Every human being who has walked this Earth has felt some sort of longing to belong, yearning for acceptance, warmth and to be seen. What is the word for the overwhelming sensation of this necessity being unrequited, but despair?
Curled up in the fetal position as way to not regress, it is instead that drive roleplaying, soothing itself to sleep. One can go their entire life alone, no matter the hands offered, praise, and reassurance. Why is it we cannot overcome this loss of the familial? Unless we are able to make our own, we are stuck with misremembering, haunted by the ghosts of our past.
A living embodiment of the Victorian macabre, the only warmth known is that of the hellish present
Today I am overcome with grieving my own existence, the missed opportunities, stumbles and the abundance of emptiness. This harangues my walking life.
I must purge these thoughts, burning down this eerie forest within, to make room for a new growth. Rays of hope leading to the photosynthesis that feeds self-love. Friends and the love of the spirit is the fertilizer that sustains me.
I am a walking contradiction, hardened and protected by impenetrable armour that is my own doom. Suffocating any blossoms of relationships and forgiveness. At times this weight renders me deaf, dumb and blind. A pseudo human being that is starved for affection and comfort.
These words are the blanket that protects me from the monsters under the bed-loneliness, despair and the worst of all numbness.
Until I am able to calm the raging storm of emotions that petrifies my inner child, I will keep the best of myself hidden. From any possible chance of connection and forgiveness.
I sit and reflect, saddened that I must mourn the best of myself and the homelessness that surrounds me. Patience and pretending to have hope is better than giving in to the pervasive phantom of melancholy.
I write this not for sympathy for I have none left to give, but to document this whirlwind, and complexity that looms within.
How have you managed not to lose sanity, and materially survive, thus far?
That's the inquiry that crossed my mind as I read your post, fellow INFP (very likely, albeit not certainly).
One day of 2019, I was 39 years old, Mercy chose to force one of the rays of its reflected light that reach into this world into my spiritual vision; from that day I have known that It is.
Evil, its contrary and counter, also is.
The real purpose to this trying and tiring sentence we serve on earth is to work for the former; counter the latter.
In the last months, the One that sees us and loves us has also made our roads cross with she who is now my wife (INFJ).
The best description of her I can give is: she is someone to whom I can share my entire mind and spirit — 100% of it, not 99% or 99,9% —; she is someone staying with whom doesn't require giving up on any of my principles.
Wish you all what may best for you.