Penumbra

The game I can't play

Sometime's "don't ask me why"-s are extremely hard to explain ...
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I could perish from insecurity each time I enter the building ... What if I see her, what will happen then? What should I say? How should I appear in front of her? What if she is ...?

And if I don't see her? That's not an anymore comforting possibility, at all! I've been already living too extra either ... how can I keep on living without seeing her ... the thought of what should I do in such case blacks out my any plan for any future I could have in my memory momentarily ...


All the house was still; for I believe all, except St. John and myself, were now retired to rest. The one candle was dying out: the room was full of moonlight. My heart beat fast and thick: I heard its throb. Suddenly it stood still to an inexpressible feeling that thrilled it through, and passed at once to my head and extremities. The feeling was not like an electric shock, but it was quite as sharp, as strange, as startling: it acted on my senses as if their utmost activity hitherto had been but torpor, from which they were now summoned and forced to wake. They rose expectant: eye and ear waited while the flesh quivered on my bones.

“What have you heard? What do you see?” asked St. John. I saw nothing, but I heard a voice somewhere cry—

“Jane! Jane! Jane!”—nothing more.

“O God! what is it?” I gasped.

I might have said, “Where is it?” for it did not seem in the room—nor in the house—nor in the garden; it did not come out of the air—nor from under the earth—nor from overhead. I had heard it—where, or whence, for ever impossible to know! And it was the voice of a human being—a known, loved, well-remembered voice—that of Edward Fairfax Rochester; and it spoke in pain and woe, wildly, eerily, urgently.

“I am coming!” I cried. “Wait for me! Oh, I will come!” I flew to the door and looked into the passage: it was dark. I ran out into the garden: it was void.

“Where are you?” I exclaimed.

The hills beyond Marsh Glen sent the answer faintly back—“Where are you?” I listened. The wind sighed low in the firs: all was moorland loneliness and midnight hush.

Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre, Chapter XXXV

Oh Lord, could I be screaming her name like Edward Rochester screamed Jane’s name ... but when I’m the wrong guy for her, maybe I rather see her face than the Jane Eyre’s tale’s ending ... even if she is so beautiful, so appealing to my heart, that I fear to it be counted as lying to the God, if I won't confess to the latter ...


In all the world, at least, as much as I've experienced it and if we extend those experiences to what I know of it, seeing her face is the only thing that instantly shifts my internal attitudes from desiring death to being filled with the need to live, yet I haven’t seen her face in days and I just don’t know how to behave anymore ...

Quran is the only other exception that comes close to her impact on me ... at least, the moments I’m close to Quran, I’m temporarily a little bit relieved ... sometimes a very tiny little bit ...


Since forever if there was the slightest sign I'm being liked by someone a whole set of internal alarm system would go on, and so since many years always and I always if I ever grew close to someone, there were always some reasons available in advance that would guarantee, that interest won't be reciprocated, that we won't really become intimate, by intimate here, I mean, not even emotionally attached to one another.

At first, I didn't realize this, I was so self-assured by my past behavior patterns, I couldn't imagine there can anyone ever break in the walls around me, yet a little while after her first time I met her, there was no wall at all ... I wished to be loved by her, and if she wouldn't be one of those people who hard-headedly deny even the slightest likeliness that a God exists, I had all the reasons to love her and no reason not to ... but now, after how my behavior made her feel and how desperately I failed to act in ways to express the feelings & beliefs I wished to be expressed, I can’t know how my behavior is gonna make her feel anymore ...

Now the discrepancy between the very early and unclear wish and the reality makes me insecure to the core of my being ...


I enter the building and cross no-one else ... how easier it is ...

There are so many issues gone out of my hand, that I can't pick up other activities without having tried all of me about them, so how can I talk with others, how can I be communicative and none of it be about these issues ...

No reader, I don't think, if you have a problem in your life, you should stop all else, or you should talk about it with anyone and everyone as the first theme of your small talks, but if you never seek advice, you are very likely doing something wrong, but I have no one to talk to, and if I did, what should I have said ...?

