God, the determination of those who possess that misguided strength!
Misguided in the sense that it, for all the world can see, takes them not only down an undesired path but one that is completely at odds with what they claim to be after. And keep going down it at the same rate as before, if not faster!
It is the person driving themselves further and further down their own hole, but not even a fun one, like an Alice in Wonderland rabbit hole, but simply a deep, empty pit.
It is the football player mowing his opponents down to score against his own team. Is there something I’m missing, you think? But, no, they think they are doing the right thing for themselves. They are doing this on purpose. They think they are claiming a touchdown for their own team. But everyone else can see them running, full force, in a direction that cannot possibly succeed the way they think it will.
I don’t know that I’ll ever understand her, my lovely toxic ex metamour. I cannot really explain the passion and drive of misguided strength. But this thought passes through my head, as I’m watching the Borgias, where a man of God is tortured near to death. How could he survive? Why did he not break? “A misguided strength is still strength,” one of the cardinals observes. Which quite likely has more truth to it than you would think.
I only know that I do not wish for my own downfall. I am not a masochist in any sense of the word. But sometimes I just want that drive. At whatever personal cost.
I’ll leave with this little bit of wisdom I got from a poem written by a cockroach:
i do not agree with him
myself i would rather have
half the happiness and twice
but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself