The existential kink

“Yo, Jenny?”

“Mhm.”

“Why do you love to torture yourself?”

“The fuck are you on, Carl?”

“Think about it, your ex was a piece of shit but deep down you got off on it一”

“You want me to slap you or what? Watch your mouth.”

“I’m not saying what he did was right,”

“Good to see you’re not demented,”

“I’m just trying to find a new angle for the situation so you’re not stuck as the victim.”

“... and how’s that gonna help?”

“You take back the narrative from that asshole. You call power back to yourself.”

“And what do I do with that narrative, lie to myself?”

“No, no, definitely not that,”

“Then what? He ruined me, Carl.”

“... listen… is he in the room with us?”

“No.”

“Are you still his girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Is he touching you now?”

“No.”

“Is he gonna sleep in your bed?”

“Fuck no.”

“Is he gonna put his crusty-ass socks on your chair?”

“NO!”

“See, he’s not here. It’s almost like he doesn’t even exist. What you told me is simply a story. A story you can edit anytime.”

“You know it’s not that simple, Carl.”

“I know. But please, humour me for a second, Jenny.”

“...Fine.”

“Okay, okay. You know how people edit a horror movie trailer, like, they add goofy sounds and all of a sudden the whole thing is silly?”

“Yeah, cause a big part of the tension comes from the sounds,”

“Exactly!”

“So?”

“Something as small as sound changes the whole genre! Then who’s to say that you can’t change the situation as long as you change how you view it?”

“I wish I could, but when I think about him all I feel is rage. How could I’ve allowed him to treat me like I’m worthless like he can do whatever he likes and there’d be no consequences? I can’t believe I ever loved someone so disgusting. It’s shameful, really.”

“Yes. Shame on you. You’ve been so so stupid and yet you’re a phenomenal woman. You’re hella smart, drop-dead gorgeous and you’re great to be around. People eat up your energy.”

“I don’t know where you’re going with this.”

“What if everything that is the opposite of you is still a part of you? In the same way, your shadow isn’t you, but it resembles you.”

“To be honest, sometimes when I’m tired, I become this little ball full of hatred and pessimism. People don’t have to deal with that so I distance myself when it happens.”

“If we were to personify your shadow it would be just that. You see, you’re usually a loving, optimistic person but you’re also a, a, a? Bitch.”

“Damn right.”

“And I love you for that girlie. But hear me out - that’s your shadow. If we look at it from a Jungian perspective, your shadow would be everything you’re not - stupid, ugly, offputting, impulsive, unreliable and hedonistic. Does that sound familiar?”

“Really, that’s how you’re gonna use your psychology degree?”

“Changing the topic won’t work.”

“Fine.”

“Well? Where have you seen all these qualities combined?”

“...in myself, I guess?”

“C’mon, you’re so close. You’re not showing them. But who does?”

“...I don’t know, man.”

“Yes, you do. I’m not in a hurry, I can wait.”

“...”

“Anytime now.”

“Well, it sounds an awful lot like him, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, yeah it does.”

“He wasn’t the brightest, or the most handsome, or the most socially acceptable.”

“Still, for you to date him, there was something you liked, right?”

“I did like how unpredictable he was and I was kinda jealous of how indulgent he was without caring about the consequences. As if he’s invincible or something.”

“Ding, ding! Through him, you found a way to integrate your shadow. You had someone who showed everything you’ve been hiding and on top of that you got to blame him for it, reinforcing your position as the ‘good girl’. All the while, deep down you wanted to be outspoken just like him, to indulge in pleasure and to get away with breaking the rules.”

“Damn. I didn’t come to get a call-out. I thought we were just gonna bake cookies.”

“And yet, you’re getting one since I feel so generous today.”

“You’re so fucking annoying.”

“Maybe, but I’m also right.”

“...Yeah, I can see it. It makes sense why I was attracted to him even though he wasn’t all that.”

“Mhm.”

“But how can this help me change how I feel? I still wanna rip his balls off, blend them and make him drink it until he starts begging and crying.”