I had to do this administrative work, it takes few minutes and I’m just on my way back ...

I don’t even know what to feel .... whether to feel safe or to cry that I didn’t see her face ...


There are many benefits in talking with others, not least the advantage of receiving an advice, getting to know something you didn't, and like anything else in life, there are disadvantages and dangers too, however, I never found someone who would take the depth of my need for attachment seriously ...

A totally careless generalization would be, that older individuals, who have had several relationships behind them, would consider it as an excuse for sex or at best as a childish style of attachment seeking that I'll grow out, even if it is a bit strange at my age ... and when it comes to the men around my age, it seems impossible to be talking about women and the most important matter not being sex. Sex is even a worse no-go zone of my psyche ...

I just feel like being in wrong place or sitting at the wrong table, when other young men talk about how big the ass or the breast of this or that woman is, and their desires about it ...

As Carl Jung concluded in his critic of Sigmund Freud' theories, if one thing we can pick from psychoanalysis, is that repressing these desires and feelings is wrong, so I don’t wish to promote any repression-like attitude or behavior, directly or indirectly ...

As most these young men around me are Christians or at least favor Christianity or its members to all other religions ...

You have heard that it was said to those of old, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’ But I say to you that whoever looks at a woman to lust for her has already committed adultery with her in his heart. [Matthew 5:27-28]

Berean Study Bible

I don't recall whether I heard these lines in a movie or in an interview, however, I found it as if it were a shelter of comfort in contrast to all the talks and deep-rooted world-views I was being exposed to in interactions with other young men ...

At least by this one sentence, there is no need to pretend that all these cultural products that promote the idea of going after sexual pleasures while disrespecting all other matters that are relevant to human attachments aren't shitty.

The mass media has glorified the attention to sexual pleasure to such a degree that there is no alternative to being one or the other half of the "Two and a half men", however, I believe in love and I believe an extremely tiny of that is to feel lust for about the person you wish to spend the rest of your life with, in fact, I think relationships that beings with individuals who don't feel really attracted to one another, are dubious in their reason of existence, to say the least ... but listening to men talking about their desires with any random woman, men who are married or in a relationship, it just sickens me ...

In the past, I was so unsure whether that’s how men naturally should behave and my uncomfort is a side-result of my past or whether I should put an end to such discussions, sometimes I just wished to say "I’m the one who is single and all of you are in relationships, so if anyone should be talking about women, it should be me and not you!" but I thought, one shouldn’t be that much against the majority, especially in areas that I don’t know what is the norm and what is not the norm, but to me marriage is important and if ever, I wished to love and be loved by someone for the rest of our lives only the two of us ...

This peculiar behavior/attitude in men aside, if I were to talk about myself, how could I ever confide to any of these people how much the thought that there being someone who can gift something on important days to that young woman, who made me rethink what the criteria for perfect woman, is taking away air from my breath ... is drowning me in an ocean of pain ...

I didn’t find it unpleasant when once someone who knows a tiny bit about me, immediately grabbed her phone and changed the music when it turned to something too profane and she herself being a bit ashamed for it, I guess maybe that’s not a bad idea, when others raise their standard of morals and living in your presence, but on the other hand I find it terrible, when people get to know me, and understand what is important to me, and in front me, they try to present a version of their selves, that is not interested in sex out of marriage and when others are around, their only discussion is about whom they slept with ...

While the first group being better than the latter, I don’t believe, either way, you could ever expect them to understand what attachment means to me ...


On the way back in the tram, I’m reading "Loving Frank" ... only to distract my mind from the endless yearning that I went to the university and didn’t saw her face.

Mama sat up, rubbed her eyes. "Happy New Year," she said groggily.

He pressed into her hands a small wrapped gift. "I couldn’t resist."

She opened it to find a gold brooch in the shape of an owl, with two rubies for its eyes.

