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Some of you remember that I was in a tenuous relationship with a verified type-8 INFJ, and my status is now single, and I have not yet written any words about it.
I'd like to write about that subject.
From its inception, our relationship was to be temporary. That was what she told me the first time we kissed.
I was confident that I'd prepared my formidable emotional walls and so was she. We were both type-8's and we were both certain that neither would betray weakness to the other. We'd both stay strong, as rational adults should.
When she cried in my arms, I held her with all the support and respect that I had and she knew that she could trust me, though she expressed shock, time and again, that she could trust anyone.
Later that night, she told me that she was feeling for me more than she'd have dreamed possible, the barriers went down and my fantasies began to take hold. She told me she was afraid to commit, but I knew she could face her fear.
Or, I hoped.
Her energy and brightness waned. Her emotions pulled back to commitment phobia and numbness, a frustrating detachment. I saw it happening and I didn't fight it. I knew better than to try. If I did, I would be "clingy" and she'd have reason more to pull away. So I pretended, and watched in silent dismay the distance grew.
When the inevitable phone call came, she told me that she felt like I "deserved better". When I referenced the commitment phobia that she admitted to me while in my arms, she immediately went on the defensive. "It's not fear. It's damage".
To an outsider, this might seem to be symantics, but between type-8 INFJs, the meaning was clear. She was denying her agency of the fear. By making it damage, breaking up with me was the rational decision, the right decision.
So we parted. I bade her farewell. Inevitably, all the joy we shared pulled her back, with her missing me. The emotions tied between us still burned bright. I hoped that perhaps we'd struck enough of a bond that she'd return for good.
As Thucydides wrote, Hope, that comforter in danger. One can indulge in it only if he has solid advantage to fall back upon. That night, I did not.
We met to "talk", but I knew what the endresult would be. We'd not seen each other for a while. I'd thought,that perhaps the shock of seeing me again would dispel her notions of independence, and for about an hour of passion, I was right. For that hour, I'd never felt anything more urgent, intimate, and emotional.
But when the glow faded, we spoke.
Our conversation was brutal in its frankness. It was as if day had turned to night. I watched, in masked horror and confusion, as she broke my heart, wounding me and shattering those thick emotional walls I had placed so much confidence in.
There were no visible signs of the pain on my face. My willpower was good for that, at least. I fought to keep my eyes from both tearing up and I fought to keep my gaze on her. My eyes waned to look away, 180 degrees away.
I held my gaze on her and I said the words that I had prepared hours before, in case of the worst possible scenario. My voice was flat with the effort of suppressing my emotions, but it was clear enough.
"Claire, I want to tell you that you are, objectively, beautiful, intelligent, and strong, and that I admire you as best as anyone can."
My eyes demanded to look away in dejection. They wavered for a moment, but I forced them back to her.
"When my friend told you that I was unusually happy, he wasn't wrong. I have been. . . uncharacteristically happy. You made me uncharacteristically happy. So. . . thank you."
The last words came out as a whisper. She chuckled nervously. I wasn't sure that she understood what I so desperately wished to convey. I wanted her to know the vulnerable state my love had driven me towards, but I couldn't say it out loud.
My psyche knew only how to be strong and how to hide my weakness and it continued to that purpose.
We kissed one last time. We held each other and I said it again "Thank you". I heard her nervous chuckle begin again.
"Don't laugh," I pleaded softly, and she went silent, and the hug was all that was left.
I never mentioned the word "love". I know she was thankful, but I conveyed it all the same. When I started the car, the facade collapsed as the willpower finally gave way. I struggled to drive, but continued on.
I wanted to give no indication that I'd been hurt, none in the least. So now I'm doing all the things that I know will destroy my feelings and push my vision to the future. . .
though another part of me
a gentler part of me. . .
Hopes that I might linger on my love and shed some tears in its memory, in it's honor, and not reduce something so beautiful to meaninglessness.
If it wasn't beautiful, what was all this pain for anyhow?
But I ignore. I move on with all the best ways to obfuscate my heart, cheat it of its just suffering.
I set my sights on someone new. And so does she. That's the best path for an INFJ type-8. Destroy all that is weak, and hold up a veil around that weakness which remains. Overcome at any cost.
