May 20
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But once the feeling passes, I question "was this feeling ever real?" When it fades, so does the importance it once held:
What is internal emotional permeance and emotional object constancy? (Disorganized attachment style edition)
Individuals with a disorganized attachment style or Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) often struggle with these concepts, but in this post, I’ll focus on a different manifestation of these patterns. Instead of seeking constant verbal reassurance or relying on continual acts of love to confirm that someone cares for you, I’m exploring how this dynamic unfolds internally. It's about the emotional barrier between you and your mind—where you can only care about or desire something or someone if that feeling is constant and always present. This habit can influence your emotional responses toward yourself and others; it may even bleed into your way of thinking and how you process emotions, on some days you might even experience moments of despair or hopelessness, but once the intensity of those feelings fades, so does their significance. In those intense moments, nothing else feels real, and no words or actions can alleviate them. But once the feeling subsides, the desire to understand it further also dissipates. This can cause a sense of disconnection from your own emotional experiences, leading you to question their validity or reality. When the emotional intensity drops, there's a difficulty in maintaining a "mental representation" of that feeling. This leaves you with a sense of emptiness or confusion, as if the emotion evaporated or never mattered to begin with. If your emotions can feel so real one moment and vanish the next, it's hard to believe in their authenticity, which feeds into a fear of abandonment. If you can't trust your own feelings, it's natural to worry if what you are feeling is real or true. This uncertainty makes it challenging to desire or pursue romantic connections, even though there's a part of you that longs for them.
When you struggle with this, it's not just about needing reassurance from others-it's about needing reassurance from yourself that your feelings are valid, even when they change.
In essence, it's the inability to feel something unless it completely consumes you. Subconsciously, you don’t allow yourself to want, care, or love another unless the emotion fills every part of your being. You start to question, doubt, and dismiss any thought or feeling once it fades. You may find yourself questioning your authentic feelings toward someone because "you can’t feel it anymore." The overwhelming emotion is no longer occupying your mind or causing that deep sense of longing, leading you to wonder if it ever truly existed.
It's when you meet someone new and don’t feel an instant spark or longing, you may dismiss them altogether. You tell yourself, "He can't be important—there's no immediate desire, so I can never truly want him. If he leaves now, no part of me will care." Instead of letting them in, you list every reason why they won’t fulfill your unspoken needs, and the cycle continues.
Then, when you do find yourself drawn to someone—when they check every irrational box on your list—the feeling suddenly vanishes one day. You ask yourself, "Do I even want him anymore? Why don’t I care as much as I did before? And why does it feel like I’m no longer attracted to him?" Any sense of permanence or consistency with them withers away, leaving you stuck in a state of stagnation and detachment. You think, "These feelings aren’t consuming me anymore, which must mean he was never important. If he were, my emotions would remain constant, and I wouldn’t be questioning my desire for him."
It’s the same when you listen to a song that stirs something deep within you—a hopeless emotion that lingers in the back of your mind. In those moments, all you feel is intensity lurking in the shadows. But once the song ends, so do the emotions it brought.
It’s like sitting on your bed, the weight of the world pressing down on your shoulders. In that moment, you feel nothing but despair, as if there’s no purpose, no meaning, no desire to continue. The heaviness is real, present. But when it eventually passes, as all feelings do, you can’t grasp it again.
You dismiss those feelings, telling yourself, "I feel okay now." The weight is gone, so you question whether you ever truly felt it at all. If an emotion can fade, you convince yourself it was never significant to begin with.
And so, the cycle continues.
You tell yourself that feelings must be constant in order to be real. "I have to always feel this way," you insist, "and if I don’t, then the feelings were never meaningful."
These habits quietly build walls around you, creating emotional barriers that prevent you from desiring someone—or something—deeply again. But allowing emotions to consume you isn’t realistic or healthy. Instead, your mind constructs defenses that hinder your ability to genuinely care, often rooted in past wounds and a lack of self-trust. You find reasons why a person isn’t right for you or downplay your emotions once they start to fade. Yet, this only distances you further from what you truly crave: connection.
At some point, your trust was broken. The love you gave went unrecognized. The safety and care you longed for never arrived. To protect yourself from pain, you’ve learned to see emotions in black and white. If a feeling isn’t always present, you assume it was never real.
Now, without realizing it, you move through life with a mindset designed to keep you "safe." But this self-protection creates a deep internal distance. You long for partnership and security in another’s presence, yet something always seems to stall the connection from forming. You search for a soul who can bring you the ease you’ve never known, yet even when you find someone who offers it, something within you resists. If you don’t recognize these subconscious patterns—the ways you undermine yourself—how can you ever break free?
As humans, we long for love and connection. We seek bonds that provide security, warmth, and belonging. Though certain emotions may seem fleeting, they never truly disappear. Instead, your mind tells you, "It’s time to let this go." But in reality, the feeling doesn’t vanish—it simply fades from conscious awareness. The question remains: how can emotions that once consumed you seem to dissolve so completely? Whether in longing for love or battling internal turmoil, if the feeling came once, it will come again.