Years earlier, he had given her a chain with a silver owl pendant on it. For my scholar, the note had read. She’d made the mistake of mustering delight, and subsequent owl gifts had followed–a hooked rug, a carved owl clock, always with a sentimental note.

Nancy Horan, Loving Frank

I'm thinking about one day in the future, there might be someone like this man in her life who could be able to do these for her, in the back of my mind knowing that it is not me and I’m just about to burst in tears ...

Not that I wished if we were married, our life looked like this. No, all the time I was so worried about she being nice to me, even the very first time I wanted to ask her to meet her somewhere, I was so worried, what if she won’t have strong attitudes ...


The Frank in Loving Frank is the recreation by the author’s imagination about Mamah (Martha Borthwick) loving the infamous American architect, Frank Lloyd Wright, while both being married and finally each getting a divorce and managing to live some years together till the death part them ...

But I can’t read a book like this, even though I know the story is the story of a woman who was married to someone and yet discovered love with someone else ... Supposedly, that should be up-beating, not everyone who thinks with him or herself to love someone, not even if that love seemed so real to underpin a marriage, means those two individuals are real lovers. It should be up-beating either way one thinks about it, either, she is not seeing me and so I should be so sad, or I'm not seeing how I feel is not the end of affection ...

Maybe I’m just a little bit too extremely extremely extremely sensitive, I can’t even handle the thought of being absent of each other’s lives about receiving gifts or asking for help or ... the few sentences about Mamah living a married life and at the same time living out her love in an illicit affair, drowns me in trauma and I need to put the book down and if I could find a way out to not remain in that state, maybe I can pick the book up three or four days later, reading few pages or sentences, till being hit another time ...

I mean, a story like this, is supposed to be a tribute to the fact that hearts are the orchestrators and not our thoughts, nor our promises, when it comes to love, but even a story like this, even though I know the ending in advance, I know that Frank Wright and Martha married each other at the end, still I can't handle a moment of the idea of not being the significant others of your love, it triggers trauma-memories in me and I'm lost in a state of mental hopelessness, even though I'm an adult, I can survive a day or two without the realization of the most foundational attachment of my life ... my brain and psyche wander off in a state of trauma and brining them back to reality is procedure I haven't figured out a well-functioning possibility for it ...

There is an alternative, to shut down the body and psyche, but then I'll become similar to a computer living my life, with no emotions, no attachment, not even a soul ...


I sense being watched.

I pick up my head from my phone and the very young woman on the tram standing a meter away from me is staring at me.

Sometimes when you look into people’s eyes they turn away their gaze, but I believe the younger you are the more unafraid to make a connection with strangers or maybe it is a generational difference, women who were thought to wait to be asked by men and the newer generation in Europe who rather take a more active role in going after their wishes ...


Love is so important to me, it always was, since as far back as I can remember, since way much prior when I realized for adults there is a strong erotic connotation to love.

Back those days I hold strongly and without anyone's suggestion to the idea that being alive and not loving is a waste, is a grand loss of potentials ... not only that but to be resilient & patient & honest & selfless in love

O heart! although health's company happily falleth to thee,

Precious, is love's quarter: it, abandon not.

In tarikat ("the path to beloved"), reliance on piety and knowledge is infidelity:

If a hundred kins of skill, the way-farer have, trust in God is necessary for him

Since those days of strong convictions and today, events have happened, that internally I shy away from all behavior that could possibly lead to a healthy attachment ... my brain deliberately avoids all those ideas, even sometimes the thought of them. As if I'm one of those people who wish to be loved and not to be loved both at the same time ...


It was something like ten stations and the young woman in the tram won’t turn her eyes from me, and it doesn’t make sense to shout "I’m fucking damaged, get your way ... there is nothing here that can benefit you!". People would think I’m so cruel if I were to react to them this way, but even if you were someone who shared the wish about marriage and everything, I’m too damaged ... I’m too in love with a woman who doesn’t love me ...

I promised myself not to reject people’s honest interest, I’m just to much consumed by the thoughts about her, I don’t think the very young woman staring at me would like to hear how meaningful the woman who didn’t want me as her husband, has become to my conscious, after seeing a bit of her activities over the course of the past year ...