I'd like to write about that subject.
From its inception, our relationship was to be temporary. That was what she told me the first time we kissed.
I was confident that I'd prepared my formidable emotional walls and so was she. We were both type-8's and we were both certain that neither would betray weakness to the other. We'd both stay strong, as rational adults should.
When she cried in my arms, I held her with all the support and respect that I had and she knew that she could trust me, though she expressed shock, time and again, that she could trust anyone.
Later that night, she told me that she was feeling for me more than she'd have dreamed possible, the barriers went down and my fantasies began to take hold. She told me she was afraid to commit, but I knew she could face her fear.
Or, I hoped.
Her energy and brightness waned. Her emotions pulled back to commitment phobia and numbness, a frustrating detachment. I saw it happening and I didn't fight it. I knew better than to try. If I did, I would be "clingy" and she'd have reason more to pull away. So I pretended, and watched in silent dismay the distance grew.
When the inevitable phone call came, she told me that she felt like I "deserved better". When I referenced the commitment phobia that she admitted to me while in my arms, she immediately went on the defensive. "It's not fear. It's damage".
To an outsider, this might seem to be symantics, but between type-8 INFJs, the meaning was clear. She was denying her agency of the fear. By making it damage, breaking up with me was the rational decision, the right decision.
So we parted. I bade her farewell. Inevitably, all the joy we shared pulled her back, with her missing me. The emotions tied between us still burned bright. I hoped that perhaps we'd struck enough of a bond that she'd return for good.
As Thucydides wrote, Hope, that comforter in danger. One can indulge in it only if he has solid advantage to fall back upon. That night, I did not.
We met to "talk", but I knew what the endresult would be. We'd not seen each other for a while. I'd thought,that perhaps the shock of seeing me again would dispel her notions of independence, and for about an hour of passion, I was right. For that hour, I'd never felt anything more urgent, intimate, and emotional.
But when the glow faded, we spoke.
Our conversation was brutal in its frankness. It was as if day had turned to night. I watched, in masked horror and confusion, as she broke my heart, wounding me and shattering those thick emotional walls I had placed so much confidence in.
There were no visible signs of the pain on my face. My willpower was good for that, at least. I fought to keep my eyes from both tearing up and I fought to keep my gaze on her. My eyes waned to look away, 180 degrees away.
I held my gaze on her and I said the words that I had prepared hours before, in case of the worst possible scenario. My voice was flat with the effort of suppressing my emotions, but it was clear enough.
"Claire, I want to tell you that you are, objectively, beautiful, intelligent, and strong, and that I admire you as best as anyone can."
My eyes demanded to look away in dejection. They wavered for a moment, but I forced them back to her.
"When my friend told you that I was unusually happy, he wasn't wrong. I have been. . . uncharacteristically happy. You made me uncharacteristically happy. So. . . thank you."
The last words came out as a whisper. She chuckled nervously. I wasn't sure that she understood what I so desperately wished to convey. I wanted her to know the vulnerable state my love had driven me towards, but I couldn't say it out loud.
My psyche knew only how to be strong and how to hide my weakness and it continued to that purpose.
We kissed one last time. We held each other and I said it again "Thank you". I heard her nervous chuckle begin again.
"Don't laugh," I pleaded softly, and she went silent, and the hug was all that was left.
I never mentioned the word "love". I know she was thankful, but I conveyed it all the same. When I started the car, the facade collapsed as the willpower finally gave way. I struggled to drive, but continued on.
I wanted to give no indication that I'd been hurt, none in the least. So now I'm doing all the things that I know will destroy my feelings and push my vision to the future. . .
though another part of me
a gentler part of me. . .
Hopes that I might linger on my love and shed some tears in its memory, in it's honor, and not reduce something so beautiful to meaninglessness.
If it wasn't beautiful, what was all this pain for anyhow?
But I ignore. I move on with all the best ways to obfuscate my heart, cheat it of its just suffering.
I set my sights on someone new. And so does she. That's the best path for an INFJ type-8. Destroy all that is weak, and hold up a veil around that weakness which remains. Overcome at any cost.
