I’m a Slytherin. If nothing else, remember that while reading this, OK? And by “Slytherin” I mean all-out dark mark admiring, Potions Master adoring, dingy dungeon type Slytherin.
I have been known to utter the words “Voldemort is bae.”
Don’t get it twisted. I’m well aware of the larger complications that come with identifying with an extreme, elitist group such as the death eaters. I’m not that person.
I am in love with Lucius Malfoy’s hair, however. And there is something brilliantly analogous about a dementor and my mental state.
Let’s put it out there: I’m an anxious person.
I’m not afraid to admit it (lies). My anxious, overactive mind is something I’m learning to live with a little better each day.
But I would also attach these descriptive words to my personality too:
- Party pooper
- Loner (by choice)
- Quiet (verbally. Textually I cannot be stopped)
Where does the dementor come in? Oh, you know, just that they literally suck the soul outta someone.
And this is what I feel like my presence does to people. THIS IS NOT TRUE. Not on a metaphorical level or a literal one (thank god) but there is something comforting for me in seeing myself in these dark, lonesome creatures when my mental health is at its weakest.
Because they are powerful. They own their flaws in ways that are both fascinating and terrifying.
One of my fave Sylvia Plath poems has a line that asks: “do I terrify?” and I sometimes find myself repeating it.
I don’t want to be feared. Far from it. I just want to own my flaws, control them, exploit them.
Dementors take a shitty situation and make SOMETHING of it. And by Dobby’s sock, that something is something to behold.
(Something, something dark side)
My goal is less soul-sucky and more “acceptance”. This is me. I sometimes suck, but I’m trying to be a better person.
Does that make sense?
Dementors be nasty though. Don’t aspire to be them.