I try to turn my head up and look into her face, in order to force her to give up her endeavor ... I can’t do anything else in my life, I just want to cry ...

I’m just about to cry thinking about how I am not the man who is going to be giving her a gift on important occasions of her life ... and the young beautiful looking lady standing in front of me is lost in my face ...

After those events, I promised to be kind to Your creatures ... I didn’t intend to hold something for myself, if they asked it, if they were in need of it and I'm the only one there ... but what do You want me to offer her? I’m not the kind of person to offer someone half of my affection–by Your leave, and there isn’t just anything left from me –by Your leave


Many years ago, when I learned a version of "strange situation experiment" for the first time, it was hard for me to relate it to my life, now, specially after recently hearing a reiteration of Mary Ainsworth’s attachment theory, I can't avoid making the deduction that I fit so perfectly into the "avoidant attachment style".

I remember in my childhood moments when I wished other people were my mother, but there was a moment when it made no more any sense to me to avoid the feeling of hatred towards my mother. I was sitting on lunch with mother and she thought of discussing with me her concerns about dangers in Tehran and that my younger brother could get molested on the way from school to home. I was 21 when we had this conversation, and it was a still a year or less, before when I first met my how the pains of the hidden trauma wound feels like when it is no more hidden in my psyche, but back then at the lunch, I was so speechless, how I am, that I can’t tell "are you really worrying about your child being sexually molested? I was! Now tell me your worries!"

I don't know what a normal parent-child relationship looks like, whether in that such a child would go to his or her parents, but I this idea never occurred to me, until after these years when I saw some movies and read some books with main characters being sexually abused and their interaction with their parents ...

The very first years that I realized what had happened to me, I was internally still so much in denial about lots of things sex-related ... but as I tried to live honestly and to try to act from my heart instead of what would please others, since about two or three years I'm constantly crying when I touched by such issues and I allow myself to feel something, I allow myself to be in touch with my own feelings, and the way my relationship with women, I expressed an interest o, had turned each time, add an extra component to these pains ...

Sometimes I wished if there was such a thing as a hospital for broken souls, sometimes I wished there was some legitimate accepted way by the society to break from the daily life routines and all the career and education and hassle and go for a psychological recreation purpose ... I know, people go on holidays and travel to a strange place for similar reasons but there is all these "finding your self" business around such holiday and travel offerings, but I'm not after putting myself into a challenge and proving myself to anyone, or to even myself. Finding myself is maybe something I need to do as well but that's not something that would help with crying at least couple of times a week for things that happened in the past ...

I don't mean these as a "wish", I seriously thought about these, I even wrote to a friend of mine that:

...

I don’t mean I don’t appreciate your worry for me, the opposite, I dreamed if I hang around your family for a bit while, in order to recover from so much that happened ...

but you can't explain to any authority that you want to go somewhere only to stay around someone for an unknown amount of time with no business activity or anything related, only in the hope of fulling a healing cycle ... we are like slaves, you have to prove yourself why you are going somewhere, what you are doing for a living and etc, and if your kind of problem is not officially acknowledged, then you are of course lying.

Even now a great deal of my time is consumed by dealing with related issues and to me it makes no sense to not stop everything else and put all my focus on this, until there is some fundamental improvement, building a house one bricks a day would take forever and besides, if you would stay the whole time in a hotel, the hotel cost would bankrupt you. But I can't do stop my life, you can put it on your CV that you were a couple of months or couple of years not doing anything, people would have all sorts of doubts about you. I mean, fuck the idea of putting my whole focus on this matter, you can't even tell people what you did on your weekend: "I was crying and ..." pretty awesome information to share with others, isn't it?

I don't know maybe in an optimal life you could use your family for such purposes, but should it be the parents who didn't even know about this so many years? Should it be my own family that I had no success in creating it? Maybe other people discuss such matters with their spouses ... but that sounds like an egg-chicken problem ... there are lots of things shattered in me, how can I ever have a spouse in first place with all these damages?


