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Jan. 4th, 2022 06:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ofmyowncreationI have troubles with attachment through the screen. I carry naïve hope that every celebrity that I lay my eyes upon is some sort of perfect angel. It's idol worship at its finest; me and my RSD. The worst part about this whole ordeal in my head is that I do it almost unconsciously now. Another pretty woman another parasocial relationship. Another middle aged man another set of expectations that shouldn't be unrealistic but turn out to be. And every time I find out that one of these people has committed a racism, or a homophobia, or a capitalism (damn, damn capitalism) I fall, like a wounded bird, from the sky. I pick myself up again, I wrap tape around my wounds, and up into the air I go until it happens again. And again. And again. I hope that I am learning, but it doesn't much seem like it. Another day another dose of baseless trust. Another week another flinch whenever I see the person I've been oh so willfully let down by. Sigh. It all feels so very never ending.
The flinch really is the worst part. It comes in video form, when I see these people perform, or laugh, or play games with each. It comes in picture form: them in a good outfit or on Instagram or in a new selfie their fans are squealing over. And I can never escape, so long as I don't know how to heal. How do I teach myself that entwining the version of these people that I see in my head with little mental me is bad? How do I heal from this semi-self-inflicted hurt that the me who's writing this on my bed likes to cause by giving the me who has a better life in my head friends? I don't know. I really don't know.
But alas I've got therapy tomorrow, so I'll talk about all of these things with my therapist. Hopefully they'll have an answer for me. Hopefully I get my fucking diagnosis soon because I'm no doctor, but something's wrong.
The flinch really is the worst part. It comes in video form, when I see these people perform, or laugh, or play games with each. It comes in picture form: them in a good outfit or on Instagram or in a new selfie their fans are squealing over. And I can never escape, so long as I don't know how to heal. How do I teach myself that entwining the version of these people that I see in my head with little mental me is bad? How do I heal from this semi-self-inflicted hurt that the me who's writing this on my bed likes to cause by giving the me who has a better life in my head friends? I don't know. I really don't know.
But alas I've got therapy tomorrow, so I'll talk about all of these things with my therapist. Hopefully they'll have an answer for me. Hopefully I get my fucking diagnosis soon because I'm no doctor, but something's wrong.
