My 1920s vintage Joan of Arc statue arrived the other day. When I think of Joan I think of all the things I could be, could’ve been, and could still potentially become (again)…
She represents virtue, truth, piety, purity and courage. All the things I am afraid I am not.
I wonder where I had gone wrong. Well, I cannot pinpoint the exact moment but I can outline the periods in my life where I had been brutally dragged away from my innocence and turned inside out. And how I regret those days.
I know an INFP girl, though only through the internet and via the same trade (writing). She does not know me being that she’s an INFP and lost in her own world. She’s never bothered much to respond to my commentary–all of which has been pleasant and positive toward her. I mention her because she is about 10 years my junior and still so pure and innocent, yet she often laments that. If she only knew how dear her innocence is she may not wish to waste it.
I’m 31 now and I have lived quite the life in my early 20s. Looking back now I regret almost everything. What seemed like good old fun and free-spiritedness of youth was a treacherous reprogramming of my brain that has turned my values into something quite awful.
When I was an inexperienced teenager I had a good head on my shoulders. I knew what I wanted and what I did not want, something that may have been uncommon among kids my age. I did not give way to experimentation and vice like so many of my classmates. I was a “good girl.” Yet I was absolutely miserable. It was because of the loneliness that being such a goody two shoes imbibed that I decided to change my ways and join the rankings of the “normal” people out there.
It felt a bit like falling from grace. I had lived so high up in my Ivory Tower where everything was good and holy and pure. Then I came tumbling down those porcelain blocks and dragged across the dirtied Earth.
I don’t wish to go into the all the details now, but I would like to state just how much I deeply regret ever having listened to those around me and have them shape me.
I used to be a good girl. I was once kind and loving and peace-abiding and holy. My 20s were not all awful. I fed the homeless regularly. I volunteered. I wasn’t materialistic and greedy or cruel, then.
But there has been a change in me since my late 20s, which had been the darkest period of my life to date. I remember the rage that filled my lungs in 2015. I hurled insults at nearly everyone, friends and strangers alike. In 2016 I mostly quieted down but I turned to drinking to assuage my pain. I did not want to hurt others anymore, so I hurt myself instead. I drank many a lonely nights and kept to myself.
Forget all this. This entry is languid and boring and not getting to the gist of what I mean to say (say it!).
I wish I were holy and pure and so good-hearted that I join the ranking of Joan of Arc herself. I envy how she stuck to her convictions whereas I had allowed others to mold my mind. I envy how strong and confident she was.
My biggest mistake has been allowing others to convince me that my kind-heartedness, gentleness, purity and delicateness has ever been a bad thing.
Now I’m grossly much more greedy, selfish and materialistic than I had ever been. I spend a lot of money on clothes and makeup and hair products and I look glamorous but my insides are ugly and spoiled rotten. I wish to absolve myself of my sins, to be made clean again.
And so I will create my Saint Joan of Arc altar and pray to her diligently until I have been absolved of everything.
Until I have risen out of the flames purified and new again.