To Be by Jennifer(8jls1@qlink.queensu.ca)
To Be Disclaimer: Roswell and all the people, places, and things that make it the great show that it is belong to a whole bunch of people that aren't me, including, but not limited to, Jason Katims and Melinda Metz.
Rating: a strong PG-13 (language and mentions of suicide)
Spoilers: Everything through Max in the City
Summary: Isabel pulls herself out of the downward spiral she's into which she's fallen.
Catergory: Isabel
Feedback: Loved it? Hated it? Please, tell me.
Distribution: Ask and you shall receive.
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She'd chosen the time carefully, she was alone in the house and no one was expected back for some time.
She stared in rapt fascination at the razor blade in her hand, almost mesmerised by the light glinting off it's sharp edge. She idly wondered if it would hurt after that first sharp pain.
After a few minutes of contemplation, she put the blade down on the back of the toilet deciding that it was a bad idea after all. Slitting wrists = blood, blood = bad, \slitting wrists = bad.
She opened the medicine cabinet instead, and looked at all the neatly labeled bottles contained therein. Surely mixing them all would kill her. Heaving a deep sigh of regret, she decided against that the pills were a bad idea too, and closed the cabinet door. No telling what mixing medication would do to me, failing at a suicide attempt would be the worst possible outcome.
Her eyes fell on the bathtub, and inspiration hit.
Once the tub was full indecision got the better of her. She sat on the edge of the tub and stared into the water as the helpless tears began to fall violently.
Maybe this isn't such a great idea.
No shit, Sherlock. Whatever made you think this was a good idea in the first place.
I don't know, it seemed like the only way out.
Out? Out of what?
The mess my life has become, of course.
So change it.
What?
If you don't like the way your life is going, change it.
It's not that simple.
Sure it is. Why do you always feel the need to complicate matters?
I don't know who I am any more.
You're changing the subject.
No, I'm not. If I don't know who I am anymore, I can't change my life.
So decide who you want to be, and be that person.
I want to be Isabel.
There, that wasn't so hard now, was it?
My problems aren't solved that easily.
Why not?
I don't know who Isabel is.
Why not?
It's called an identity crisis, stupid, and I'm currently having three.
Well?
Well, what?
Well, aren't you going to explain?
Oh, right. I used to always know the difference between the real Isabel and the Isabel that I let everyone see, the snobby Ice Princess Isabel.
Why don't we call her the Ice Princess for simplicity's sake.
Okay. So I knew who I really was, and who everyone thought I was. Then, just as I was letting the real Isabel surface, just as I was shedding the protective layer of the Ice Princess, this whole Destiny Michael-is-your-mate shit hit the fan, and my foundation started to crumble. Identity crisis number one. So I tried dealing with that by putting the Ice Princess façade back up, hoping that if I did my life would stop falling apart.
That was stupid of you, you should have know it wasn't going to be that easy.
What is it with you? First I complicate things unnecessarily, and now I'm being too simple.
You know it's the truth.
Fine, have it your way. Would you like me to continue?
Please.
Obviously that didn't work, but before I could get anywhere with solving that identity crisis, along comes Whitaker and tells me that in my past life I - Vilandra that is - betrayed her people and caused the deaths of her family. Identity crisis number two.
Please, you don't even know that it's true. Whitaker had every reason to lie.
Lonnie confirmed it.
Lonnie was a psychopathic bitch. She really had no reason to tell the truth either. You gave her an opening, and she used it in an attempt to get what she wanted.
I guess…
So how did you try to deal with identity crisis?
Well, I kinda didn't.
Such wonderful judgement you show.
Be quiet, and let me finish.
Alright, alright, no need to jump down my throat.
So I'm dealing, or not dealing as the case may be, with the first two identity crises, when along come Lonnie, Rath, and Ava. Identity crisis number three.
And how exactly is that an identity crisis?
Imagine meeting an exact duplicate of yourself. Now imagine that she's everything you've never wanted to be. What do you call that, if not an identity crisis?
Point taken. So what happened next?
I made one bad decision after another. Nothing I did helped, it only made everything worse, and now I can't see any light at the end of the tunnel.
Alright, now here's my advice. The Destiny Michael-is-your-mate shit, as you so eloquently put it, is a non-issue. No one care about it anymore, not even Tess. Forget about the Vilandra crap. Whether it's true is irrelevant. You are not Vilandra, and anything she may have done she did, not you. Forget about Lonnie. You are not Lonnie. Lonnie is Lonnie, and Lonnie you aren't. I don't care if she's genetically identical to you, it's the old nature versus nurture argument, and nurture always plays some part. Do you think you can do all that?
I don't know. I guess.
You guess?
I can.
That's better. So, feel better?
Yes.
Good.
But that still only solves half the problem. I still don't know who I want to be.
Not this again. I thought you wanted to be Isabel.
I do. I do want to be Isabel.
So what's stopping you.
I don't know who she is.
Okay, you know who she isn't, right? You know Isabel isn't Vilandra, you know she isn't Lonnie.
Right.
So who do you want Isabel to be? Figure that out, and make yourself that. Can you do that?
I can. I will.
Good, you're learning. So now do you feel better?
I do, thank you. How come it took wanting to kill myself to make everything better?
Sometimes you just have to hit rock bottom before you can climb back up.
She stood up from her perch on the edge of the tub and stretched.
A wave of her hand, and the razor blade on the back of the back of the toilet was a pile of dust that was easily swept into the garbage.
She pulled the plug and watched as the water drained out of the tub, taking the rest of her identity problem with it.
A brilliant mega-watt smile light up her face. She knew who she was, she knew what she wanted, and for the first time she was truly at peace.