There is a game I can't play ... I won't play ...

I saw other boys growing close to her, becoming her friend so easily ... the kind of friendship that could easily slide into romance ...

I was the man who wished to get to know her since the very first day she came to my eyes. There was this unintentional conviction in inside that if this woman wants to be my helpmate, I won't reject her, unlike my usual attitude about attachment that is to not be loved, to not accept other’s affection at all costs ...

These kind of interactions aren't new to my eyes since a few years ago ... and it was all the way full of surprises how much my default responses and that of the era I live in mismatched ...

but that I miss the culture of our era by few centuries or even millennial is not the only root of my inability to play the game familiar to every other man and woman but me.

Deep deep deep inside me I hate to be a man, I hate the dating behavior of men, I just can't ...

There is a game I can't play ...

How could you expect me to act like the kind of people who sexually abused me when I didn’t know what being a man means?

Even now, at moments when I remember those events, I think inside myself, the person I’ll have an erotic interaction with is going to hate me forever, because inside me the only memories of such interactions is damage, and the immediate reaction in my brain is that I’m going to damage the other person.

I read a couple of romantic novels written by women, specifically cause I wanted to make sure, they don’t feel damaged by such events, even though those books contained descriptions about how the main character yearned to be touched and etc by the man of her dream, and that those events happened and everyone was extremely happy, sometimes to be aware that I am a man and that I have the similar body of the individuals who abused me, makes me want to be dead so so so so so so endlessly badly ...

I can't play this game, the idea of ever reaching the end of it brings can bring me to my knees, leave me in a state of endless helplessness ...

I'm not against her behavior, neither her friendships, by no means. I don't believe this game is an inherently bad idea, actually, I don't have an alternative to it ...


Sometimes I wished she could understand my need for attachment, but the attachment I desire is to a good part results of terrible experiences in my past and sometimes the only way to understand something is to have similar experiences and when I remember these, I'm glad that she can't understand me, at least the far I saw from her, I guess she can't ...

I still don't have a satisfying answer about how to deal with these, the best thing I know, is that our psyche is kind of similar to our body, or maybe a better metaphor is to compare it to a staircase, you can't reach the top unless you have passed through every single step, and so regardless of how awkward or out of place it may appear, as long as you haven't made an experience, you should have made during your childhood, there is no scape from it ... and so based on this view, the best you can do, is to recreate/relieve those experience, which you have not had. I mean, this is really terrible, not only I have to accept to go back to my childhood and to store an experience through a child's mind, but I also need someone else to play the role of parents ... this sounds close to impossible to me

Even after her rejection of me, I wished to be kind and passionate about her, to respect my heart, how much I feel for her and how appealing she is to me but a wish like this, to gift something to her for new year, or my need to see her face ... it is nice to feel so extraordinary about her, but I think to myself, what should I want to tell her? To me it doesn't make sense to want these things about someone unless you were someone's significant other, most of the husbands and boyfriends I've seen won't ever desire such stuff and I've heard the woman in that relationship saying "I love him", so, my heart a little doesn't make sense to me ...

I don’t wish her to be the husband of a damaged person either ... but it would be dishonest to not say, if she ever asked me to marry her, I wouldn’t have any reason to not accept her ... –of course, there is a lot that goes into marriage and I don’t know her that much, lots of the things that people know about each other before marrying each other, even the marriages that are purely organized by the families, I have no clue about ... and still she tops the criteria I could have had for my future spouse–


When I look at all the things I feel be missing ... all the things I wished me and her did together that I never heard others talk about ... sometimes I think maybe to other people these things are so natural that they won't even bother about, to me, who never experienced these things, each tiny interaction is like a miracle, is like a project with hard work behind it ... or maybe it is my inability to think of physical intimacy when it comes to myself that makes me put so much emphasis on these unimportant interactions compared to what other people would think as the important interactions when it comes to adult's attachments

It is still too much pain to think about physical intimacy about myself ...

