The power of projection

I feel so trapped. This is destroying me. All I think about when I wake up in the morning is what I did wrong and whether I deserved this to happen. Whether this is pay back for all the hurt I have caused in the past. I am not working properly, I am not eating properly and I am not being honest about the pain that I am feeling. I try to make jokes about it, or listen to the advice I am being given, but ultimately I know my self-confidence and self-assurance has gone. He was a friend and I trusted him. I never trust anybody. I thought that I could be open and honest with him about my hopes, fears and dreams for the future. I didn't feel ashamed about my past when I was with him and I thought I touched a part of him deeper than the surface he presented. I thought I saw something and knew that the man we saw on a daily basis was not the real thing. It was the person that he thought everybody wanted to see. It wasn't super cool, or charming, or 'sic-dude', charisma was meaningless. Although I was attracted to him, it felt deeper. I thought I had found somebody whom I could relate to and who would be a friend for a very long time. I didn't know that I would become physically attracted to him, I just knew that underneath the hard and troubled exterior was a kind soul - a pained and hurting part of him - a part that had been covered up and built upon for many years. I guess the 'always wanting to please/to help/to make others feel good about themselves' part of me took over. I saw somebody in pain and I wanted to make it better. At the same time, I made myself feel stronger. I saw what a positive influence I could have on people and that helped boost my low self-esteem. I started laughing more, thinking deeper, and forgetting the old me. I started to believe that in the future I could be happy and would be, although I didn't know how, where or who with. Quite suddenly I felt good. My relationships improved and my commitment to life. Then I entered limbo. A limbo where I didn't feel safe. I felt scared and I felt hurt. I was ashamed and embarrassed about how I was feeling and I started to doubt my prior motives, my actions and my words. I knew that I had been using my relationship with him to prop myself up - he had given me confidence, support, and allowed me to connect with a deeper me. That has gone. I feel weak, and I feel sad. I feel sad a lot of the time, but I don't cry. I don't cry because to cry is weak. I don't want to shed any tears for him. I can't. If I do then I have nothing left. However, all I want to do is cry. I want to cry with anger and frustration at myself. I want to cry with anger and shame about how I feel about myself. I want to cry with rage and anguish that he ever came into my life. I want to curse those who love me for allowing a relationship to develop. I want to beat myself up for not letting this go. Most of all, however, I just want to sit in a dark corner and weep. I want the tears to cleanse away the pain, the fear, wash away all the uncertainty that has crept back over the last few months. The worst part of this is that I don't understand. I don't understand. I don't understand. I utter those words again and again - everyday I ask myself why. And then as if my own pain is not enough I worry about him. About how he is feeling, why he hasn't been in touch and what is going on. I wonder whether the deeper part of him has closed once again and the 'slick', 'cool', 'fuck man' mentality has returned. I think about the evils of money in this world and the pain it ultimately causes. Why can people talk the talk and then never walk the walk? Are we all deluded? Or are we just innocently confused? And then I am grateful. I am grateful for the love and support I am getting. I am ashamed it isn't enough - I want more. I need an explanation. Shame is an awful component of life. It is harmful and self deprecating, but it is there. I want to let it go, hand it over, and be strong. I feel embarrassed. Embarrassed that I spilt out my truth to somebody, spoke honestly and was rejected. I think I made him feel pressured. I made him feel pressured when he was too vulnerable, too fragile, and too troubled. I never meant to. There was no pressure. Friendship felt more important. It was my insecurities and I know that. I know now that I acted rashly. I saw something for more than it was, but there was no reason not to. I idealized about something that would become turbulent and damaging. That would impact on me in ways I did not foresee. I want to know why. I think I know why and yet I feel like a child in a dark room who can hear things moving, but can't see them - who feels panicked and in danger. A child who is crying for help - who knows their cries can be heard, but who is being ignored. I can't accept this and yet I know I can't move on until I do. I know many of the feelings I am having are harmful and weighing me down. I am drowning and I know how to swim, I just can't make myself move my arms or my legs. It is too painful and I am too ashamed.

I don't understand.
Yet maybe I do.
This is the power of obsession.

Harvey Julian Dante Kant

The Misery

The Misery was like a searching homeless heatwave. It started at my toes, wrapped up my feet and tingled onto my legs. Before I could take control I was up to my neck in it. The desolation leeched off me and begged into my mind for some sanity. It sucked at my mouth like a passionate kiss after months apart. But there was no love. It was hungry – eager for my soul. It wanted to absorb the remaining happiness and hope from my open mouth. The wretchedness licked my tears as they cascaded down my face. As the angry heat surfaced on my wet cheeks the Misery gained momentum. Like a pan of oil being shown a hot flame, it bubbled and spat at me. Misery shows no mercy. It is an invisible boa constrictor compressing your lungs, as you gasp and gulp down air into the last remaining air pockets, hissing and taunting as you resist the urge to sink to your knees and bury your face in your shaking hands. And then it was gone. It left a quivering mess behind, who lay on the floor wailing, like a naked baby on a cold marble floor. I was infected and the Misery had moved on – off to be a parasitic weight on another victim’s shoulders.