It's been doing some thinking.
I've been having nightmares, recently. Not so much the fantastical diabolical dragon's fire in your face and demons clawing at your back paralyzed left to die nightmares. . . .No, these are even scarier. You probably know the kind (and if you don't, you're extremely fortunate)--the ones where your unconscious calls forth the image of someone you have a strong emotional bond with... and then they hurt you in unspeakable ways. Granted, it seems to be completely ungrounded in reality. It makes NO sense. Nevertheless, they manage to crush your little heart without a second thought, and they almost take pleasure in reducing you to the weeping pile of flesh you are. It's a very shocking and traumatic experience, to say the least.
I think this is my psyche trying to tell me to throw up some fucking walls, and to do it right now. But why? And against whom? I've got my intuitions and I've got my suspicions, but let's say I decide to actually do something instead of pissing and moaning about it. Then I've got three options that lie before me. I could:
1. Continue to try to be supportive, no matter what. Result: I get stepped on and left for dead when other person's fixed or outgrows me. Hurts like hell, but I'm used to it.
2. Throw all my walls up like a good little pussy. Result: I hurt from having to cut deep emotional bonds, and they do too. Nobody wins.
3. Be direct. Problem is, other person is typically too fragile to take a direct hit, so they'd get hurt, and that would activate my own empathy. Result: we both get hurt, again, or I wuss out and end up pleading just to be cared about. If this happens, I'm summarily dismissed and laughed at.
I'm starting to wonder if there's a hidden fourth option--there has to be--unless I can somehow let my horrible side out and dispatch those who would harm me before I get hurt. But that's how I spent pretty much my entire teenage period--never let anyone get in, never let anything out... at least, until it FORCES its way out violently. I'm extremely scared of what potential for destruction I have... and I can't find a way--not in this world, not with it seeming like everyone around trying to actively disarm me. I don't want to hurt anyone else... but if this keeps up, I sense another nervous breakdown in my near future.
I think sometimes that it would be wise to go out and try to meet new people. I'm pretty much 100% disappointed. I can't engage anyone at the depth that I crave. I don't even know if I can find that depth in another person--this is NOT me trying to be conceited or pretentious, it fucking KILLS me to feel like there's this huge, incomplete part of me that may well NEVER find its companion.
I lack marketable social skills. I'm not attractive or sexually radiant...I'm more caustic than witty, if I even open my mouth...I'm not the life of the party... I don't fit the extroverted bullshit mold everyone seems to want these days. But fuck's sake, I need SOMETHING to do with my energy besides sleep, sit online, and be petrified of the outside world.
Nobody wants a needy friend...yet I seem to have a penchant for attracting shattered princ(ess)es and trying to fix them. Blah blah blah, transference, counter-transference, walls go down, blah blah blah PAIN CONTACT BACKWARDS PAIN.
But who heals the healer?
You don't. You're too busy with your own life. If you need help, I'll be more than happy to try to help...
...but flip the situation over, and you're too busy... too plagued by your own shit. End result: Matt is used until there's nothing left, then thrown away like an empty juice box. "Happens all the time; don't feel guilty," I'll say, but goddamn do I really want you to fucking grow an empathic sense and realize the hell you put me through. I won't hold my breath... I'm a dying breed.
I just wish the dying process wouldn't involve so much suffering. Or better yet that I'd stop being a little twat about it and actually blow myself away. I don't care what I'm here for anymore... I just want it to stop.
So, all appearances that I'm a whiny little emo pussy boy aside, a little help?
I think this is my psyche trying to tell me to throw up some fucking walls, and to do it right now. But why? And against whom? I've got my intuitions and I've got my suspicions, but let's say I decide to actually do something instead of pissing and moaning about it. Then I've got three options that lie before me. I could:
1. Continue to try to be supportive, no matter what. Result: I get stepped on and left for dead when other person's fixed or outgrows me. Hurts like hell, but I'm used to it.
2. Throw all my walls up like a good little pussy. Result: I hurt from having to cut deep emotional bonds, and they do too. Nobody wins.
3. Be direct. Problem is, other person is typically too fragile to take a direct hit, so they'd get hurt, and that would activate my own empathy. Result: we both get hurt, again, or I wuss out and end up pleading just to be cared about. If this happens, I'm summarily dismissed and laughed at.
I'm starting to wonder if there's a hidden fourth option--there has to be--unless I can somehow let my horrible side out and dispatch those who would harm me before I get hurt. But that's how I spent pretty much my entire teenage period--never let anyone get in, never let anything out... at least, until it FORCES its way out violently. I'm extremely scared of what potential for destruction I have... and I can't find a way--not in this world, not with it seeming like everyone around trying to actively disarm me. I don't want to hurt anyone else... but if this keeps up, I sense another nervous breakdown in my near future.
I think sometimes that it would be wise to go out and try to meet new people. I'm pretty much 100% disappointed. I can't engage anyone at the depth that I crave. I don't even know if I can find that depth in another person--this is NOT me trying to be conceited or pretentious, it fucking KILLS me to feel like there's this huge, incomplete part of me that may well NEVER find its companion.
I lack marketable social skills. I'm not attractive or sexually radiant...I'm more caustic than witty, if I even open my mouth...I'm not the life of the party... I don't fit the extroverted bullshit mold everyone seems to want these days. But fuck's sake, I need SOMETHING to do with my energy besides sleep, sit online, and be petrified of the outside world.
Nobody wants a needy friend...yet I seem to have a penchant for attracting shattered princ(ess)es and trying to fix them. Blah blah blah, transference, counter-transference, walls go down, blah blah blah PAIN CONTACT BACKWARDS PAIN.
But who heals the healer?
You don't. You're too busy with your own life. If you need help, I'll be more than happy to try to help...
...but flip the situation over, and you're too busy... too plagued by your own shit. End result: Matt is used until there's nothing left, then thrown away like an empty juice box. "Happens all the time; don't feel guilty," I'll say, but goddamn do I really want you to fucking grow an empathic sense and realize the hell you put me through. I won't hold my breath... I'm a dying breed.
I just wish the dying process wouldn't involve so much suffering. Or better yet that I'd stop being a little twat about it and actually blow myself away. I don't care what I'm here for anymore... I just want it to stop.
So, all appearances that I'm a whiny little emo pussy boy aside, a little help?