https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/substandard/
This forms a part of the destructive cycle of Coercive Control – and is, unfortunately, both wide-spread and difficult to avoid/get away from.
Much of human craving – be it for people or for substances – revolves around a central premise: that we are substandard, and we therefore search desperately for something, or someone, that will make us oblivious to such a feeling, albeit temporarily.
There is, without a doubt, something exciting, thrilling, addictive, about danger – something illicit and, dare I say it, sexually arousing about travelling in a speeding car, dallying with a bad boy or girl, watching a horror movie late at night.
Somehow, rebels (with or without a cause) seem more alive, more enticing, more likely to shock the parents than the nice boy/girl-next-door – or, as we get older, the sensible and hardworking person earning good money in a steady job.
There is a frisson (which we do not want to admit to even in the safety of our own minds) about those who treat us with disdain; those who play hard to get; those who neglect, and play games with, us. Quite why we see them as a worthier prize than those who are kind, sensitive and accommodating, I am not sure – but, in the annals (both literary and real life) of our species, erotic preference for the dark, the forbidden, the edgy wins out more often than not.
The problem here is twofold: Firstly, these people are NOT good for us; they inflict damage both physical and emotional; secondly, the inability to gain true love and satisfaction from them causes too many of us to chase that elusive grail from an endless line of similar types!
We come to crave that whisper of naughty nastiness; we come to see their abusive side as somehow Gothic, almost romantic, something that puts us on our mettle and purifies us with its exquisite pain; we delude ourselves that we become better people, that our souls are needfully seared, through our endless search for tainted love and selfish friendship.
Most concerning, and saddest of all, we come to see simple and loving hands held out to us as boring, shallow, unsexy and not worth bothering with.
A worrying side-effect is this: our emotional wasteland, and our inner uncertainty – that distinctive odour of one who is under coercive control – attracts bottomless pits of selfishness who are used to hoovering up any stray uncertainty and using it to their own, often nefarious, ends.
That is to say, many already under the thumb of one controlling individual will find that several other friendships in their lives conform to the same basic pattern – and this gruesome cycle will go on until the coerced person is able to see the pattern of attraction, of craving, and to question it.
The coerced become so inured to obedience that they do not always notice when new entrants into their lives expect, even demand, it. They expect unequal bonds, and can actually feel very uneasy, almost unworthy, when faced with true equality. Even when their chains have gone, they still have a tendency to huddle in the corner of non-existent cells and enchain themselves by forming new toxic bonds with ‘difficult’ people.
Our bodies respond very strongly to arousal – and do not differentiate between positive and negative aspects of it in the chemical sense. It becomes an addiction for us, a roller-coaster of terror followed by delight followed by more terror. We know, at some level, that these people we crave cause – or at least contribute to – panic attacks and terrible insecurity; but, oh my God, when we are on the upswing of their attention and ‘love’, how great and amazing and stimulating is that, eh?!
These people have a glamour about them. They seem so much more vivid, alive, inspiring than anyone else. But it is a law of diminishing returns, very like that seen in drug-taking: we need more and more to achieve that all-important high, and the exultant moments on the roller-coaster are ever-fewer and ever-further-apart.
Giving them up is a form of cold turkey. It hurts, horribly. We feel empty, achy, shaky, sick with fear. It can be a long-drawn-out process and, like quitting cigarettes or booze or heroin, we may fail a few times before we, finally, give up the habit for good. We may have occasional set-backs – an illicit and guilty liaison with our drug of choice – but, with time, it will get easier.
I have got to believe this because I am very much at the beginning of this excruciating journey and have many, many miles to travel before I can claim I am anywhere near quitting for good.
My friend choices have been significantly different in Glastonbury, however, in that I am no longer looking for that adrenaline hit and am more concerned with a mutual bond of kindness, shared interests and honesty.
But I know I am still vulnerable, still prey to the craving.
Chronicles of an Orange-Haired Woman! 