“Hahahah, two months ago you’d never have had the guts to say that,”

“I guess. But that’s because now, given the situation, I have every right to be hateful.”

“What if your way of feeling pleasure was a little bit different?”

“What, how?”

“Don’t you feel a little turned on when you’re told you’re wrong? When you’re denied? When you’re punished?”

“Ahaha, are you out of your mind?”

“Maybe. But I’m not letting you off. Try to answer.”

“Hmm, I don’t know if it’s because of how you said it, but I think yes? Even now I’m a bit heated thinking about it.”

“Good, good. Try to answer. Why do you love to torture yourself? What is it about inviting shame and guilt that you love to play out? 

“Damn, you’ve been thinking about this, huh?”

“Maybe.”

“Hmmm, let me think…”

“When was the first time you were ashamed of who you were?”

“I can’t know when was the first time. My parents never punished me properly. I would get a good talking to, sometimes they’d shout at me, but I’ve never been beaten. Although, some of the punishments felt worse than a beating. I don’t know why I’m remembering this now, but when we were on a family vacation to the seaside with another family. Our moms were friends - so I had to hang out with this girl who had a nasty temper and she got away with everything. She was really mean to me to the point where Mom had to step in. That’s why I don’t get it.”

“You don’t get what exactly?”

“One time, I got my t-shirt dirty with chocolate or was it ice cream… it doesn’t matter. What matters is that mom stripped me, with only my panties left on, mind you, I was about 5 and she made me wash the clothes in the sink. THE WHOLE TIME THAT BRAT WAS IN THE ROOM, WATCHING. I felt so ashamed, both of the situation and of my body… damn, where did that come from?”

“You little pervert.”

“Excuse me???”

“That’s probably what you think of yourself, but omitting.”

“Watch it. I was a kid.”

“My pitiful baby. Does that feel better?”

“What’s your problem, why are you being so mean right now?”

“Oh, are you gonna cry now?”

“I’ll shove you in the oven, you bastard!”

“There. That. Tell me, how are you feeling right now?”

“Don’t you psychoanalyse me you sick maniac!”

“Yes, yes, I’m a sick maniac and you’re a saint.”

“Oh, I’ll show you a saint!”

“Here, have a cookie.”

“Huh?”

“Take a deep breath, how are you feeling?”

“Oh. OH. OOOHHHH! Vengeful.”

“Good. What else?”

“You’re a sick bastard, you know that?”

“Yeah, now, tell me, what’s under the anger?”

“Shame.”

“Good. Let’s work with it. How can shame bring you pleasure?”

“How? I don’t know. All it does is make me feel uncomfortable, small and weak.”

“But you’re not those things.”

“Right…”

“You’re a strong person who has done nothing wrong. So what is it about believing you’re not as worthy as you know you are that turns you on so much?”

“I get to do the big reveal,”

“Oh, do you?”

“Yeah. There’s a thrill I get when someone catches me red-handed. Let alone, the grotesque pleasure I feel when someone is watching me while I do something indecent, something shameful. I get to relax, to indulge and to be punished. All the while knowing I’m better than that. I can do all the fun stuff and then wash my hands clean and say it wasn’t like me to do so. Then people believe it.”

“So when you think about your ex now, what’s the story you can create?”

“I went out with him only to remind myself how great I am as a person. To break out of the mould of doing the ‘right’ thing, to feed this barbaric animalistic urge in me. I did it for the novelty, to feel something I hadn’t felt in a while. Something dirty. Now I get to shit-talk him without others judging me. I get to express hatred without people shaming me for it. I get away with being a bitch while everyone is watching. Yeah, that does turn me on. I did charity dating him and now I get to brag while dragging his name in the mud. I get to make him suffer without the courtesy of bearing guilt. I get to publicly torture him, well, verbally at the very least.”

“You can be very scary ma’am.”

“Of course. Human nature is not merciful.”

“Perhaps not, but it sure is intriguing.”