The trick to fool oneself – the only person I ever fool is me – is to pretend you don´t see: never touching the wound, not even looking at it & making it the elephant in the room: getting so busy with positive, amazing things that all dark spots will magically disappear (or so you think): ignore the void until it eventually vanishes or is repleshined by some angel who´ll sit and smile at us while smoking a cuban cigar from morning till night (keep your fingers crossed, all right?).
I´ve been a good girl – most of the time; I´ve pretended so well – “oh, yes, I´m the great pretender; pretending that I´m doing well”- that I´ve managed to erase the smoke from the fire that keeps burning in my heart, a result of disappointment after disappointment (no time to recover from one blow to the next).
If it´s true we attract the people who mirror what we have inside, I´m screwed. Of course there are exceptions – friends, students, wonder*ful strangers I meet around the world – but, when it comes to romantic love relationships, my mirror is kind of scary. All the men I´ve attracted so far were way beneath everything I dreamt of and all of them – no exception – have deeply disappointed me in every colour of the rainbow. If I´m sitting at my own Freud´s divan, I cannot ignore the hard truth anymore (I´m done with ignoring it).
Maybe I´m just too demanding (no bullshit taking, that you can be sure of!); maybe my fear of losing freedom and individuality (two of the values I cherish the most) get in the way; maybe my fear of getting hurt is an iman which pulls towards me the very creatures who will confirm that fear. Maybe – who knows? Not even Freud and his followers knew what to make of it. Love´s messy; life´s messy and I´m not sure about that “attaction law” anymore.
What I know for sure? Relationships are the hardest school there is and perfection is a shadow of a non existent ghost. Now that I´m fully aware of my condition (a fugitive: a scary little girl who´s too afraid of loving and being loved again), I can at least look at it in the face and ask “what are we gonna do about it?”. Maybe the answer starts with the question.
“We always deceive ourselves twice about the people we love — first to their advantage, then to their disadvantage.”
–from “A Happy Death” (written 1938), first published as La mort heureuse (1971), as translated by Richard Howard (1972)
Born in Algeria in 1913, Albert Camus published The Stranger– now one of the most widely read novels of this century– in 1942. Celebrated in intellectual circles, Camus was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1957. On January 4, 1960, he was killed in a car accident.