What do I want? Really, truly, deep-down-with-no-considerations-of-anyone-else... want?
Ida lay in the grass of the garden she had built and stared into the impossible blue of her asteroid's sky, a small pad of paper laying under her fingers across her chest. In her other hand, she fiddled with a pencil, rolling it between her digits.
There was no dirt on her this time, but she had elected for mental exercise this time, rather than physical. It was because of a thought Shale had given her, making her wonder why she had made some of the decisions she had, what she wanted from it all. This place was good for both tasks, the warmth that surrounded her making her feel safe enough to face the things she couldn't in the harshness of Earth's sharp-edged reality. Everything felt so fuzzy-edged here... like one step removed, like a dream. In the solitude and silence there were no thoughts but her own, no wants or needs but hers to consider. No one passing judgement. It was... safe. It was what she needed, when things grew to be too much to face, too real and abrasive.
It was not a solution though. Ida was coming to accept that. Her problems did not go away just because she did. Escape was only temporary, a chance to heal and recover, to restore her depleted reserves of willpower along with her energy.
Lifting her paper, the senshi glanced over it, taking in what she had already written.
Quote:
I want:
- To keep people safe
That was straightforward enough. It was forefront of her mind, most of the time. It was what she had always worked for, since becoming a senshi.
But why?
What was the point of keeping them safe? Sometimes, people didn't want to be kept safe. Sometimes they wanted to meet the danger head on and sometimes, no matter how hard she tried, things went awry anyway. Why keep people safe? Lifting her pencil, she wrote a new line on her list.
Quote:
- To make people happy
But why?
What did she gain from serving the happiness of others? Most people didn't, or only did some of the time. She could claim because it was the Right Thing to Do, but who decided what was right? Alois would have argued that point. The values she held had not matched his, as a prime example that two view points could be radically different, even if he was less than ideal to hold up as a view that was as equal and worthy as her own. But, in all honesty, why was it she needed so badly to be the instrument of another's happiness? They could find it, all on their own.
Quote:
- To be liked.
After she had written that point, she stared at it a moment and crossed off the last word, rewriting it.
Quote:
- To be liked. loved.
Except, she was loved, wasn't she? Her family loved her, her father and brother told her often. The pad came to rest against her chest again as Ida let her eyes go unfocused and thoughtful. Why wasn't it enough? Because it was only two? Her friends... cared for her, she thought anyway. Arian was thoughtful and considerate, Tsui was loud and affectionate. Chari was too... it showed in the kisses to her hair, the arms around her. Laney... Her chest hurt when she thought of Laney and she shied away from it. She knew Laney cared about her, but that wasn't what she wanted.
I don't want to be just loved... I want someone to love me. Not just love her, but love her. The person. The mind and spirit inside. Not what she could do for them or how well she fought, not as a friend or as family. Just... as herself. Ida. Orah.
Why?
Such an odd question. Was love not enough just as it was? But this felt... important. Ida's fingers ran along the spine of her little notebook, tracing the wires in contemplation. Asking for others to provide love, when viewed this way, tugged at the long held belief that if something must be done... you couldn't rely on someone else to do it. You were always more reliable than another person you couldn't control the actions of. If you wanted something done, you needed to do it yourself, or it would not be done.
And yet... if you followed that logic through, it brought up an uncomfortable feeling.
I don't love myself. Not really. Not all of me. Laney knew... Titan knows. Matthew always seemed to know...
But why not? She was not so bad. Passably fair to look at, as pleasant to be around as she could manage, always striving to be considerate and caring. Neat, clean, decent at cooking. All things she would approve of from other people. What was it she so disliked about herself, really?
I'm good, but not good enough.
Ida pushed up from the grass to sit among the gently waving stalks of green. Drawing up her knees, she settled her arms on top of them and her chin on top of that, pad and pencil dangling from her fingers. Why? She thought, pushing against something and finally feeling resistance... more uncomfortableness. Why am I not good enough?
Well... because people left. People were her mirrors, her way of knowing herself by seeing what they reflected. Yard sticks to measure against... and those people left, despite whatever goodness she could admit she had inside of her. She had told Titan as much. Except... Hver and Naer had left to save the camp. She knew and accepted that. Alois... she wasn't even convinced he had truly been there anyway, and it had certainly been no choice of his, how he had ended up. Bohlinia had also been taken from her. So who did that really leave? In this time, nearly everyone she had ever cared about was present. Her mother?
But... Farah had died, and there was no fault of hers. Except, when she tested that thought, rolled it over her tongue... she tasted bitterness. Guilt. It was old and so familiar as to be assumed to have always been there... but viewing it now, in this way... she could see it now. How strange... she felt guilt for her mother's death?
It derailed much of her thought, then, layering her with confusion. It was not her fault. Cancer was not something a four year old, or anyone, was equipped to fight. Cancer wasn't something you could cause, leaving out the things people claimed through research. And still, that old familiar pain welled up.
I feel like... like I should have done something. Or not done something. Been a better daughter. Years and years later, she could look at that now and see the lies in it. See what a younger, far more impressionable and sensitive little girl had not. There was nothing I could have done. Nothing that would have changed what had happened. I can't carry the guilt for that. It's like I wrote it in stone and held it up as a commandment that ruled my life.
Looking at it, truly seeing and recognizing it, let her take hold of it... and set it aside. I'm not responsible for the people who leave me. Even when I do or don't do something. In the end, they are the ones who make that decision. I can't control their thoughts or make them do what they don't want to do. And those who decide to leave... they aren't really true friends, are they? The real ones... the real ones will stay, despite my flaws. I have people who have seen me at my worst and most broken... and they stayed. I've done some things I hate myself for, and yet they see those things, and they don't scorn me for them. They stay... because there is something they find worthwhile.
Warmth blossomed in her chest and behind her eyes, forming tears that traced wet tracks down her face. Ida's breath caught in a sob, but she smiled at it, a small curling of her lips. Rubbing her face with the back of her hand, the young woman lifted the pad again.
Quote:
- To forgive myself.
And then she laughed, feeling something inside of her loosen and open, falling away to leave her lighter as she ran a firm, solid line through it.
Word Count: 1406
