So my previous therapist - REBT but wonderful - gave me the strength to go for what I think I needed. I asked a colleague I like if he'd do Schema Therapy with me and he said yes. I feel safe with him and trust him implicitly and Schema has jut seemed like a good fit from the start.
While I was still seeing her and felt supported I had a terrifying nightmare in which a terrorist was breaking into my office and he was going to shoot us all, me in particular. Towards the end it was my father breaking into my childhood bedroom and a voice over said "This means he sexually abused you".
Around this time I saw a home video HE GAVE ME (probably didn't check what he had there) in which he ZOOMED IN ON MY ASS while I was walking for several minutes. I was perhaps 9? 10? 12?
I've always remembered he mentioned my nice, well-rounded bottom, spanked red by my mother when I was 2, 3 (the whole scene seemed to give him pleasure; I know in my bones I was seriously whipped by him, what my mother did was small potatoes, but this is less relevant here).
I remember being 5 or 6 and scared to wipe my own butt because he insisted on doing that. It took great courage and initiative and going potty in the darkness so he doesn't know to claim my right to do this on my own now.
I remember being as old as 7, 8, 9 and having to bend over naked on the couch so he'd put diaper rash cream on my butt?! My mother was there in the room, I assumed it was just strange and eccentric.
My friends teased me because he bathed me until I was 12 - I don't even know if it was true.
I can't be touched at night, it wakes me up in a panic-attack-like state immediately. I'm also terrified of anyone opening the door and walking in when I'm sleeping or trying to fall asleep.
I don't KNOW anything, but my father is a sexual maniac who owns all the women in his life and narcissists will do anything to anyone, it's not like they have scruples. I'm disgusted by him and can't be touched by him and I KNOW there's a dark secret no one can know or else I'll die.
When this colleague I trusted to be an effective ally against my NF said he'd have some time in September, I had another nightmare. After trying to get to my childhood bedroom - which was dangerous and difficult - I was finally there, but my father was breaking in through the window and the voice over again said "You KNOW this means he sexually abused you".
I haven't slept well since and it's been weeks.
I let myself entertain the possibility of this and it let me cry for days - my thought is "Maybe this is where the love was hiding all along - I was supposed to have loved him at some distant point in the past, and surely just being hit or demeaned is not what did it in, there's also a sleazy abject element to it".
Also, why I'm so uncomfortable with flirting and being sexy and noticing that someone is attracted to me.
Maybe also why I was masturbating compulsively at age 3 or 4 already, including in public. To relieve anxiety, among other things. Not just exploring my body like kids do, maniacally having to orgasm.
So I guess my subconscious let me have a tidbit of this because this new trusted person who could be on my side appeared?
I've been TERRIFIED since, unable to sleep. Like if I allow myself to remember this (I don't, I'm not claiming this happened at all) then I know something I'm not supposed to, something that will get me killed.
Showing posts with label feeling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label feeling. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 2, 2019
Friday, December 28, 2018
Shame
I started therapy again.
I find most of my emotions fit neatly into these categories: anxiety, depression, tenderness/gratitude/relief/love (blending into one).
My therapist suggested writing down situations and my emotional reactions to them, both in the present and in my childhood - and what I think my emotions could have or should have been, had I been free to express them and even feel them.
And immediately I said I think I started reacting in an appropriate way really early - which means "these people are my capos, it would be silly to feel emotionally hurt by what they say or do, I can only feel fear, anger, anxiety, depression, like I would in a concentration camp, not hurt feelings, like I would if someone I cared about said or did something hurtful".
So I tried with the situation I remember was a sort of trigger that got me to consciously detach from both my parents at age 8 - I have written about it but I'll go into more details now. Because what I realize is that the emotions keeping me from accessing all this stuff are not pain or anger predominantly, they're shame and guilt.
We were at a mountain cabin/hotel for winter holidays. My parents took the daughter of my father's coworker along. We went out to play in the snow one afternoon, all except my mother.
I don't remember exactly how it happened, but us two girls started playfully attacking my father and he started throwing us onto the ground. At one point, this got really violent and he really slammed us hard. The girl said she didn't want to play any more and we went back.
I felt I had the obligation to speak up - not for myself, of course. "Dad, I'm your daughter and you can do whatever you want to me (?! yes I said this), but not to someone else's kid. I think it's wrong to behave in this way to her".
He said something to the effect of making a violent threat.
Then I said "You are stronger than me now, but when I'm 30 you'll be 70 and I'll be the stronger one then".
Then he started slapping me in the face repeatedly, making denigrating remarks. I didn't cry or react, at this moment I was tough and had an armor on against him.
Afterwards, I told my mother I loved her more then. She rejected this advance. So I had no one. I felt shame for groveling, asking for her support and love.
So an hour or so later, he was shouting at some kids in the hotel to shut up. And I was around and I remember kissing him on the hand to suck up so he'll love me again (?!) and thinking at that moment "I'm kissing the hand that slapped me". And being disgusted at myself.
I feel shame about this. About the groveling. And guilt, about the violent threats I kind of made.