This is especially true for those who struggle to find a partner. You seek connections that won’t leave you questioning. You search for eyes that whisper, "You won’t lose feelings for me." This is a self-protection tactic—your body’s way of shielding you from the fear of caring for someone who might ultimately leave. You worry that the person you choose won’t choose you in return. So, you set impossible expectations for yourself, thinking, "If they can meet these standards, then I’ll feel safe choosing them. If they can withstand my emotional shifts, they must be significant."
Accept your desire for connection. Acknowledge that part of you longs to be held. It’s okay to care for someone, even if your feelings fluctuate in the beginning.
Connections are meant to be built—they take time. You can’t expect to instantly know someone, especially if their presence alone is your only reassurance of safety. Trust their actions. Trust your gut. You may crave a love so deep that no one else can recognize it, but the expectation of constant yearning only distances you from those already choosing you. If you question your feelings for someone, acknowledge the emotions, but also examine their roots.
Where is the hesitation coming from? Is it fear? Is it past abandonment? Is it because the person you once chose ended up choosing another? Is it because your mother never loved you the way you needed? Is it because your father withdrew when you needed him most? Is it because your emotional needs were never acknowledged? If so, recognize that those past wounds triggered a defense—a switch inside you that tells you to run before it’s too late.
Healing is not linear, and it won’t happen overnight. The first step is awareness—recognizing that part of you is still operating from fear.
You are not alone, and you are not broken. You can change. Your soul is asking to be seen. Grant yourself the grace and validation you seek; that is where healing begins.
Somebody Else
pairing: Austin Butler x Female Reader
requested: no; inspired by the song somebody else by the 1975
warnings: angst, exes, jealousy, emotional confrontation, bittersweet, unresolved ending
summary: Months after Austin panicked and ended your relationship when things started to get serious, you unexpectedly run into him at a party but, you both are with someone else.
The party is too loud.
Music thumps through the walls, people laughing too brightly, conversations blending together until it all feels like background noise pressing against your temples.
You didn’t want to come tonight.
But your friend insisted.
You need to get out, she said. You’ve been hiding for months.
So here you are: dressed up, holding a drink you’ve barely touched, and standing beside a guy named Ethan who’s telling you about a hiking trip he took last month.
He’s nice, easy to talk to, normal.
You nod along as he talks, offering polite smiles, trying to focus on the conversation instead of the way the room feels slightly too warm.
Then you feel it.
That strange awareness crawling up your spine.
Like someone’s looking at you.
You turn your head and the world stops.
Austin, just across the room.
He’s standing near the bar, taller than most people around him, dressed in dark slacks and a black jacket that fits him almost unfairly well.
His hair is a little longer now.
Your chest tightens instantly.
Because his arm is draped casually around someone.
A girl.
Blonde. Elegant. Beautiful.
Your stomach drops.
For a moment, the entire room fades away.
Then his eyes lift, landing on yours.
The recognition is instant.
Surprise flashes across his face, then something softer.
Something dangerously familiar, but it disappears quickly behind the careful, neutral expression he’s learned to wear in public.
The girl beside him says something.
He nods absently, but his gaze flickers back to you again.
You look away first.
“Hey,” Ethan says beside you, noticing the shift in your expression. “You okay?”
You force a small smile.
“Yeah,” you say quickly. “Just thought I saw someone I knew.”
But the rest of the night becomes unbearable.
Because now you’re aware of Austin everywhere.
Every time you laugh at something Ethan says, you feel Austin’s eyes drifting toward you.
Every time Ethan rests his hand lightly against your back, you catch Austin watching.
And the worst part?
He’s doing the same thing; leaning closer to the girl he brought, laughing at something she whispers in his ear, his hand resting against the small of her back.
Your chest tightens painfully.
You look away.
An hour later, you can’t do it anymore.
The room feels too small, too loud, too full of memories.
“I’m gonna step outside for a second,” you tell Ethan.
He nods easily.
“Want me to come with you?”
“No,” you say quickly. “I’ll just be a second.”
You slip through the crowd before he can say anything else.
The hallway leading outside is quiet.
Cool air hits your face when you push open the patio door, and you inhale deeply, trying to steady the tightness in your chest.
You lean against the railing, staring out at the city lights.
Your heartbeat slowly begins to settle.
For a moment, you almost convince yourself you’re fine.
Until the door opens behind you.
You know who it is before he even speaks.
“Hey.”
Austin’s voice is quieter than you remember.
You turn slowly.
He looks exactly the same.
And completely different.
His hands are shoved into his pockets like he doesn’t know what to do with them.
There’s something cautious in his expression.
“Hi,” you say.
The word feels strange after months of silence.
An awkward pause stretches between you.
“You look…” he starts.
He hesitates.
Then finishes softly.
“Good.”
You nod once.
“Thanks.”
Another silence settles in.
Then his gaze drifts back toward the door behind you.
“Looks like you’re doing really well.”
The comment sounds casual, too casual.
You follow his glance, realizing he’s talking about Ethan.