I hate the people who talk about relationships as if they were adventures, people who often had never had settled down with any one person ...

I find the presence of this brilliant young woman so peaceful, so comfortable to my unresting psyche...

It feels like being an alien when you can’t tell anyone the depth of your need for attachment ... sometimes walking in the world it seems to me it is not only men who present themselves as being only interested in sex, but women too expect from men to be only interested in sex ... In the past I had a stray of hope that there will be a place, a tribe:

I shouldn't always be feeling there a game I can’t play ...

but I'm slowly coming to see, it's not my foreignness, nor perhaps my incompatibility with the game

it is that inside I'm damage ...

Why should one pretend to be native, try to blend in, with attempts that are so unavailing that the mere courage of taking them on would seem absurd to an observer ...

If one is born foreign, so let it be ...

Uh! "I find the presence ...", here is Lost Ideas Lab, let's tell it as it is:

Sometimes I find the idea if I had loved this brilliant young woman since my birth till my death and been loved by her similarly, so peaceful, so comfortable ...


I have now been married ten years. I know what it is to live entirely for and with what I love best on earth. I hold myself supremely blest—blest beyond what language can express; because I am my husband’s life as fully as he is mine. No woman was ever nearer to her mate than I am: ever more absolutely bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh. I know no weariness of my Edward’s society: he knows none of mine, any more than we each do of the pulsation of the heart that beats in our separate bosoms; consequently, we are ever together. To be together is for us to be at once as free as in solitude, as gay as in company. We talk, I believe, all day long: to talk to each other is but a more animated and an audible thinking. All my confidence is bestowed on him, all his confidence is devoted to me; we are precisely suited in character—perfect concord is the result.

Mr. Rochester continued blind the first two years of our union; perhaps it was that circumstance that drew us so very near—that knit us so very close: for I was then his vision, as I am still his right hand. Literally, I was (what he often called me) the apple of his eye. He saw nature—he saw books through me; and never did I weary of gazing for his behalf, and of putting into words the effect of field, tree, town, river, cloud, sunbeam—of the landscape before us; of the weather round us—and impressing by sound on his ear what light could no longer stamp on his eye. Never did I weary of reading to him; never did I weary of conducting him where he wished to go: of doing for him what he wished to be done. And there was a pleasure in my services, most full, most exquisite, even though sad—because he claimed these services without painful shame or damping humiliation. He loved me so truly, that he knew no reluctance in profiting by my attendance: he felt I loved him so fondly, that to yield that attendance was to indulge my sweetest wishes.

I felt so at home with the conclusion chapter of Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre ... not that I wish to be blind, but even as non-blind, that’s how needy to closeness I look like to my understanding of myself ... and perhaps to every normal human being this would be sickening ...


I never believed in chance, fate or luck, and while probability theories are where pure mathematical concept makes pure money in our times and era, even the times when I spent most of my days on learning mathematical concepts, I never went close to that theory ...

I believe in the God, and maybe the reasonings behind events won't be comprehensible to us, maybe there are other fundamentals besides "reason" beyond the reach of human existence to the God's acts, but I'm also one of those light-hearted individuals, who believes in the God reaching you His guidance through means comprehensible to oneself and within one's environment and reach ...

I was trying to prepare for the exam and to learn what isn't being thought at the business school on my own, this time finance and banking, the very field I had more trouble with than just those of probability theory ...

But if the Lord wishes to teach you about things you don't know how to learn, there is no escape from His order, whether it be punishment or mercy ...

I was out of my mind that the professor I'm watching his lecture on the concept of interest rate, lending, and borrowing, turns back and advises his students to go to honeymoon:

And then I remembered, Franco Modigliani, who was one of the authors of your textbook, and he was my teacher. I still remember these moments from classroom. And he was teaching us about these subjects. He was thinking about examples of investments--and he said, you know? One of the best investments I can think of is a honeymoon. When you get married, you go on a vacation. Now, why are you doing that? Is it for fun? Probably not. In fact, I have a suspicion that most honeymoons are not fun. I think it's just people are too uptight and tense. What have we just done? And I bet that's right. So, why do you do it? Well, you do it as an investment, right? You want this photograph album. You want the memories. You're kind of bonding. I think he's absolutely right. You should go on a honeymoon.

