make you love me

just gonna set my stuff down in this quiet part of the forum and talk to myself, if that's okay. could use a place to purge myself of thoughts and feelings which aren't exactly fit for polite conversation.

there is a strange silver lining in all of this. when the projection and surface finally separate completely -- and it's only a matter of time -- i will have virtually no feelings for, or attachment to, the real girl. what she's left to deal with i can't say. nor do i care. it is only the projection which had significance, and with its return to the cerebral ether to await its next vessel, the real girl loses all meaning. she no longer exists.

the completeness of this cannot be overstated. when she existed in my head as a projection, she was perfectly split. for months and years i tried to force my mind into a middle ground of conciliation or magnanimity or resignation or whatever i could muster to move past her. but those moderate positions simply did not exist in my mind. 'what is the fourth largest city in sri lanka?' that information does not exist in my head. i cannot access it, nor reason it, nor conjure it. it simply is not there. same with the girl and temperance. she was either perfect and i loved her perfectly or she was pond scum and i wanted her to suffer deeply. there was literally nothing between those two extremes.

once the girl and the projection are separated completely, she will exist as another extreme: nonexistence. literally all of the emotion and experience with her will disintegrate. my interactions were with an illusion. the only history i comprehend is that shared with the conjured image. whatever existed behind that illusion is foreign to me. it is devoid of meaning. hence my nonexistent concern and sympathy for the real girl. first she didn't exist; now she does, but i have no idea who she is. did i hurt her? did i cause her to have a breakdown and go into the hospital? no, it wasn't her; i did those things to someone else.

for the longest time i couldn't imagine a life without her. the thought was truly terrifying, literally panic-inducing. she was everything. she was me. she was literally me.

but as the projection separates i'm left to laugh at myself for being so obtuse. who cares about her? what did i ever see in her? how did i get so caught up in something so meaningless? (the answers to these questions are obvious but they're presented rhetorically to elucidate the wildly changed emotions.) not only is all the terror and rage separating from her, but so too is the love, esteem, and purpose. the real girl made a music video about me, wrote a song about me (though it was subsequently changed when i threatened her), and truly loved me. and yet i don't care. it was another girl i loved, another girl i knew. this one is... meaningless. and so too are her actions.

this process is not complete. i know this because i can still hear traces of bitterness in my words (devaluation) or feel the flourishes of euphoria which stem from idealization. but they are fading and will end soon. the cycle is finishing. perhaps it will only be a brief reprieve -- it has never lasted long before. but i'll take what i can get.

the process of separating the projection from the surface is highly tumultuous. it's not clear to me whether the active attempt to devalue the object actually contributes to its expedition, or whether it's just a reaction to an independently detaching image. either way, the real impetus for disillusionment is the object's inability to adhere to the projection.

she is not perfect. in fact, based on the pool from which my mind picks them, she's probably pretty putrid. regardless, there is no way she can match the projective perfection necessary to permanently maintain the attraction. even the slightest discrepancy is cause for stress. you see, although the projection is an idealization, it is constantly reshaping itself to incorporate reality. this process can be seen in mechanical terms, with the strain of restructure requiring a stress -- hence the tumult and trauma.

innocuous disparities are reconciled relatively painlessly. relatively. if, for example, i had never in my life seen her drinking a Mountain Dew, the sight of that would be troubling. my image of her -- the projection -- was not defined in that way, it did not contain that information, and so the image would have to be altered to allow for this observed behavior. this reshaping requires a corresponding stress to my mind.

these minor changes to the projection don't fundamentally alter its appeal, however. i don't actually care whether or not she likes Mountain Dew, so while incorporating that information into the projection is stressful, it is not inherently damaging to the attachment. the real trauma, both to self and to the attraction of the object, occurs when her actions contradict definitions of the projection which are fundamental to its purpose. shortcomings in moral character, unappealing aspects of personality, and direct or indirect rejections of the self -- these disparities produce nothing less than conflagration in the mind.

