Throttling Nurse Ratched

I watched One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest the other night. I'd seen it before, but not in its entirety. I was propelled to see it as Ack, the ex-husband/best friend had suggested the main character's role was not unlike the one I have here on Earth. His essence is little different than my own.

I rail against overt, stultifying and demonizing authority. The Nurse Ratcheds of the world. She was shrouded like Florence Nightengale. Disguised beneath sweet, mellow, even tones. Held a title of medical professional. Led group therapy sessions. A NURSE. She embodied woman. She represented everything that so many of the patients had issue with. She killed life.

"Aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

Everyone has had a Nurse Ratched in his/her own life. At least once.

Billy's character, played by wildly talented Brad Dourif, who scared the fuck out of me in the third Exorcist, I fell in love with. Who are these demonizing, moralizing cunts who gain power by defeating and constantly minimizing their offspring, the creatures left in their care? Why are there not stringent psychological tests determining whether a person is fit to be a parent, teacher, friend? How do complete nutbars become practioners and caretakers of others mental health? How does this overriding character make it into every industry, many households, every life? I want to strangle every last one of them. McMurphy's attempt was cathartic. In effect he did it to every person who ever caused severe, debilitating and cronic shame and self-doubt.

A massive blow to the head.
A hurtling knee to the stomach.
A throttling.
A hocked lugie.

This is why I love first person shooter games. Revenge is so sweet.

The most pronounced debilitating force that I've carried around for the most significant portion of my life has been shame. As exemplified and underscored through this movie, shame is nothing we're born with, but something carefully honed and instilled by figures of authority. This is a tool designed to keep us down. A tool that systematically reduces and diminishes our internal spark. Who we really are and what beauty we are capable of.

If we love, love should be enough. But what if we love the "wrong" people? Shame.
Don't be stupid. Shame.
That's not beautiful, this is. Shame.
If we work, we should be doing it a lot and making shitloads of money. If we're not, shame.
If we're not "busy", filling our lives with busyness, we're rendered lazy. Shame.
Like in ads, if our lives aren't filled with fascinating, beautiful people our lives are shit. Shame.
No bling? Shame.
What are you smiling so much for? Shame.
Don't be like that. Shame.
Keep your mouth shut. Shame.
Listen to me. Shame.
Don't you want to make me happy? Shame.
What is wrong with you? Shame.
You should (insert anything)... Shame.
You shouldn't (insert the rest)... Shame.

They try to take us away from ourselves and make us live a prescribed life with no meaning, no happiness. They keep us busy doing mundane shit, fulfilling ridiculous requests that fill our lives with a fundamental lack of meaning. All in the name of empowerment of themselves. Inside they puff themselves up to be Godzilla sized, and their souls mirror the image. Monstrous. Hideous.

Our "mothers".
Our "fathers".
Our "teachers".
Our peers.
Our bosses.
Our "lovers".
Our "friends".

To those who do this, and often unwittingly so, grow empathy and realise you have the power to save or to kill. Chances are you people have bore the brunt of this kind of treatment growing up, so you feel the entitlement to do it yourselves. You project hate. You live to stifle. To smother. You never encourage unless it suits you or benefits you somehow. You are a beast. Look at yourselves. I can see you. I've always been able to see you.

And that's why you hate me so vehemently.