But at this moment I also feel some empathy for the 8yo who had no one to turn to, no one on her side.
I don't know what my actual feeling were at the time towards my parents in general, but I'm not sure any sort of personal hurt would have been entirely appropriate. Just sadness about the loneliness, which I can feel now.
I find most of my emotions fit neatly into these categories: anxiety, depression, tenderness/gratitude/relief/love (blending into one).
My therapist suggested writing down situations and my emotional reactions to them, both in the present and in my childhood - and what I think my emotions could have or should have been, had I been free to express them and even feel them.
And immediately I said I think I started reacting in an appropriate way really early - which means "these people are my capos, it would be silly to feel emotionally hurt by what they say or do, I can only feel fear, anger, anxiety, depression, like I would in a concentration camp, not hurt feelings, like I would if someone I cared about said or did something hurtful".
So I tried with the situation I remember was a sort of trigger that got me to consciously detach from both my parents at age 8 - I have written about it but I'll go into more details now. Because what I realize is that the emotions keeping me from accessing all this stuff are not pain or anger predominantly, they're shame and guilt.
We were at a mountain cabin/hotel for winter holidays. My parents took the daughter of my father's coworker along. We went out to play in the snow one afternoon, all except my mother.
I don't remember exactly how it happened, but us two girls started playfully attacking my father and he started throwing us onto the ground. At one point, this got really violent and he really slammed us hard. The girl said she didn't want to play any more and we went back.
I felt I had the obligation to speak up - not for myself, of course. "Dad, I'm your daughter and you can do whatever you want to me (?! yes I said this), but not to someone else's kid. I think it's wrong to behave in this way to her".
He said something to the effect of making a violent threat.
Then I said "You are stronger than me now, but when I'm 30 you'll be 70 and I'll be the stronger one then".
Then he started slapping me in the face repeatedly, making denigrating remarks. I didn't cry or react, at this moment I was tough and had an armor on against him.
Afterwards, I told my mother I loved her more then. She rejected this advance. So I had no one. I felt shame for groveling, asking for her support and love.
So an hour or so later, he was shouting at some kids in the hotel to shut up. And I was around and I remember kissing him on the hand to suck up so he'll love me again (?!) and thinking at that moment "I'm kissing the hand that slapped me". And being disgusted at myself.
I feel shame about this. About the groveling. And guilt, about the violent threats I kind of made.
But at this moment I also feel some empathy for the 8yo who had no one to turn to, no one on her side.
I don't know what my actual feeling were at the time towards my parents in general, but I'm not sure any sort of personal hurt would have been entirely appropriate. Just sadness about the loneliness, which I can feel now.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
At the core
I have people in my life that accept me and love me now. But I still can't accept and love myself. I don't trust them to actually accept and love the real me. They accept and love the adult me that developed after years of being molded by my parents.
I don't know any other me. I can try my hardest to be the real me, but I can't re-raise myself from scratch.
When I was a child, I wasn't accepted or loved. That was the core me, the one that could have developed differently.
So, I'm bad at the core. There's something fundamentally wrong with me. I hate and loathe this child at the core of me.
Sure, now that I'm a decent, articulate, generally well-behaved adult, people can accept what they see on the surface. But if they saw through to the faulty unlovable core, they'd hate the real me - the whiny, boring, annoying, weak, loud, pathetic, sensitive brat at the core - just as much as I do.
(I know this is irrational rubbish, but I've just realized after therapy that this is how I feel deep down).
I don't know any other me. I can try my hardest to be the real me, but I can't re-raise myself from scratch.
When I was a child, I wasn't accepted or loved. That was the core me, the one that could have developed differently.
So, I'm bad at the core. There's something fundamentally wrong with me. I hate and loathe this child at the core of me.
Sure, now that I'm a decent, articulate, generally well-behaved adult, people can accept what they see on the surface. But if they saw through to the faulty unlovable core, they'd hate the real me - the whiny, boring, annoying, weak, loud, pathetic, sensitive brat at the core - just as much as I do.
(I know this is irrational rubbish, but I've just realized after therapy that this is how I feel deep down).
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Defending myself from love
I've used defense mechanisms against people in my life that could have been close to me.
I don't hide stuff, or lie, or refuse to engage. But it's like I enter every relationship with the idea that I can't be really close, that I can't expect anything from another person, and that I could easily be rejected at any moment.
Still, I've felt hurt and pain over some relationships with people who were not my parents. Boyfriends, friends. But I deny and minimize that too. I wasn't really all that attached. I don't need anyone. He never really loved me, so what's the difference?
Or, if someone is ready to end a friendship with no explanation for what later turns out to have been a stupid, stupid misunderstanding, then, you know, good riddance.
No, I don't mean that. This one hurts. It's fucking sad. And I feel a lot of shame surrounding it because I've been so stupid and lacked social skills and somehow it all led to losing a good friend over a fucking smiley in a fucking text.
So I'm telling the story.
