She sat down on the therapy chair, a high, triangular, buttock torture wooden chair. It is claimed that this is how the best is brought out of a client.
”I did not imagine I am still this sensitive to rejection. I did not think I am this vulnerable, this undamaged, this un-jaded. I am back to doubting every word I spell.
Getting to know someone online, eliminates almost all the usual senses; you do not see, hear, smell, touch or taste them. Only the brain works. The brain may get accepted, but if one of the senses later betrays this acceptance, you will be scratched, again, right in the Jugular.
You will feel just as bad as being empirically rejected, or even worse, as the brain is dismissed in toto by the disapproval of a single senseless sense; of the way you look, sound, or smell, let alone feel.
When you chat over the web, you allow the entity at the other end to make a person out of you the way they wish. They make that image according to the senses they are used to use. In other words, you only fill the brain part by your thoughts and allow them to draw the outside image. You give that unknown entity on the other end, the full unrestricted freedom to draw your image using their senses which you have absolutely zero control over. That image is vulnerable and may very easily be torn to pieces.
When your brain gets discarded because you don’t fit the outside image they had sculpted you in, you as a person will be diminished to nothing, dust. You basically had given them total liberty and absolute control. That is a lot of giving.
The story of my lemon tree.
I was watering a plant, taking care of it, and building a bond with it. It died.
A slim stem grew in the pot instead, possibly out of a forgotten seed. The new stem grew up towards the ceiling, and then started to give scent.
It started giving, only after I had paid attention to it, after it grew and persisted, after we had built a bond.
Then the scent came; a lemon tree.
I had loved it and cherished it even before it gave away its scent and gave away its identity. It had convinced me to love it, bit by bit, before telling me what it really was, before allowing me to draw a mental image of it. It allowed me to fall in love before I “know” or even “expect”. It did not allow me to box it. I was tricked into loving that anonymous stem.
I do not know if that lemon tree is now dead, or is still spreading its peace. We had parted after a kiss, and an unspoken goodbye, whispered by the edges of the eyelids
Now another stem is growing in another pot on the shelf of my balcony.
The same story of death, and of a new stem.
The new stem is not giving away anything yet.
I am not in love with it yet.
I am more careful this time.
Still, am very volatile.”