it is these traumatic events which eventually force the mind to loosen its attachment to the object. the mind pathetically clings to its object as long as it can. simple reconciliation between reality and fantasy becomes impossible so denial and splitting are more frequently employed. but eventually even these tactics will not suffice and the attachment wanes. it wanes because the object's continual disparity with the projection is too painful to tolerate, and perhaps more importantly, because the object no longer serves its purpose. if she is not ideal, what good is she? so eventually she's let go.

there is some relief associated with this detachment, but there is also a very deep sadness. the death of the idealization does not represent a simple death of the object. rather, it is the death of the idealized self-object -- a perfection of self as defined by the perfect relationship with the perfect partner. for the longest time one wishes only to be rid of the desire for the object. once it's gone, there is relief, but there's also a very deep void. she was hope and esteem and purpose, even if she was a royal pain in the cheeks. she was conjured for a reason -- to fill some need. now that she's gone, that need must be met some other way. now is a time conducive to transference.

there is a callousness in my attitude which i find reprehensible. in some instances it is a disordered response to circumstances i otherwise find overwhelming. other times it is a conscience decision to expedite this situation's end. in neither case can i accept my attitude or actions, even if they are intended to serve others as much as myself. i try my best but that simply isn't good enough.

it is the object's friend who breaks my heart. she is on the very periphery of the situation so i see her most realistically of all. that allows me to empathize and sympathize with her. but because she is part of the situation, however tangentially, it means i can't engage her as i would like. she deserves an apology and an explanation. i want to say things which bring her closure and certainty, that buttress her and raise her spirits, which embolden her to do great things and believe in herself. and yet i can't bring myself to genuflect that way. i am not that strong.

she is not without fault in all this yet i don't blame her. she took my words and both misinterpreted and misappropriated them. these actions were extremely hurtful to me. for starters, she took from me something which wasn't hers. i am a very private person, and very protective of the few things which are dear to me. these words were dear to me. they were borne of my despair, yet she twisted them to meet her selfish needs and then expected me to reward her for it.

all of this was very painful, but i never wished her ill. i am not a vindictive person, not outside of this context. in fact, i am rather meek and overly empathetic. so much so that even though she hurt me i longed to relieve her of the uncertainty she bore. i had ignored her, you see, even after numerous pleas for my attention and affection. what she didn't understand was that i could not relent. despite being on the periphery, she was still part of the object's world, and any interaction or genuflection would have had a very immediate and very detrimental effect on my view of the object. there would be hell to pay in exchange for this act of kindness. to ease one's pain was to increase another's. who was more deserving of exoneration?

after much cogitation i chose to remain distant. there would be no apology or explanation. the con was that she continued to suffer. the pros were that the object, who was a somewhat less willing participant, would endure less of my vengeance and i would be closer to terminating the whole sordid affair -- something which benefited everyone.

it quite literally sickens me to think of what i've done and the choices i've made. there is so much hurt in this world, so much deception, thievery, and strife. how could i create so much hurt through my actions? to do the very things i find so repulsive in others? how could i let that happen? how could i do that?

i want to apologize to them, to tell them that it was all my fault and that their only sin was loving too generously, that they have nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to fear. but how can i when to do that would be to set back all the progress i've made in detaching from the object? i can't. the ramifications are too severe. that is the decision i've made. it is the lesser of two evils, by my reasoning, but it is still lamentable.

when did this happen? when did i resign myself to evil?

the fog is descending again. i'm having a hard time remembering my name. i think i need to focus on nipping the compulsions in the bud. the recitations specifically. they encourage my envelopment in the alternate reality.

nothing was lost. this was where it needed to end up; i knew that. this was my goal all along. the image is the same one which has been passed from host to host for 18 years. in time this host will become irrelevant just as the others. her and her friend's meddling do not change this reality. they did not understand and continue to not understand. i communicate only with myself and their fantastical selves -- the false versions of them in my head. that is where the exchanges must take place. their responses in the real world are irrelevant. they were given chances, given warnings, given as much quarter as i could afford -- it all worked against me. i have to now do what's best for me.

the friend's meddling is frustrating but perhaps beneficial. it prevents me from swinging back to white and attempting to ingratiate myself with the object again. it would not be difficult. but of course when it happened the reality of our separation and the discrepancy of our situations would engender the rage which i had hoped was put away, for this cycle anyway. yes, the friend is serendipitous. she prevents positive action, which can only move us backwards.

