Imagine there were no words.
Imagine there were no words.
New title: Guilt for imperfection & envy
I hated girls, successful people, douche bags. Envy was eating me up. These people made me feel inadequate. I shunned perfectionism – why would anyone torture himself? But did I really want to hate them? Or did I have to hate them?
Is hatred not irrational? Woo, wait a second – what is irrationality? It means I didn’t make a conscious choice to hate. Such, it is subconscious, therefore it can’t be rational. But it’s explainable.
With hatred, you distance yourself from something you don’t want to feel. Is it your that you don’t want to feel?
This is all about a. Have you ever wondered why you can’t ? Why you can’t do X? Why you had to fight and lose against the insatiable urge to sabotage yourself? Ever wondered why you can’t focus during emotional stress?
Fair enough, maybe you haven’t. But this isn’t your story.
The pain is gone. I wake up after my first sleep for 40 hours. Gone with the pain is my will to and my libido. My doesn’t work. Yes, I had been wishing for the pain to go away.
My great passion had been going on for two weeks until yesterday, when I unwillingly started to scream at the doctor’s who was treating my otitis externa, an inflammation of the outer ear.
I am observing a man and two women at the restaurant. My chest is compressed by an invisible pressure strong enough to make it difficult to breathe. What is this? Why should it be so painful to simply look at people?
My gaze is reciprocated a few times, but never held for an extended period of time. My chest loosens up and I calmly continue my observation: A rather uptight, very properly and boringly clothed man is accompanied by two women; despite his glaring uneasiness, they exaggeratedly laugh at things he says, sometimes conjuring a smug smile on his face. Neither he nor they seem to be honestly enjoying themselves.
This is a moment where everything falls into place and starts to make sense. An epiphany. I actually already had this important realization once in my life. But I didn’t write back then. Luckily, I will not have to make the mistake of forgetting again.
Psychological jargon is often confusing and quite analytical. The integration of mother-objects and whatnot. It may have some merit to have a scheme and a model, just like the Bohr model of the atom. Yet this model is way more helpful for empirists and people who want to sound smart. It’s also okay for psychologists who want to speculate about the causes. But to the narcissist himself, a list of symptoms is a useless joke. How will that help him understand his problem?
I have lost my appetite. The reward of howeverdoes not justify the pain of opening my mouth. That’s okay. The pulsating and sometimes cutting sensation in my ear lets me sense my heart beats. They sound like distant waves on a beach; a pulsating hiss behind my teeth.
On a somewhat official scale from zero to 10, I define my pain as a 7 or 8. 7 is called “Very Intense”, while 8 is called “Utterly Horrible”. Fucking funny names, eh? They make me laugh. It’s a somewhat uncanny laugh, like that from a movie ; my neighbors have been hearing that a lot lately since I got tired of .
I mentioned that I am a narcissist. That means that I am obsessed with the image other people have of me. When I say obsessed, I mean like with a . You can abstain from a drug for a long time and be happy; for me, that means to be alone or act in a way that will alienate people quickly. But if I am exposed to the drug, it’s hard to think clearly about it, especially if I haven’t had it in a long time.
For me, that is to get some form of admiration – or rather, being identified with a self-image I like; ironically, even.
How can I overcome that in order to be authentic and warmly answer an email?
Whom am I calling an asshole? A person who doesn’t care what I think about him. What do I mean by doesn’t care? The person is not emotionally affected by it. It’s unfair to call these great people assholes, but they can take it.
There is a special kind of comfort about being around invulnerable people that appeals especially to otherwise insecure or careful people. Like me.
It’s my holiday. I have borrowed my mothers car.
I visit a place of my childhood. I am living an adventurous life, walk paths I haven’t walked before.
Then I see the cliffs across the lake. The cliffs from my childhood I always wanted to climb. They look dangerous. I remember that this holiday stands under a motto. Do the bold thing. I understand. Yes!
I climb into the car to drive around the lake. Drive around my home where accidentally my parents live. My neighbor says: Your parents miss you. I decide to say Hi. I am strong. I enter, my own man, telling of my adventures. Neither my mother nor my grandmother, my only real family, approve. Okay, as expected. I am offered christmas biscuit. With my last will power I refuse. I am shaken by their insensitivity. You fuckers never cared about my health!