Saturday, May 19, 2012

Fear and loathing, and fear and loathing

the number of irreverent fear humans are capable of harbouring is truly unfathomable. Fishface for instance has a massive fear of lizards. My rational explanations of how lizards are actually human allies in keeping mosquitoes and other bugs at bay, doesn't seem to help much. the gravity of  her fear can drive her cuckoo enough to jump around our future boss's house like a chimp on spotting a mean-looking gecko.

Bart's expression of fear can qualify him for a mime artist. This one time, a rat suddenly appeared from one corner of the terrace at night and this otherwise frigid person clutched my arm so tight that it hurt for two consecutive days.

Ja, had a similar encounter with a rat some days ago. She earned my sympathy for putting up a brave show and chasing the rat out with a broom at 5 in the morning, sacrificing her cookies, and candies in the process.. But i secretly suspect she suffers from a pathological fear of silence. Ja is a compulsive talker. She cannot go to sleep until recapping her entire day which amounts to truckloads of shallow jibber-jabbber. This one night she spent the entire night ruminating over people's insecurities and fears, except for hers of-course.

Me? I suffer from the most unhealthy fear of attachment. Not only it leaves me feeling neglected and socially awkward for most part of the day. It ensures I'm constantly soaring on the psychopathic meter. My ailment is more critical than what meets the eye. I've always cherished the idea of detachment for practical purposes. Im known to lighten the intense goodbye and farewell moments by coming up with epigrams if though misdirected and terribly punny. An attempt is an attempt is an attempt. My closet cant complain of claustrophobia, it has never been difficult for me to trash out stuff from yesteryears. On most days I save my siblings from the inflammable fury of  "dare not touch that top, its mine".

Perhaps it wouldn't have been such a problem if it was genuinely true. For all my sinister sarcasm and Calvin eyebrow, inside, I feel like the three year old who never gets to play with his favourite toy because he's too afraid of getting attached to it. which basically means he longs for that toy day and night and what should've pleased him, leaves him utterly hopeless. I long for attachments too. I long for that warm, fuzzy, gooey feeling that a choco-lava cookie leaves me with. I long for waking up to a bright and cheery goodmorning text.

the fear of attachment makes me believe and assert that I'm the most detached person on this earth , when I'm not. Like Adrian Broody(in detachment) I inevitably become the one people run to for strength. They look up to my detachment classes hell even the good old MeyersBriggs Jungian know-your-personality exam identifies me as a healer, while in reality I crave for moments when I can break down and let go of those innumerable moments when I've pretended to not get affected by somebody's inappropriate behavior, or felt icky at airport or felt like slapping my uncle because he spoke rudely to my mother.

Even more cringe-worthy are the  moments when I've either under-expressed my feelings for somebody I have strongly been attracted to. Like a strict school-master I keenly list out negative traits in my potential boy simply because I fear getting attached to him. It happened to me recently. Everything was going buttery smooth between Armstrong and me as long as i talked myself to believe that it's just an ordinary crush which should desert me in a span of twenty days. the truth is, it didn't despite my desperate self-belief on the nature of its frivolousness. It grew on me and very soon I saw myself behaving like an impulsive three year old who is now incapable of parting with the toy, his parents can't accomodate in the car.

I am turning into everything I've hated in other people- Being impulsive, being needy, being attention, attention-seeking just because A entertained all this for some time now. So as as auto-correct measure I have painted a fatally demonic image of A in my head in order to detach from him. With a militant mind training of mine from all these years, it's not going to be very difficult. But the question arises: is all emotional expression.exposition a bad thing if not what is an optimum amount that saves oneself the insufferable rounds in the hallowed corridors of psychopathy and emo-ness.

Shouldn't we men of reason define norms for appropriate emotional display in relationships and subsequently define laws for its impeachment. Maybe shiny, happy couples like B n S can offer their inputs in drafting such a law. Till then I reckon with Max's idea of how humans leave him confuzled (confused and puzzled) and confess an unhealthy attachment to 5 am playlist until I discover more exciting fears.

No comments:

Post a Comment