They say that INFJ’s are door-slammers. Perhaps, more efficient relationship enders? Perhaps, too apt to attract toxic relationships? Perhaps the Fe is just too predisposed to needing to please others that it is too difficult to face far less harmonious responses. Plus, “I have a good idea of where I want to be, and right now, you ain’t there with me,” Ni and shadow Fi sharing a little conversation of stubbornness. I really don’t know. I think it’s a wee bit dangerous to put too much hype into stereotypes like this.

Sure, I’ve slammed doors, but I don’t know anybody who hasn’t at one point or another. Especially in this smart-phone/facebook world we’re in. Goodness, “ghosting” is a commonly used term for gosh sakes. And in my defense, I usually wrap back around to people eventually, though it may take a month, or year, or two, but I will try again, somehow. I’ll even retry over and over for those who made the biggest impact. Don’t usually get a response though. If I do, it is typically confrontational. If not the conversation is super nice and shallow and vacant and then we just stop talking again only nobody ever mentions it again.

Anywho, I don’t mean to ramble too much and distract from the more artistic ramble I pulled from a recent journal entry which I felt pretty much perfectly illustrates my reasoning and emotions when thinking of ending a relationship. The little internal dialogue that goes on. There is always a solid reason why I stop nurturing a relationship. And there always has to be an extensive, contemplative, self-abusive period beforehand and likely every so often thereafter (some forever!). Authority figure themed in this case. I do admit to my own faults, disparagingly and relentlessly so, moreso than this particular ditty in more private journal entries I will probably only ever share with anyone when desperate for human connection in the pit of some despair, or really, really drunk.

Also, stand up for yourself. It’s good for you. Writing this gave me strength months of professional doctors, therapy, and medication couldn’t. The cure to darkness isn’t to hide away from those shadow voices and keep being the good little boy or girl. It’s to rise out and, in my case, give a nice round of the finger to the room. In my head though. Only in my head. Wouldn’t want to ruffle too many feathers or break any hearts if I can help it. An occasional finger should be raised though. That’s just common sense.

Yes, this post is prose.

Respect

“You owe me, so pay up,”
says the man I loved fiercely for 3 years.
Thinks a signature can explain away
the insult and entitlement.
Honey, you screwed up getting a job,
and letting me be where I needed to be.
All this pressure on me to be your everything.
What’s harmony in the house of inevitable entropy.
And I was yours, and I was and I was, and then I wasn’t,
Go your own way.
I’d give if I could still to this day,
but I cannot pay anymore.
Not anymore.

“I am not your parent and you need therapy,”
says the sister who was more than a little maternal with me.
Guided me like one, acted like one around every boy I brought around.
Through thick and thin, she was there, I’ll admit, but not this year.
Sorry for what I needed you to be. What you taught me to be.
Guess therapy is the best family that can be found.
For now.

“Don’t let him ruin your career,”
said the friend and mentor I held dear,
But I fear there were bigger things at stake than my work over here,
Now, you are gossiping about my inconsistencies, and politically maneuvering…
Some friend indeed, like so many you are merely here to use me.

“I’m here for you, anytime, just a call away,”
said another would-be friend.
Hugs abound and harmless flirtation, it felt pure and legit.
Until you blamed me, essentially, for being too proficient.
And shaming you somehow.
You became so petty.
The chaos in your world is yours,
but my fault apparently.

  • You gotta pay
  • Gotta get therapy
  • Gotta take responsibility
  • You gotta be strong (just not stronger than me)
  • And you gotta be right (just not more right than me)
  • You gotta be loyal and attentive (while I deny most of who you are)
  • You gotta be smart (but kind)
  • And caring (but consistent)
  • And dedicated (but adventurous)
  • And organized (but whimsical)
  • and… (oh hell.)

And everything under the fucking sun that I could never be.
You all wanted me to be what no one can be,
Something besides little ol’ me.
You all want me to think of every little thing!
But not a one of you ever could, and not a one of you ever does.
Drowning in peanut gallery commentary trollery, let’s pause.
And ask:

With all I could be, do you see what I do?

The insightful talks (your on-call therapist) so many days.
All the times I came to you (when you know I would have preferred solitude).
The countless ways I failed to choose myself over you.
And all I hear from you now is how I am responsible?
I poured my heart into you all those years,
Then the worst monsters I fight in my adult world,
I fight alone, because you won’t stand with me?
Even now? Somehow? In some way?
Good luck. No.
It can’t be.
Just me.
I know.
I am simply me. I do what I can.
I try not to tell others how they should live.
It is no one’s place but their own.
And so I’m going to tell myself:
I don’t need you.

Here’s my sole remaining responsibility:

My gift,

            Just like you all wanted, I’m standing on my own two feet
unwaveringly. Speaking my emotions. Letting you in. Fighting. Resigning.
Whatever you want to call it or wish I had done more of.

            I don’t really care anymore (that’s a lie). And I’m telling
every last one of you to go arrange your own lives and leave me in peace.

            I have learned to prefer solitude, for I am better company than
any of you. Though bitter and angry and disappointed I most certainly am,
and frustrated I don’t know how to help you more than I did, or hurt you less
than I did, I did the best I could. My disappointment is nothing compared
to the love I feel for you. The love that you never really let in, it feels.

            Believe me when I say:

                       I care

            This is why it’s all the harder to bear. Be stronger, you said.

Here you go:

I’m not yours.

I’m mine.

Good bye.

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