Last night was the first episode of "Dexter". I was interested, so I watched it, and ended up disturbed. He was adopted and nothing much was known of his earliest years. His adoptive father said whatever was done to Dex was done so early, "too early", that it got in very deep. Dex had no feelings, could not understand human rel'ships, esp. intimacy, and felt dead inside.
My reaction - this is rambling, but I need to get it down.
This is an account of the death of souls, of autonomy and self-determination, the death of self-respect, of any sense of self-worth.The tragic toll of physical death is final. The death of a soul lives on, the living body struggling with unseen wounds which cast long, deep shadows into the future.
For a mutilated soul, there is no end to the internal war, few rainbows, and little comfort. The wounds direct every thought and action. There are no witnesses.
The histories of happy, complete souls are frequently recorded, living out their potential with zest, vigor, and a sense of worth and purpose, free from the excoriations of doubt, terror, dependence, and confusion.
But the histories of these souls, the walking wounded, if you will, crimped at an early age, living under the constant threat of annihilation and shame - where are their stories?
The mutilated souls are voiceless, their existence silent. No one stands to support, confirm, validate or witness the murder, the torture. We live muted, alone, and sometimes with a second helping ---- ridicule. From the murderers, or from the "others", those happy, complete souls or the unconscious ones, the ridicule comes as blame and condescension when we first find a voice ---- "You can't be serious!" ..... "You have a vivid imagination!" .... "...at least you weren't ____ " ..... "Turn it over to God" ..... "When did you make that up???"
To the murders I say, "If you can't be a model, then you'll have to be a horrible warning."
Kate
