Depression
The Art of Deflection
The mechanical bull and the bulldog.
Posted October 12, 2020 Reviewed by Lybi Ma
Several years ago, I went to the Saddle Ranch on Sunset Boulevard and decided it would be a great idea to ride the mechanical bull.
Once I mounted the bull and it got going, I refused to be tossed off. I hung on for dear life until I slide down the side, and landed on the metal plate that was holding up the bull. I more or less rode the bull like I was at a competitive rodeo and some seasoned cowgirl.
When I walked off the mat I felt something running down my leg, so I went to the bathroom to investigate. I put my leg up on the sink, and pulled up my pant and there was blood. I sliced my knee on the plate, not the air cushion surrounding it.
When I got home and saw an open wound I thought by sleeping with it raised on a pillow, it would be okay the next morning.
When I woke up it was wide open, deep, and the blood had clotted; I decided to go to Cedar Sinai Medical Center for stitches.
When the doctor saw my leg he said, “Why did it take you so long to come here for treatment? I’ve worked in wars in Iraq and have seen worse gashes that need immediate attention.”
Although I didn’t say anything at the time, my response in my mind was how dare you compare your experiences in war with my leg. It’s not my fault I rode the bull and refused to lose, and I didn’t fly off like normal bull riders, and just wanted to “win.”
There is no winning in this game. The bull should have taught me something. My visible gash wasn’t enough. My denial in pretending it would just magically go away overnight is laughable. I can appreciate my own conviction and my attempt to deny my situation, but I had the bull as an excuse to deflect from the fact that I simply wouldn’t be accountable for my actions.
Let me repeat that, I justified my behavior by blaming a mechanical bull, and conveniently used the bull to deflect for the gash on my leg because I hit the plate, and not the air cushion, something was wrong with the placement of the apparatus.
Unfortunately, I had signed a waiver to keep me from retaliating against the bull before I got on it, however, I think the Saddle Ranch is also at fault. That bull is dangerous. I should be compensated cause it’s a wild iron animal. The Saddle Ranch holds responsibility for my gash, not me I thought to myself. Plenty of women ride that bull, I just happened to be a hard-core chick that refused to let a bull bully me, literally, and bump me off. So sue me.
I was more or less internally deflected without any verbal engagement with anyone. Putting the bull aside and looking at people who are artists in deflection, it wasn’t until I started working in psychiatry, and meeting people who deflect that I began to realize the art of deflection.
It can be manipulative, brainwashing, confusing, and cause you to doubt yourself, and question your reality and it is almost impossible to manage or sight unless you are faced with it, and have to practice with it.
I once had a neighbor who was the artist of deflection. One day another neighbor on my floor took my volleyball without my knowledge. He went into my neighbor’s loft to hang out, and when he left he left behind the ball.
My neighbor had an English bulldog. When he went out, and the dog was alone, he destroyed my ball.
Later that day, I went to my neighbor’s house and saw my ball chewed up on the floor, and I pointed out that his bulldog had destroyed it.
That volleyball had sentimental value to me. It was my ball from my days playing in college and had been with me for over a decade. I couldn’t believe his response.
He took no responsibility for the destroyed ball. A non-deflector would have apologized and offered to replace the ball and then replace it accordingly.
Simple. Done. Easy. But no.
It was the other neighbor’s fault for bringing the ball over – not the dog.
It was my fault for allowing the neighbor to bring it over – not the dog.
It wasn’t his dog’s fault, it wasn’t his fault, it was my fault and the neighbor’s fault and there was zero accountability or responsibility for the occurrence.
Now, here is where a deflector is a mastermind. He did have a point.
It’s not his fault that the neighbor was reckless by leaving the ball behind.
It’s not his fault that he barely knew the neighbor; if anyone should replace the ball it’s him.
It’s not his fault that a dog is a dog and is going to act out when their owner isn’t around.
It’s not his fault that the ball held memories and had been with me for over a decade.
You can see how this can get confusing, especially when you are dealing with an artist of deflection.
He practiced the art of deflection to scapegoat his way out of the situation and quite frankly, it is sad. It shows underlying cowardly behavior that must be rooted in something that shaped him growing up.
A deflector isn’t born a deflector, it is a learned behavior. It stems from an outside source that trains a deflector to know how to deflect to get out of dicey situations.
If I knew then what I know now about deflection I would have been ready to fight back. I would have been able to call him out on his tactics, but I had little experience with the art of deflection.
Part of the root of being a deflector is you aren’t capable of seeing yourself as a deflector. That’s the challenge in confronting such behavior, or even learning how to curb it if you end up being one.
Thankfully, I, on the other hand, have learned from my past deflective behavior.
Remember, it wasn’t my fault I decided to ride that bull, it wasn’t my fault I gashed my leg open, it wasn’t my fault I prolonged medical treatment, it was the bull’s fault.
Ah, no.
