Who knows what was in the tiny, nearly imperceptible heart of Projection-Zilla the day she left Fucktardia. Surely it was some primal, ancient urge that caused her to actually feel some of the pain she’d caused her scapegoat. This pain was unacceptable to her as she stood primping in the mirror, and later arrived late, well into the event for which she was preparing. Surely she’d had a few swigs of vodka or some other form of liquid courage, making her positively drunk with fury at her scapegoat and even more entrenched in her delusions.
Projection-Zilla took all the ugliness in her tiny heart and placed it forcefully on to her scapegoat. Screaming, “MUST KILL THE TRUTH,” she careened and bobbed towards her prey. She followed her scapegoat, hoping to draw blood, for, after all, she was basically a hungry beast in search of a tasty meal…the taste of her own superiority, the lip-smacking allure of denial of reality, the smooth ingestion of perfect righteousness and ever-innocence. A scapegoat…the sight of her chosen scapegoat made her hungry for shamelessness, positively growling for the taste of another’s blood to snuff out her well-earned shame. SHE must never own her shame, so she spews poison on someone else.
Lie after lie after lie she spewed. Accusation, abuse, distortion she spewed. Projection of her own smallness, she spewed. Her head grew into that of a monster, her heart shrunk, she became animal, snake, minor monster, worthless among human beings. You could practically see her goat murdered in her living room, sacrificed for her own glory.
“ARRRRGGGHHHHH!!!! I AM PERFECT!!! YOU ARE TO BLAME EVEN FOR MY MISTAKES AND FURTHERMORE YOU ARE A BAD MOTHER!!!!!”
She became a spectacular display of textbook Cluster B Personality disorder antics, Projection Chapter. That was the real beauty, the real perfection, and she doesn’t even know. ‘Zillas are clueless and unthinking.
As for her scapegoat? She was not scared, but saddened. The projection was so real, so big, and so nasty it hurt. It was positively abusive. But she allowed none of her blood to be spilled and she stood up for herself. Afterward, the scapegoat called her mother who dispensed helpful advice and validation. No fucktard gets to me, ultimately. But it was triggering. One of my personal landmines is that of people who behave in an illogical way-those who deny facts, who are not self-aware, and who choose to abuse. Blamers and their weird distortions of reality scare me.
When Fucktards come after us, they are like fish out of water. Fucktardia, as you recall, is a magical place for fucktards. There, they are surrounded by NO reminders of who they really are, their echo chamber is firm and unyielding, and they can just sit around and look at all their pretty stuff while reminding themselves how great they are and how evil their scapegoat is, basically giving Truth a painful titty twist. When they come after you and are unrelenting in their abuse, it is difficult to escape them or the triggers. It is hard to manage triggers in the midst of “war”. But it gets easier. This scapegoat ultimately walked away (after being followed twice). Projection-Zilla is a sick, very sick state of being for a human. This sickness, like a cancer of the mind, robs you of your basic dignity, empathy, and humanity. Instead, you are a Zilla-shell of a lie, a tortured tormentor, a caricature of what you could be were you basically kind and loving.
Better go fill out a trigger sheet and have a good cry. Thanks, Projection-Zilla. With your lightning rods of lies and blame, with your laser cutting abusive words, with your sharp, evil tongue- you just made me a better person.