Heart Container: My Dark Knight

As I reflect back upon my life, it’s abundantly clear to me there are a few skills I simply missed the lesson on. I can’t braid my own hair, I turn into a baby gazelle the second rollerblades are strapped onto my feet, and my version of assembling furniture generally involves a few desperate phone calls. But of all the various skills I lack, the one that’s caused the most turmoil is my complete and utter inability to function independently.

I suck at being alone. Like, truly. I’m terrible.

Since the age of twelve, I haven’t really known what it’s like to exist solely for myself. I’ve never been a remotely selfish person, which is absolutely not a brag so much as it is me admitting a tremendous fault. I defer to the whims of others, frequently ask for reassurance in both what I do and am, and showcase only the parts of myself I believe will make others happy. And I’ve discovered, with time and multiple identity crises, that without a bit of selfishness- without the tiniest smidge of self-preservation, you lose what’s there to preserve. 

I suppose like most women, I was taught from an incredibly young age that the best way to navigate through life is to smile, serve, and speak as prettily as possible. And while I’m not all that great at being selfish, I am phenomenal at taking direction. Furthermore, if you take this ideology and pair it with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), you’ve got quite the mess on your hands.

You see, one of the plethora of fun things that comes hand-in-hand with BPD is the propensity towards adopting a “favorite person.” Yes, that is the clinical term, and no, it’s absolutely not as pure and sweet and merely calling someone “your favorite.” It’s quite a bit darker than that. Borderline Personality Disorder is generally thought to be both a genetic and environmentally generated disorder. Generally, there’s a predisposition towards mood or personality disorders that exists in your family, and when this dormant state is combined with trauma and abandonment issues, you get good ol’ fashioned BPD. 

A “favorite person” is a person you are utterly obsessed with. It is the person you hope can be everything you’re missing. Their words sound better, their touch feels hotter, and you would do anything to continuously receive both. In your mind, this is the one person who can make everything okay- the one person who, unlike so many in your life, will not hurt or abandon you. So, you place them on a pedestal. You devalue your own thoughts, ideas, and traits because god, how could they compare to this perfect person that’s as much your own creation as they are a living, breathing human being. I’ve had many “favorite person”s throughout my life- best friends, teachers, crushes, best friends and teachers that are crushes… 

As you can imagine, things generally don’t end well. Why?

Because perfect people don’t exist.

And that, my friends, is what’s fantastic about Bruce Wayne.

Comic book and action heroes have been called male power fantasies since their inception. They save the world and get the girl against all odds and obstacles, and look incredible doing it. They make trauma look hot, and serve as proof that the things that make you different are the very things that we should celebrate. But I’m not here to tell why I think that, by-and-large, superhero comics are masculine wish fulfilment- honestly, I don’t think many people would argue against it nowadays. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, it’s just a truth. What I think is less talked about is how characters such as our beloved Dark Knight become the ultimate form of romantic wish fulfillment as well. 

The moment I watched Batman (1989) as a young girl, I was enamored. Rest assured, it had very, very little to do with Michael Keaton, and everything to do with what Batman represented. To me, he was the perfect man. After our “meet-cute”, I steadily grew more invested in him. I read the comics, watched the films, and poured hours upon hours into reading (and writing) fan fiction. I compiled various facts, traits, and storylines about the caped crusader, and laid them all before me. I then sifted through them, one by one, and selected only the best ones to fill my metaphorical scrapbook- like a lovelorn teenager, home alone on a Friday night.

There are so many variations of Batman/Bruce Wayne, so perhaps you might not agree with all of my assessments, but the most important characteristic my Bruce Wayne possessed is he just fucking got it. He understood what it was like to go through the worst of the worst and still have this compulsion to do good, even if his brand of “good” was incredibly misguided. While in real life, actions matter a great deal more than intentions, I was willing to toss my rationality right outta Wayne Tower to defend Gotham’s prince the way I believed he’d defend me. Because of Bruce’s traumatic past, I could write off every single negative quality he possessed as a symptom of troubled youth- my heart poured over with empathy. But ultimately, despite needing a lot of problems solved himself, I felt certain that the world’s greatest detective could take a crack at mine. That if anyone could understand, he would, and someone like him could make me feel good again. 

Furthermore, Batman perfectly fit the hole my BPD created. He was devoted- to his training, to his cause, and to his city. When someone needed him, he was there. Despite being “powerless”, his very will was a force so great he became something seemingly more than human. And, most importantly, beneath the calculations, detachment, the cowl, and just past the contingency plans and cool demeanor, I was convinced there lived a man who, when push came to shove, acted out of passion. Surely you couldn’t go out and do that every goddamn night and not be a bit passionate, despite any claims of absolute rationality. A lot of Gothamites might argue his efforts are futile, that Gotham is a lost cause, but Batman? Batman refused to let go. And when you see yourself as a lost cause, someone who won’t let go is all you really want at the end of the day- someone who won’t tire of you, or leave when things get hard.

And of course, there are all the sprinkles on top. I’m quite certain I’m not the only one drawn to someone tall, dark, and handsome with a sleep deprived smolder and the pockets deeper than their seeded issues. And because it’s all fiction, I can conveniently ignore the truth that a person like Bruce Wayne could never accumulate such wealth in an ethical way. I can ignore the fact that the greatest thing he could, and should do, is distribute his wealth rather than run a police state. Sure, it’s not great to do, but I can. Because trauma.

I never learned how to be independent. I lived for others and in exchange, sought their care and comfort. Batman became my ultimate fantasy because I could put him up on that pedestal and my knight in dark armor would absolutely never falter. In and out of the batsuit, he could take care of me. He’d be there. And he’d make the bruises left by anyone who ever hurt me go away, and prevent new ones from forming. But he’s not real.

Real people are messy. The ones you love make mistakes. And you have to learn how to accept them as human and make yourself okay rather than relying on others to do it for you. I recognize how entirely unfeminist this piece must seem, huh? A thousand plus words on wanting a hero rather than being one. It’s wild. Despite my belief in individuality and independence, I guess I never saw much wrong with the life I led until about a year ago. I didn’t realize I had become so passive- so codependent. I think I tried so hard to present myself differently, I fooled myself. But one day I woke up and realized I didn’t quite care for this world I let build around me- a world where I couldn’t find where my hands had touched it.

Before wrapping this up, I want to express there is absolutely nothing wrong with fantasies and admiring others, whether they be real or exist only on a page. What is wrong is to build a reliance upon them- to let your life happen to you whilst longing for a savior instead of realizing your own will can be just as powerful a force as anyone else’s. There are a lot of things we can take away about ourselves from our fantasies- our fears, our desires, our needs… There are also a lot of things we can take away from Batman, and perhaps even more we shouldn’t. But where I want to end this, and perhaps what I think is most important is this: life is hard. People are people. We will be let down, by ourselves and others. And when that happens, what do we do? We learn to pick ourselves back up again.