Scared Stiff

QotD: The past can't hurt you anymore, unless you let it!


I was looking for Rorschach's Journal entries from Watchmen when I came across this quote on Good Reads:

“The past can't hurt you anymore, not unless you let it.”
 — Alan Moore, V for Vendetta

That's easier said/typed than applied, especially if one has suffered trauma or been abused/assaulted. As the title of a book on the subject goes, The Body Keeps the Score. Much of life's problems come from holding onto past events and attitudes. There's even a name for that: Transference. It's the process of transferring a world view from one age bracket/life stage to the next (such as from childhood to adolescence or from adolescence to adulthood). A typical example is distrust of authority.

Life would certainly be a lot easier if we could learn to let go of abuses, betrayals, injustices, lies and traumas inflicted upon us in the past. However, we cling to the past as if it defines who we are. We shouldn't, because it doesn't. It is us who should define who we are, not circumstances, what happens to us.

I wish to get to the point where I can let go of the hurt and grudges I carry, so that I can live a fuller and happier life, but I don't think I ever will. I'm scared that if I do, I'll have nothing left by which to define myself, since it's a large part of my life and how I define my identity. Maybe that's just a lie I tell myself, but it's what I believe.

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Rorschach's Journal
Rorschach's Journal

The void breathed hard on my heart, turning its illusions to ice, shattering them. Was reborn then, free to scrawl own design on this morally blank world. Was Rorschach. Does that answer your Questions, Doctor?


Rorschach's Journal
Rorschach's Journal

Felt dark planet turn under my feet and knew what cats know that makes them scream like babies in night. Looked at sky through smoke heavy with human fat and God was not there. The cold, suffocating dark goes on forever and we are alone. Live our lives, lacking anything better to do. Devise reason later. Born from oblivion; bear children, hell-bound as ourselves, go into oblivion. There is nothing else. Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long.

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