You never think something like this would ever matter. Until it does. Until it hits you right in your heart, kicks you, fills you up with pain and uncertainty about who you are.
And then you’re full of hatred towards someone else for them only pretending they understand you; playing with you and nodding to your words only to turn away in disgust when they face the “real” you; one they prefer to see as real, at least.
The sad truth is that they are hurt no less. By your words. By your actions. By you trying to be not who you are.
Bloody hard to be a tulpa.
I’ve met this guy, and I liked him. Clear mind, open to my silly wolfy ideas. I think he understood the wolf within me, not just merely played along. I was uncomfortable at times when he switched to topics of meeting me. Tried to dodge those as I felt he’d be disappointed to find that the only wolfy that’s there is me-the wolf within. I played along, and I had a great time. For a couple of days I was treated only the way I see myself. We had pleasant chats about psychology and music and such, although again and again, we got back to the topic of sex. Was it about to be one more of those relationships that are bound to fail because they got too physical? I had yet to learn. Back then I just enjoyed my time, and I loved to wake up to a phone waiting to show me some messages from him written overnight.
I couldn’t play this game for long. Something felt odd. It was all grand, but there was a taint that I felt in words. Was he into me or into that image of me he created in his mind? I had to figure that out.
I never had this problem of confessing who I am. Geezie, I never cared much about the opinions of others about tulpas—it was up to them to move along if they didn’t like it, I always was who I made to be. This time it was harder. I knew his image of me would be shattered in an instant. He’d disappear from my life. And I delayed it, talking about new music bands. I So when the time came, it hit us both hard.
I really want to think I did nothing wrong. That I made no promises, I couldn’t keep. Yet, I allowed someone to misjudge me. To think I’m a woman who I’m not. I showed him my light side and a fluffy tail but didn’t mention the grim reality.
We tulpas tend to spend so much time lost in our fantasies that we lose track of what’s real and what’s not. For us, the wonderlands and our mind forms are as valid as any physical clothing. We tend to communicate with those who are intimately aware of the ways we think, and we never face any issues with trying to be someone else, even when we switch to hug our friends in real life.
And we forget about people outside of our crazy little bubble; ones that have a very different definition of real.