Insane Fantasy

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Maybe we never truly grow out of our fantasies. Imaginations morph into projections and introjections within relationships. I’ll say it here and now, introjection and projection are the source of all suffering in relationships. Just like my parents did with me, I project fantasies or ideals upon people, myself included. Instead of being in reality I live in a fantasy world where I selectively choose to see or feel things that confirm my ideals. 

 From time to time, I make an ‘us’ up in my head-- this great thing. Then I write about a ‘lost potential’, but where does this potential come from but my own fantasies about what could be? There is a pandemic of women playing make-believe in their relationships. I see this with every woman I know. We make excuses, ignore red-flags, capitalize on amiable qualities and so-on to keep the ‘play script’ accurate in our heads. Do we all want to believe in love so bad that we refuse to acknowledge reality? Because if you objectively replay all those ‘magical memories’, moments defining your passionate affinity and compatibility, you will observe the times he changed the subject whenever you tried to talk about your sister who went to rehab or the fact that you quit ballet or when your close friend died or when you were doing drugs to keep the great sadness at bay.

My therapist asked me a question today, a seemingly simple one she has asked me many times before, “Did he ever ask about YOU? Inquire into your wellbeing or feelings or past or future or anything to do with you?” Ahhhh, I smell an insight, “Kendall, the men you choose suck you dry--you pour yourself into them until you have nothing left to give.” I twiddle my thumbs. “But it makes sense, because you feel uncomfortable when you are the center of attention—that has never been your role.”

At this point I began to ramble about how this guy was different, how he savored something of reciprocity, “Kendall, these type of men can always be present in the moment, they can be caring and affectionate and shower you with compliments—since they have shut themselves off from the idea of anything deeper they are capable of being truly present. This is exactly what they want, to selfishly bask in your light while you drain yourself dry.” 

Freud called it repetition compulsion, Einstein called it insanity: doing the same thing over and over again while expecting different results. So how to we break the pattern? Awareness is the easy part; reflection comes so naturally. What is it about me that I am attracted to these men who are never truly interested in me and what I bring to the table?