she also slightly inhibits negative action, since she is more real than the object, although her actions are so infuriating she also encourages it. i need to take my own advice and walk away. there is nothing here. there is no reasoning with her, just as there would be no reasoning with me. she must find her own method of resolution. i know mine; i've known it since the beginning. now i have to enact it.

another mixed-bag situation. my self-imposed separation creates the perceptual vacuum which allows the fantasy to re-coalesce. it's a dynamic entity, you see, waxing and waning (no pun intended...) based on the presence or paucity of empirical evidence to its contrary. the rigorous practice of a Baconian empiricism seems the simple solution.

but wait. not so fast. nothing is ever that simple. not around here, at least. because there is evidence which supports the fantasy -- that's the problem. the flame has always smoldered; it was only when she poured gasoline on it that it got out of control.

on the other hand, there is a discrepancy between the fantasy and reality which grows the longer i stay away. they exist without me, which is a concept completely antithetical to the fantasy. when i'm forced to observe that, the fantasy temporarily collapses under reality's intrusive weight.

and that's a good thing. the resulting release from an obsessive attachment's grip brings a euphoria i would trade for nothing. relief. ecstasy. freedom. but of course there is a catch -- two, in fact. first, the release usually comes with the release of tremendous potential energy. no surprise there, as these psychological processes are typically paralleled by physical processes (in keeping with the Baconian idea). to go from tumult (high internal energy) to calm (low internal energy) requires an energetic release, and due to the disparity between these two energy states, this release is violent. second, the resulting disinterest in the object engenders further separation, which creates the same milieu which fostered the re-coalescence of the fantasy. around and around we go.

there is a bit of Voltarian disestablishmentarianism in my current thinking with regards to this situation. in other words, the end state is agreed upon -- the ideal and the real girl must be formally separated -- but the manner in which we get there is contested. to stay away is one alternative, and is pacifistic albeit not perfectly kind. (sins of omission, i suppose.) to get in the trenches and lay waste to her, forcing the separation and preserving my own conceptual superiority, is the other. (sins of commission, for sure.) neither way is perfect. one is always preferred, though that changes over time. for now i do nothing.

i need another object. it's hard to find a suitable replacement when i'm so isolated, but that's the simplest (albeit not the cleanest) solution here. trade one addiction for the next and inch a little bit closer to the ultimate solution of death.

it's interesting to see that it's perfectly black and white. absolutely nothing else. something that most would consider theoretical but not real. but no, here we are. that's because she's defined that way. she's not real, of course. only because she's internally defined is this possible. it could never occur in reality, in that sense. it's like saying, "think of an orange." gotcha. "now, think of that orange as being an apple." no dice. it doesn't work like that. the orange is an orange. once it's an apple it's not an orange anymore.

that's what it's like here and why there is no moderate position to cling to. she's defined as purely black or purely white. perfection and perfect scum.

right now she's scum. the tattoos are too much for me. her acquaintances, vile. it absolutely crushes me when that is what represents me as a self-object. shudder. it hurts so bloody much. it's so humiliating. that? that? vile. absolutely putrid.

but this is not progress. we're buying time, at best.

no, wait, that's not fair. for one, detachment is detachment. if you want to get "big picture" about it we're all just marking time until we're worm food. in the interim, ceteris paribus, better to be detached even if it's temporary. second, it does feel different. we're getting closer to something, whether it be detachment, transfer, or something. but c'mon, the triggers i experience now are nothing like they were a year ago. progress has been made.

but boy do i wish there could be some middle ground. what was, was; what isn't, isn't. acceptance with acknowledgement. both for me and for her. it would be nice. but it just isn't there. it's black or white. it's either all-in and experience the frustration, disappointment, envy, and rage. or it's lay waste to it all and let someone else sift through the ashes.

i can't count the number of times i've sought that middle ground. and for an instant i'll think it's there. but it's not. it's an illusion; it's just my mind oscillating super quickly between black and white, giving the impression of grey. (can it be any other way? are normal instances of grey illusions too? i don't know.) it's just the paragon and the tatted-up slut. zip, zip, zip, zip, zip, and ultimately there's nowhere to rest but the slut.

i miss the paragon. she's not real, of course, but i still miss her. and that's why she'll never completely go away. the image can only be transferred. she'll show up again, in another form, like she has 8 different times now. and just as with the rest, the 9th will seem unique. the 9th will seem different and fresh and irreplaceable.

i sure can be obtuse at times.

