Here’s The Angry Hourglass’s most recent photo prompt.
Freud destroyed me, and turned me into someone I am not. Made me repulsive and worthy of contempt. And since Freud, others like him have chopped me up, tried to dissect me and gave me names like “Aggressive” and “Corporate,” “Malignant,” “Destructive,” and even “Sexual.” They don’t understand. They go to school to become authorities, telling us what is normal and abnormal. They think their intellectual acumen justifies their putting me into little boxes. But they don’t understand, they don’t know me. They’ve judged me and taken my name and turned me into an “ism.”
Maybe if they’d actually read my biography they wouldn’t be so quick to judge and so quick to project their own faults onto me. If Freud had done his job and actually listened while he had me on the couch maybe I wouldn’t be the poster-boy for vanity and self-fixation.
They take their own idea of image and thus call me superficial. They don’t understand that image holds the essence and that is all I wanted to get to, to get down to the depths of who I am. They put their own crap on me and gave people my name as if my name could define them.
If they’d read my biography they would know why I did what I did. Yes, I understand I spurned the young woman, and perhaps I acted hastily. I knew she was in love with me, but how could I possibly love another when I couldn’t love myself? If I knew then what I know now I could have explained myself. I could have told her that as a hunter I really sought myself.
Such was the task set before me in the beginning, the part of my life everyone seems to forget: That from the beginning, my path was for me to know myself and the only way I could come to know myself was by looking at myself. I look at myself not to fall in love with myself, but to know myself, so that in knowing myself I can come to love myself and in loving myself, truly love others.