly
to help others, it is profoundly sad that she wasn’t able to find a way to help
herself, at least in the real world. Due to there being no know survivors or
friends, no burial information is currently available as it has not yet been
determined how the costs will be covered.
___________________________
Nicole
knew exactly where it had come from and also knew she’d never prove it. Though she probably should have been furious,
she found laughter bubbling out of her in response to such an over the top
attempt to get to her. She’d be sure to
tack it on the bulletin board at work in the break room with a handwritten note
stating, “Reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.” Of course, her failure to respond with
increased despondency over what her employers undoubtedly believed to be a
brilliant ploy to further twist the knife, would only cause them to yet again
turn up the heat.
“Well, let them,” she thought throwing the offending item across the room to land in a heap.
Their pitiful attempts to hurt her
would never gain hold. She had inner
resources they hadn’t even begun to suspect existed yet. But they’d learn. Oh, how they’d learn. As ideas began to form and swirl in her head
she seriously considered taking up the banjo.
"So
did it work?” I hear you asking. “Is the
anger truly gone?”
I’ll
be honest – not entirely.
But
there is good news. Writing this passage has given me a great idea
for a complete novel. And one thing you can be certain of – figured prominently will be a banjoist on the roof.
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