Something sharp twists in your chest.
“Oh,” you say quietly.
Your eyes snap back to him.
“Don’t do that.”
Austin blinks slightly, “Do what?”
You fold your arms across your chest.
“Oh, don’t do that,” you repeat, your voice sharper now. “Don’t stand there and act like you’re making some observation.”
His jaw tightens slightly.
“I wasn’t...”
“Do you think it’s easy for me to see you with someone else?” you interrupt.
Your voice cracks despite your effort to keep it steady.
That stops him immediately.
Your hands tremble slightly as you continue.
“You broke up with me,” you say quietly. “You don’t get to stand here and look at me like I’m the one who moved on too fast.”
“I’m not judging you,” he says quickly.
You laugh softly, “Really?”
Your eyes flick toward the door.
“The girl you brought looks nice.”
Austin exhales sharply.
“You think this is easy for me either?”
Your gaze snaps back to him.
The music inside shifts.
Through the wall, faint and distant, the opening synth of “Somebody Else” drifts out into the night.
Neither of you acknowledges it, but the timing is cruel.
Austin runs a hand through his hair, pacing a few steps away before turning back.
“I didn’t expect to see you tonight,” he admits.
“Yeah,” you say. “Well. Life’s funny like that.”
His eyes drift back toward the door again.
Toward Ethan.
Then back to you.
“You seem happy.”
You shake your head slowly.
“You don’t get to say that.”
“I’m not, Y/N.”
“You are,” you say quietly.
Frustration bleeds into your voice.
“You don’t get to walk away from someone and then show up months later wondering how they’re doing.”
Austin looks away briefly.
“I never stopped wondering.”
The confession lands heavily between you.
Your chest tightens.
“You panicked,” you say softly.
His eyes flick back to yours.
“You broke up with me because things were getting serious.”
Austin exhales slowly.
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?”
Your voice rises slightly now.
“You remember that conversation, right? When I mentioned maybe looking at apartments together?”
His shoulders tense.
“And suddenly everything changed,” you continue. “You got quiet. You started pulling away.”
“You were talking about our future like it was already decided,” he says.
“That’s what happens when you love someone.”
The words hang in the air.
Austin rubs the back of his neck, frustration creeping into his voice.
“You were talking about moving in together. About five-year plans. About building a life.”
“And that scared you,” you say.
His silence answers for him.
Your voice softens.
“I would’ve chosen you anyway.”
Austin looks up.
“What?”
“I would’ve chosen you,” you repeat quietly. “Even if things got complicated. Even if it was hard.”
Your eyes sting slightly, tears threatening to fall.
“But you didn’t even give me that choice.”
The honesty hits him harder than anger would have.
“You think I didn’t love you?” he asks quietly.
“I think you got scared,” you say.
The music from inside grows slightly louder.
I don’t want your body…
Austin laughs softly, but there’s no humor in it.
“Seeing you with him tonight…” he says quietly.
He shakes his head.
“It sucks.”
Your chest tightens painfully.
“Yeah,” you whisper.
“And seeing you with her doesn’t exactly feel great either.”
Austin’s gaze drops to the ground.
For a moment, neither of you speaks.
The distance between you suddenly feels enormous.
Finally you step back.
“I should go.”
Austin nods slowly.
“Yeah.”
You walk toward the door, your heart pounding again.
Your hand reaches for the handle.
Then his voice stops you.
“I didn’t stop loving you.”
You freeze.
Your back still turned.
“But you left anyway,” you say quietly.
Austin doesn’t answer.
You glance over your shoulder.
For a second, the look on his face nearly breaks you.
Because the feelings are still there, clear as ever.
But neither of you move.
Neither of you reaches for the other.
Finally you push the door open.
The music spills out around you.
You meet his eyes one last time.
There’s something unfinished there.
Something that still hurts too much to touch.
But neither of you says anything else.
The door closes between you.
There’s things I wish I could tell you but can’t. Please have patience with me.
He was only pushing me away out of fear.
Jessica Gross, from Open Wide
doodle-comic about romance
Hi. I'm not sure what type I am (probably Ti-Se or Se-Ti). With that in mind, I would like to ask you for tips, since I think I'm incapable of being faithful to my partner. It's pretty easy for me to be interest in someone, and pretty difficult to maintain that in the long term. How can I be more responsible and serious? I like to play with people who seem difficult to get, I like the chase and I can't help that. So, any advice is welcome. I can provide more info if needed.
You are describing commitment issues, a.k.a. fear of commitment?
I want to examine how you describe the problem. You say you "like the chase". On the surface, this sounds very simple to understand. However, the problem is that, if you truly just liked the chase, then it wouldn't matter whether relationships went anywhere, right? You could jump from relationship to relationship as per your preference with zero guilt or shame. You could say, "This is me" and live life however you like.
Yet, that's not the case, is it? A voice is telling you that there is something not right with this, otherwise, you wouldn't bother to ask me about how to change it. After all, why change something that is an innocent personal preference for casual fun?
i have never been loved by a good man
but i believe i could get used to it.