I tried my best. I did. I mean, I think I did. I don't feel it but I think it. I think.

My mind tries to simultaneously deal with two worlds, one real and one imagined, and struggles to keep up. Confounding the issue is that there is overlap between the two. Where do I begin and where do I end? How can I parse reality and remain firmly supplanted there when reality and fantasy have become inextricably connected?

I am reminded of Hinckley. It dawned on me at some point that those hoping to cure him, or that he will be cured, hope and work in vain. His reality now includes Foster so indelibly that there is literally no chance he can ever separate her from his psyche and perfect self. Foster is the greatest thing he has ever had, ever been a part of -- she's the greatest thing he's ever been.

Let me repeat that: She is the greatest thing he's ever been. She is him. In his mind, they have become one. For her to be released, something else, something greater, would have to take her place. And that is clearly not going to happen.

It's similar with me, though I retain hope that the attachment is not so severe that it can't be overcome, or at least another can't take her place. Today was a good sign. Through the typical sequence of events I broke No Contact again. I found out what she's been up to and enveloped myself in that pain. She's broken up with her boyfriend. She's shilling a bunch of $#%^ but doesn't seem to be working on anything substantive. (No surprise there.) She's doing what she's always done.

But no mention of me. Not even a hint. Her family and friends make no allusions to me. Even Jennifer has stopped writing about me, which I consider a good thing. Have they all forgotten about me or just given up trying to reform me? Either way it underscores the truth that indifference is far worse than hate. My covert narcissism is screaming. (In reality, it's highly unlikely they've forgotten about me. After all, who could forget me? "Impossible to forget but hard to remember," she wrote.)

But, but, I actually feel pretty good. When these episodes used to happen I was devastated. The pain was unbearable. Self-harm and suicide seemed like the only solace until I eventually began to resurface.

But today? Today I'm shaken but not broken. I contemplated contacting her or her friends and then thought better of it. What's to be gained? Remember, foot, it's separation you were always seeking, from the very beginning. You knew it had to come to this even if every instinct in your body and mind were pushing you in the other direction. This is where it needed to go. You tried. You tried your best to get here. It wasn't perfect but you did your best.

She doesn't love me. She doesn't like me. She doesn't trust me. She clearly doesn't want anything to do with me. We are, for all intents and purposes, strangers. Will I ever be able to feel these things, to believe them, as opposed to just think them? For how long they've been true I have no idea, but these ideas are what my mind has been fighting tooth and nail for years. I want to believe them, but I'm not in complete control of my thoughts, let alone my feelings. Reality remains elusive. Resignation remains out of reach. Separation seems to approach asymptotically at best.

I'm scared too. Like Hinckley, how can I give up Selena when she is likely the best thing I will ever be? (That's a little pathetic to consider, considering I find her a little pathetic.) What can replace her? Don't you understand that that's why she had to be devalued so intensely? She must be painted black so that she can be discarded and I can separate and move on. These are the rules I play by. This isn't like a normal relationship with normal love and hate and fear and all that. This is a relationship with the perfectly split self. The emotions and stakes are infinitely higher than with a third party. She cannot reject me because that would be me rejecting myself (she is me, after all). But she could never accept me, the real me, so she must be separated from the projection -- the perfectly split self.

It is at once both frightening and vindicating to see the power of my two sides. The virtuous side: so pure it could cause her to fall for me, write about me, wait for me, make a music video about me. The vile side: so black it could put her in the hospital from only a single missive. Two sides, so cleanly split, so undiluted by the other, that they are capable of these things. Is it any wonder part of me doesn't want to be integrated? Part of me wants to retain this extreme dichotomy. Like Dorian Gray, all my ugliness is left in the attic while my beauty is paraded around. But is it worth it when each night I'm forced to gaze upon my hideous portrait?

