What is it that makes you cling on, when every hair on the back of your neck is standing up screaming at you to RUN? Or is it, rather, that you just cannot, ever, walk away without:
a) knowing everything that there is to know about why you’re ‘losing’ and;
b) some community / public recognition of your ‘wronged’ status, following you as you exit left ?
Focussing squarely on emotional attachment as experienced and expressed by those of us outside of any spectrum of clinical behavioural disorder (so minus the narcissists and socio/psychopaths, whose ‘attachments’ are wholly perverse and without emotion):
There are those, so confidant and certain of themselves, with whom no-one ever gets beyond that first strike. These are the tigers amongst us. Fiercely proud and rarely hesitant enough to concern themselves with how their relationships and break-ups might impact their ‘image’ or ‘reputation’
There are also those, generous of spirit, amongst us, who show varying levels of empathy in giving everyone a second, third and sometimes fourth chance. Always looking for the good. Coaxing it out if necessary, with every ounce of bounty in their bones.
Then there are the doormats, who will put up with any level of shit. Supremely low levels of confidence and feelings of inadequacy, borne from years of social and or emotional exclusion, are often behind this disjointed appreciation of any attention they are shown.
Somewhere between the doormat and the empath, lies a mutant tiger (all too frequently tigress). Perfect prey for the hunter. She knows her days are numbered. She knows the hunt is on. But she spends her last days trying to outwit the hunter, unravel the plot to trap her and expose the injustice of it all, when she could escape with her life if she ran.
Today’s blog is my plea to all bright but battered mutant tigers out there. For gods sake, give up! Stop analysing and then analysing again. There’s only pain, no gain, in knowing every detail. Take care of yourself before you no longer know what you care about and drop the need to be ‘right’.
Something a private detective, I once tried to hire, said to me after taking careful note of my story, stuck with me:
“Can I just ask you”, she said. “So if I can get this ‘proof’ of what you already know to be true, what are you going to do with it? Will it change anything?”
That was the day I became a cat.