There's a reason why Harley Quinn is my spirit animal.

Another Chat GPT writing prompt challenge—here I go.

The prompt is this:

What was the moment I realized I was afraid of what I might become, rather than what I was?

Well, there was this one silent midnight. I was in my bedroom, watching a Netflix series titled Outer Banks. In the middle of the binge-watching, somehow, somewhat, without any triggers, my mind just went: “Wait, I am wiggling my fingers out of my free will, am I not?”

I kept wiggling them, stopped for a flicker of a second, but continued afterwards.

“What is stopping me from doing anything? Like… ANYTHING?”

“I can LITERALLY do anything I want, at least what my mind wants. Including wiggling my fingers or standing up and jumping on my bed right now or foolishly dancing with my nostrils blared open… or… slicing open someone’s arms in vertical lines…—what?”

???

Horror scenes slowly filled my head, intentional or unintentional—I couldn’t quite understand. And in that second, weirdly enough, I could grasp a killer’s urges. Mind you, at this point, I don’t even like to watch thrillers that depict gory graphic scenes. I never like violence and blood—I mean, who in the sane mind would? I even stop eating lambs, just because as a young teen, I once watched people skinning goats alive in front of my very eyes as a religious tradition. I despise gory scenes, whatever they might be.

But in those moments, I felt so free that I didn’t feel ashamed, or fear, or worry, or any bit of mercy when thinking about it—only plain relief and… satisfaction, perhaps a silent curiosity as well. Is that how… murderers… feel or?

I don’t have the answer to that, because I am not one??? Hello???

A couple of minutes passed by, a sudden realization suddenly came inside my mind and body. No, actually, it was fear—indeed, I was dominated with it. Then I got my answer. What’s stopping me from doing literally anything when I could possibly actually do it, is fear, simply saying.

I fear becoming a murderer, although I am capable of killing someone right at this second.

I fear hurting another human being, although I could just do it right now.

I fear standing up then jumping on my bed and looking silly, although I could just do it.

I fear dancing foolishly with my nostril blaring open and looking crazy, although it was as easy as breathing.

It is fear that grounds us safely, but too deep in the root of it, is a form of self-harm, so subtle you don’t realize slowly losing yourself—your essence that makes you who you are. Fear is, indeed, both our protector and oppressor, don’t you think?

But hey. Just do it for the plot, I guess. Do it just for the fun of it. No alcohol and drugs needed—just bizarre acceptance of yourself in your wildest and fullest bandwidth.

Look silly and go crazy with it!

Whatever you want to do—do it.

Just don’t do it naked, and hands off from that damn knife, yes?

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Am I talking to you… or to myself?

You never know—or perhaps you do.

Cheers.