This is my reality. She and her friends have no comprehension of the rules by which I must behave. To treat her normally, how I would treat anyone I knew normally, would only intertwine fantasy and reality further. That is how I can say I did my best. Because I did. While they see and experience only one world, I am forced to balance the weight of two on my back. Even Atlas wasn't made to perform such a feet.

back to the drawing board it seems. thought it was a good thing, the distraction I'd have. a couple days doing other things. things seemed to be shaking down on their own and this would put a bullet in it.

instead, this seemed to move us backwards. why? not totally sure. i guess it's just the addictive nature of the obsession. for a couple days i was preoccupied and got no supply from her, negative or positive. and before D left it caught up to me. the headaches are splitting. my head is swimming with the misguided perspective. the grandiosity has ballooned and filled all that space. it is desire in its purest form and desire is pain, hence the headaches.

what are the urges, the tendencies, and what do they suggest? an urge to check up on them. for what? an urge to create. for what? it's all for the same thing. still the same thing.

the nature of the cycle reveals its origins. the desire. i want. i need. the perfect self. but it's not there, not real. its' fantasy. i'm imagining it. it's humiliating. i can't feel this way. rage. suppress everything with devaluation. i hate her. i hurt her. yes, i tormented her. good. put her in the hospital. victory. she told me i drove her to the brink of insanity. spinnin' my guns, baby.

and i feel better. i feel whole again. and because i feel better i don't need to hate her anymore, so the rage subsides.

but that uncovers my real thoughts and emotions. guilt reveals itself. why did i do that? she did nothing wrong. she loved me, reached out to me. yes, but only timidly. but i did the same! where is the fault in her timorousness? she deserved more, deserves more. deserves more.

and there it is. there's the tell. i don't feel this at all. i don't believe this one bit. it's a trick. it's an attempt to recreate what was there before. to climb through the bathroom window and sneak back into the dance.

the love is not real. it was not directed at anyone but myself.

the guilt is not real. it is regret for what isn't, not for what was done.

only the hate is real, though i direct it away from its true target.

i can use my interpretation of the writings as a barometer for where my mind is. a few weeks ago i had a startling understanding of what i had originally intended to say. in other words, i understand the person who wrote the words, not what the words came to represent after the fantasy took hold so strongly. the rational mind was the flawed hero, not the villain. she and her friends reduced things to some naive, good-versus-evil dichotomy. another thought it was about fear. understandable interpretations, i suppose, but not mine.

the rational one was the hero, flawed though he may be. the vain one was the villain, the boy his naive acolyte and unfortunate collateral damage. but the key point was the recognition that the situation was dangerous for me and had to be ended. i had tried to do that years earlier. i had tried to leave repeatedly. back to the beginning you can see attempts to break away. i didn't do it; it was my biggest mistake. the one i had most control over, if free will is real. (i doubt it.) the mistakes afterwards were mistakes too but at that point things had become such a mess there was no way things could be resolved simply. and certainly not when my mind was struggling so mightily to grasp reality.

i tried to leave in april '09. i tried to leave in may. (she's the one who brought me back that time; and c'mon, that was unfair given the circumstances.) i tried to leave in june. i tried to leave in july. in retrospect, yes, the attempts at departure could have been less drastic and self-centered. i could have explained things to her, or let her off lightly or something. but my mind was simply not in a place that could allow that. what was the clean solution? i don't know. and when she wasn't willing to step up to the plate, well, she got the short end of the stick.

further, i did try the sweet sendoff. how did that work out? disaster. it dug me in significantly deeper. and that was always the point. i knew what the endgame was: detaching. i was eventually going to have to detach. unfortunately, anything i did for her sake only strengthened the blissful visions in my head, regardless of whether they practically brought us together or apart, making detachment more difficult.

again, i get back to the notion that i wish there was some middle ground here. acceptance with acknowledgement. but isn't there in practice. it's like, oh, i'll just dabble in my addiction; i'll just dabble in my paraphilia and it won't get out of hand. no. i don't see it. it just can't be that. once it gets to the point where it has its hooks in you, it's way too late for temperance.

