Electra Complex

When I was younger I read the story, The Whipping Boy and I can remember how sad it made me feel. I think that any person who reads the story is inclined to feel sympathetic. However I don't think that sympathy was quite the feeling that I felt, but more so, a feeling of empathy. I could relate not literally, but more so metaphorically. If you were to take the concept of The Whipping Boy and translate it to psychological terms, you would interpret it as projection. If you're unfamiliar with the meaning of projection, the definition is, "A defense mechanism in which one attributes to others one’s own unacceptable or unwanted thoughts or/and emotions. Projection reduces anxiety by allowing the expression of the unwanted subconscious impulses/desires without letting the ego recognize them." People do this often, and it is a pet peeve of mine because it is something that I can recognize instantly, and if pointed out, it is often denied.

My journal from my younger years is filled with angry writing that mirrored my perception of my father. I believe that a large part of my anxiety and manic depression stemmed from these childhood relations. I lived in a house where I felt that I was walking on glass. Where I learned to be quiet, to have finesse, and more often than not, just to hide. I never knew how my father was going to react, he was like a time bomb. There have been times when I was pouring something to drink, and in spilling a little he would go into a fit of blind rage. It was for this reason that I had developed anxiety, and maybe it could be possible that my inability to maintain any definite emotion was because of the instability of emotion in my household. Either way, as you can imagine, I far from liked my father and only respected him when I was a child out of fear. We never got along. Luckily, I was intelligent enough to understand that his verbal abuse had little to do with me. The result of years of being referred to as a stupid or selfish bitch, or a freeloader, or any other irrelevant insult, was far better of one than most could claim. It never actually hurt my feelings. Instead I only gained more pride and more respect for myself.

I've heard it said that women are subconsciously attracted to men who are like their fathers, and that men are likewise to their mothers. I never would have believed this to be true in my case, for obvious reasons. But to my surprise, I have been proven wrong. With the exception of my father no man has ever had the audacity to refer to be as a bitch, or a cunt, or any other generic insult. This was true until recently anyway. I made a friend who was rather abrasive, to say the least. Not only was he a friend, but he had become a very close friend. His tendency to use more abrasive language rubbed me the wrong way at first, but with time I had grown to be insensitive to this. Also, I think that it would be fair to say that I was more fond of him than any other man I had previously met. I don't consider us friends anymore. I had realized recently that attempting to maintain a friendship was futile. I had realized this because we have the same opinion of each other. He has deemed me as resentful, as sensitive and someone who needs to take responsibility. He is annoyed by me, and I him. It wasn't until the last fight when I sat on the phone listening to him scream at me, unable to even understand what it was he was trying to say. And I suppose that it was after be referred to as a stupid bitch again, and this time out of anger that the little girl inside of me said, "Why are you doing this again?"

There is a fine line between being authentic and being disrespectful. It comes with tone, and with genuine emotion. Calling me a stupid bitch in anger, and meaning it, really meaning it- is something that I will not stand for. Why? Well honestly, it's as simple as the fact that I'm not a stupid bitch, and I'm definitely not ignorant enough to let someone attempt to make me believe so. Even when it is clear that others have no respect for me, I still have respect for myself. This isn't being self righteous, this is recognizing error, and a repeat of a pattern that once caused much damage to me.

Let me clarify though, that its not about language that I realized I had come to like someone just like my father. I think that perhaps there is a larger comparison. The difference was my father was a jackass who was resentful of his own childhood. But it wasn't this resentment that made him a jackass, I'm not that unkind. It was in his failure to realize that this was the reason for the problems in his own family. His inability to stop projecting his resentment on to everyone else and take responsibility for it. I have been accused of being resentful lately, and I don't deny it. We all have minor resentment everyday, but these resentments are worn on our sleeve. But there is a greater resentment, in which people often around- this deep rooted resentment, which they attempt to bury within themselves. Resentment of this nature is often justified. But that doesn't mean it shouldn't be acknowledged. And it should, because resentment is like a seed, and no matter how deep you attempt to bury it it will grow, branching out and manifesting itself through your own actions and behaviors. It's these people who fail to acknowledge it, who unwillingly become everything that they hate. Just as my father became his, the very father he resented.

Me and my father get along fine now. He has changed a lot, he has realized the error of his behavior. What is still unfortunate though, is that my whole life I had separated myself from him, because any attempt to get closer meant I would only subject myself further more to being his whipping boy. I was never resentful of him because I actually understood. I was only annoyed that in his 40 odd years he still had failed to take responsibility for it. What was truly unfortunate in this situation is that because of his resentment he was never actually able to know me.

As for the comparison, it is equally as unfortunate for me to realize that I cannot maintain a friendship with someone I greatly appreciate and respect. And I am annoyed only by the irony. The irony of someone saying that I am resentful, and that I need to take responsibility for my emotions. But yet when I look at him all I see is mounting insecurity and sensitivity, which I feel has recently been put off on me. I would have been patient. But I refuse to sit and let someone else again project their feelings on to me while they pin me for everything that they are, instead of solving the problems within themselves. I'm not going to be anyones scapegoat.

You take responsibility.