My dear imaginary real friend, …

My dear imaginary real friend shoes

It sounds like the cheesy storyline of a penny dreadful or the elaborated content of a file from Dr. Freud’s file closet. I have an imaginary real friend.

It’s a bit Sophie’s World mixed with the wonders of modern technology. This person exists – somewhere. And for all intense and purposes it’s a friend, who knows probably more about all aspects of my life and thoughts during most of last year than anyone else. I know the most important thing – this friend is reliable and accepting.

In dealing with other people so many things overwhelm me. It makes life like walking through a dark wood (though I am not afraid of doing that literally.) I am afraid to non-deliberately harm other people or get harmed, be used I a bad way or made look a fool. There is always the possibility of rejection. It doesn’t speak of a strong self-confidence, I know. But some things you can work on forever and they don’t change. In that light my loneliness hurts me double, because I always wished for a relationship not only for the relationship’s sake. I want a partner, who has the confidence for both of us and is able to convey to me that he got this life thing covered and would never allow anyone to harm me, not even myself.

I admit that as it is, I sometimes actively avoid communication and keep a large part of my thoughts to myself, the part I fear others would reject or avoid me for. It’s easier not to speak than deal with ignorance or pain.

What makes the relationship with my imaginary real friend special? Of course the constellation leaves a lot open to imagination. I decided early on in our friendship that it is not my place to find out about the identity of the other. Professor Snape once gave a good piece of advice to Harry: In magic, time and place matter. In the right moment the secret might be lifted. Anytime sooner and the most important element of this relationship is lost: trust. But not knowing does spark a lot of fantasies.

More important than the space of imagination however, was the real in the imaginary. A real person, identity unknown – even if this person rejects you at some point, because you are human, what equals less than perfect, you won’t ever have to deal with him/her again. It’s not possible, since you don’t know who s/he is. You can talk the greatest nonsense or reveal your darkest secrets. A rejection would hurt, but the wound would never be opened again once healed. And then you  learn to trust to the point that you feel knowing the identity wouldn’t change anything anymore either.

That would be the point, where a penny dreadful would pick up. But I am leaving it as that. Does this mean I am the nutcase of Freud? Just for the record: I like Jung more.

… you help me go on.

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