Other What is love? *cue that one Haddaway song everybody knows for a background ambiance addition to this melodramatic drivel*

[voidmode]

I’m not sure if I should start this paragraph bluntly or ease into this particular woe of mine. Oh, we shall see…

First off, I may be on the spectrum. This is simply conjecture from various input of counselors I have encountered. This is not insinuating anything to do with the typical Asperger level of affective empathy either. I mean no offense and am not sure how I would offend in this case, if I do I am open to conversation. I am still learning more about the autism community—quite frankly the origin of the term ‘Asperger’ and its nazism roots are quite an interesting read, but that is way beside the point here.

The gentle caress of a hand belonging to a beloved does nothing for me. A shared smile at something that I actually appreciate might inadvertently jangle the keys to the chest enmeshed inside that is supposed to contain a heart, that is sunken in *without remorse (due to one of my psychopathic alters, auto-fill wanted to input: tendencies; ha! Nevertheless…)

I wish I could feel. I see the joy I think as though I should feel with another person when I am interacting, and when I care. I revel in some of those times. I know I’m doing well. Psychoanalytically I can thrive in social scenarios with great internal vigor and tact. I think I enjoy myself. I want to stay stimulated—but to what end?

Some backstory for this post of my tragic tale, and yes, I am using hyperbole to get this off of my actually very puffed up chest, you see I’m a tough guy! Yes! No feelings.
- - okay you can stop with the sardonic rhetoric you pedantic f*ck.

Anyways.
SO… Some backstory for this post in particular… wait I’m bored now—BITCH.

Nevermind. I had a lovely night with people I am comfortable enough to call my friends. There is a woman I am “seemingly dating”, although I would prefer to say that we are courting but she hasn’t the slightest idea the depth that archaic term insinuates. See, I’m used to casual. I’m living the good life now though and a rough, meth-fueled hatef*ck isn’t my exemption from a midday brunch next week. Anyways, this young woman is lovely.
I say I love her.
I feel confidence in this.
I realize I f*cked up this past night. She sees stars in my eyes when our eyes meet. [I have her]

I hate this.

We are tired here in this dingy cave you see—metaphorically speaking and I suppose alchemically speaking as well if you’re a Jungian nut like I’m interested in becoming, nothing formal, just some light reading…
I feel sparks around her.
We WERE afraid of her, but I see hope in her eyes.
My hope. I only care about me.

 

[Rose White]

Ha ha ha I was going to post the same title!

 

[Rose White]

May be time for a little psychoanalysis so you can lay all your jungian ideas on the table and face your dark thoughts

 

[voidmode]

May be time for a little psychoanalysis so you can lay all your jungian ideas on the table and face your dark thoughts

Great idea here. Thank you for your reply!

Not so coincidentally, I’ve just recently picked up a copy of “Meeting The Shadow: The Hidden Power of the Dark Side of Human Nature”, edited by Connie Zweig and Jeremiah Abrams. It’s a compilation of basically Jungian thought on all aspects of the ‘shadow’ and its presentation. I’m only a few chapters in but it’s been great food for thought.

I’ve noticed that my darkest times have come shortly after the illusionment of a secure psychosocial shelter from the depths of my own shadow, when in actuality I was repressing its presence through the compulsion to distinguish myself from the figures in my life.
That grandiosity can be so easy to lean into.

Opening myself to community and care, the lived experience of allowing that vulnerability, is almost an underbelly of core aspects of what seems to be an elixir for that most certainly isolated state. All things in moderation though. I safeguard the inner chambers to my ‘self’.
I deserve that respect (despite the pain, positive self-affirmation.)