So, I did another search. I searched on honeymoon loans, OK? And I got 1.7 million hits. It beat vacation loans. So, there are many lenders ready to lend. And you should do it. If you're just getting married and you don't have any money, go to the usurious guy and ask for the honeymoon loan.

8. Theory of Debt, Its Proper Role, Leverage Cycles

I was awestruck. Robert Shiller is someone I agree with his viewpoints about the matters that I have far less knowledge, understanding and experience about, since very first lectures I saw, but this time about "honeymoon" and "marriage" I don't know what to say! Am I at the right place? Is it a course about finance?

I agree with his viewpoints about usury to a good degree as well and so to hear it from him that even if you need to go to usurer, go get your honeymoon, even if the honeymoon itself doesn't feel nice, fun or anything pleasant.

These are such harsh suggestions for me to swallow, I somehow got my hand on a camera and I decided to take photos and post them on a blog about the things I do during the day but even that I couldn't do it! Make photos with a girl on honeymoon trip financed by usury? Do you know who you are talking to? I love photography but I've pain doing it, even if things I photograph are objects, now you expect me photographing humans? My self with a girl? I guess I have to go on an internship on allowing myself to be photographed, another one for being physically close to a woman, another one for being photographed in those very moments! I don't know, maybe these internships are just another escape from ever doing these stuff, but I really don't have the internal resources ... maybe I had it when I was a child, but no more now ...

Sometimes I wished I had parents who talked to me about things like this when I was entering adulthood ... I mean, how is a child supposed to learn how to bond with others, other than from his or her environment? Sure humans are creative, sure we are born with these potentials inside ourselves, but "honeymoon", "wedding" and even all the other tiny tiny tiny interactions from the day you meet someone, till the day you become a family of your own with each other, is an extremely complex game, you can't just go on and come up with all the same things that everybody else is thinking about while sitting in your room and studying mathematics most of the times ...

and I always avoided those opportunities to learn about these matters, as I always had tried to ignore, or better said, to presuppose with myself that there is no need for attachment with a real human being in me, in my life, yeah, when I'm older maybe one day ... if some of the events out of my control didn't happen to me, I guess would have gone through my life with the idea of attachment being for a later date, even till I reached the end ... Subconsciously being aware I'm damaged, and my extreme desires for attachment, to my subconscious, my psyche was an extremely sensitive time-bomb that would explode if I learned a bit more about attachment, what it is, how it is built and deconstructed and ...


I guess I’ve found the solution ultimately ... I was being too negligent of calculations and all brainy stuff about marriage ... I guess if ever, that person should be someone who never had a good relationship with her parents and was sexually molested, abused in the beginning of her adolescent ... I guess, then, we should understand each other quite well ... and if one believed the adult version of those attachment theories, perhaps we should then share similar attitudes and needs for attachment ... perhaps then we would understand how hard it is for us to be close to each other and how hard to not be close to each other ... maybe then she wouldn't expect me playing the games that I don’t want to play ...

Maybe at the end, I only missed calculating whom I can’t be with, in advance ...


and I stand in awe

how tell the account of a story that You let me know

belongs to someone else since the very first chapter

how to ask You of your stores

when the mistaken angel made me rewrite

what I expected to be footsteps of beloved

Allah, either protect me of my feelings for her or allow these feelings to be Your mercy between us ...

PS. of course, I guess there are lots of other things that make me unattractive too & you don’t wish the person you love to be with someone, you yourself find unattractive, not to mention hate most of the times ...

Dates

  • Published: Thursday, November 30, 2017
  • Published:
  • Published: Thursday, February 8, 2018

Keywords

Credits

  • Author: Scrappy Nobody

from Penumbra

Series of Random Works