that's why my mistake was what happened early. before i even thought she might be getting involved i should have bailed. it was october, maybe even september, when i needed to eject. at that point reality was still occupying enough space in my head i probably could have done it, with diligence. (ignoring that free will thing.) instead, i caved and caved and caved until i was completely turned around.

i'll never forget when i was at home in april '09. i was nauseous every day. my skin absolutely crawled with the thought that she was just across the inlet. i went walking 4 times per day just because i was chewing myself up from the inside. (or maybe to move physically closer to her?)

when you feel like that you have to do something. you have to. it's like SI or addiction or whatever. you break. you need temporary relief. your mind doesn't see it any other way. and you break.

i broke and reached out. i needed relief. in the moment, i couldn't take the feelings anymore so i reached out. it was the typical mistake of forsaking the future for the moment. the quick fix.

that was my mistake. that was the one move which faced the wrong direction. the other, later mistakes were pointed in the right direction, their vector just wasn't particularly orthogonal. they were inefficient and half-hearted and sometimes selfish and cruel, yes, but they were attempting to get us to the right endpoint.

hold on. i want to correct something. i don't think the guilt is completely insincere. there is real guilt, or rather shame. i see hinckley as a deviant and am ashamed of what i did. that is real, but the point is there is no real empathy or sympathy pointed at her. she remains my object, the surface for my projected, split selves. i don't really care about her and never did, except insofar as she validates my grandiose self. my fear is that this shame will engender the same rage which was previously a result of the frustration -- the humiliation of impotence. so even if i can get past the narcissistic shame of her, there is the guilt and shame of my actions, which create ostensibly the same anger and need for that anger. and then "progress" has really lead us nowhere.

am i doomed to this cycle forever? either she is my final object, whom I'll love and hate until i'm dead. or she will be replaced by another who will ignite the next cycle? do i have to do this for another 70 years?

Insightful. Fascinating read.

Is there anything your object could do to facilitate detachment? Or does it follow its own course inside you regardless of her actions or inactions?

Maybe recalling how you detached previously would help find a methodology that works.

I realize you're talking to yourself. No reply expected. It touched me and I had to comment.

Good luck on your journey.

Hi cherlyn. I'll assume you're asking about my object precipitating detachment because of your own situation with someone who's pathologically attached. Unfortunately, I can't give you that exact perspective because in my situation I actually want to detach. My object inadvertently fed my attachment with her attention and affection. When I discovered that I had become so attached I couldn't just walk away from her, I ended up feeling like I had to drive her away so that I was starved of the fuel for my fantasy.

I can, however, give two general pieces of advice, although you probably already realize these things. First, any attention given to the subject is a bad idea. It encourages the attachment; it validates it. Sometimes contact or attention can't be avoided, but in those instances the attention should be delivered via an unmistakable message: I don't want anything to do with you. Anything less than that is tantamount to encouraging their proximity-seeking behavior and confused mindset.

Second, if appropriate and applicable, use organizational obstacles. In other words, call the police, get a restraining order, whatever. Even stalker-type behavior will (typically) respond to consequences and impediments. (If it doesn't, look out.) These types of attachments can only survive when the fantastical, emotional mind is dominating the discussion in the mind of the subject. The more they are forced to see reality, see that the object wants nothing to do with them, and be forced to acknowledge and perhaps even experience the consequences of their behavior, the harder it will be to remain enveloped in the fantasy. Even in the best-case scenario, this process will not be fast or smooth, but doing anything else will encourage the unwanted behavior.

One caveat: Although attempting to prevent contact with the subject is, in my opinion, the only right thing to do, it will likely temporarily increase the chaos existing in the subject's mind, and thus increase the short-term possibility of irrational behavior. If the subject has some contact or attention from their object, even if it's bad, their needs will be somewhat sated. Only when the supply is cut off completely do the anger/fear/delusions that exist in the subject's mind peak. This is, however, a necessary and presumably temporary evil in the process. To truly break the attachment, the subject must be cut off completely. If nothing else, this creates an environment conducive to the subject transferring the attachment to a different object, one that is more responsive and has less impediments.