I had a good friend. A female friend who was actually female and feminine and was into talking and sharing and not only drinking beer and discussing politics. Then we both fell in love with the same guy for a while, while we both had boyfriends. We were all friends. It was a crazy situation. They eventually got together. There were secrets involved. They broke up a lot. Somehow, I ended up talking to both of them about their relationship and listening to what the other did. There were inconsistencies and I'd point them out and this sometimes led to them getting back together. I somehow found myself in the middle. Acting as some sort of peace-maker, go-between, intermediary. It was stupid, but I never said "I'm not interested" to either one of them when they wanted to pour their hearts out. They were both good friends and people I felt things for. Basically decent people. I still feel that.
Then, they definitely broke up and it was nasty and the guy didn't want to talk to the girl at that moment and called me and begged me to simply inform her where she could leave his stuff, as she'd asked him that when they last spoke.
I didn't want to do this. He begged me and said "If I call her now, I might lose my temper and say nasty things I don't mean to her. This will be easier on her."
It was a stupid idea to begin with. I had no business doing that. But I didn't know any better at the time and trusted everyone's social skills were better than mine, and he knew what he was doing when he asked me to do this.
I sent a stupid short text to her with just the information. And then it sounded too unfeeling, too curt, too formal.
So I added a smiley.
<:-)
That was it. It was supposed to be short for "I'm sorry and I love you" or something. Things I was unable to actually say, even in writing.
"You don't have to gloat," she responded. I didn't understand why she'd say that. By no means was I gloating. Really. I wrote back "Sorry, I'm just transferring information." See the lack of social skills? I felt something here, but could only function like a machine.
Then she called me and asked if she could bring his stuff to my place, instead of where he wanted it. I said "OK" and hoped that we were now fine. I still didn't quite understand what I'd done wrong.
When she dropped the stuff off, I asked her if she wanted to have coffee with me. She replied "Our coffee-drinking days are over," turned around and walked away. I didn't ask why. I didn't understand. I just said "All right then."
If she hadn't been so vulnerable, insecure, and dramatic, she might have explained; if I hadn't been so eager to defend myself by easily letting people go and writing them off, I would have demanded an explanation. But we were both too messed up to talk about the issue.
I only learned what the issue was from her ex, years later, recently, in fact.
Her phone had translated my "<:-)" into "he he."
Un-fucking-believable.
And I was suddenly hurt. Because I understood and could no longer write her off. I could no longer rationalize that "I don't really need a friend who was willing to end it just because I sent a stupid message that may have been misguided, but certainly not malicious."
I wrote my parents off decades ago on some unconscious level. I don't know what it would take for me to be able to feel hurt by them.
I don't hide stuff, or lie, or refuse to engage. But it's like I enter every relationship with the idea that I can't be really close, that I can't expect anything from another person, and that I could easily be rejected at any moment.
Still, I've felt hurt and pain over some relationships with people who were not my parents. Boyfriends, friends. But I deny and minimize that too. I wasn't really all that attached. I don't need anyone. He never really loved me, so what's the difference?
Or, if someone is ready to end a friendship with no explanation for what later turns out to have been a stupid, stupid misunderstanding, then, you know, good riddance.
No, I don't mean that. This one hurts. It's fucking sad. And I feel a lot of shame surrounding it because I've been so stupid and lacked social skills and somehow it all led to losing a good friend over a fucking smiley in a fucking text.
So I'm telling the story.
I had a good friend. A female friend who was actually female and feminine and was into talking and sharing and not only drinking beer and discussing politics. Then we both fell in love with the same guy for a while, while we both had boyfriends. We were all friends. It was a crazy situation. They eventually got together. There were secrets involved. They broke up a lot. Somehow, I ended up talking to both of them about their relationship and listening to what the other did. There were inconsistencies and I'd point them out and this sometimes led to them getting back together. I somehow found myself in the middle. Acting as some sort of peace-maker, go-between, intermediary. It was stupid, but I never said "I'm not interested" to either one of them when they wanted to pour their hearts out. They were both good friends and people I felt things for. Basically decent people. I still feel that.
Then, they definitely broke up and it was nasty and the guy didn't want to talk to the girl at that moment and called me and begged me to simply inform her where she could leave his stuff, as she'd asked him that when they last spoke.
I didn't want to do this. He begged me and said "If I call her now, I might lose my temper and say nasty things I don't mean to her. This will be easier on her."
It was a stupid idea to begin with. I had no business doing that. But I didn't know any better at the time and trusted everyone's social skills were better than mine, and he knew what he was doing when he asked me to do this.
I sent a stupid short text to her with just the information. And then it sounded too unfeeling, too curt, too formal.
So I added a smiley.
<:-)
That was it. It was supposed to be short for "I'm sorry and I love you" or something. Things I was unable to actually say, even in writing.
"You don't have to gloat," she responded. I didn't understand why she'd say that. By no means was I gloating. Really. I wrote back "Sorry, I'm just transferring information." See the lack of social skills? I felt something here, but could only function like a machine.
Then she called me and asked if she could bring his stuff to my place, instead of where he wanted it. I said "OK" and hoped that we were now fine. I still didn't quite understand what I'd done wrong.
When she dropped the stuff off, I asked her if she wanted to have coffee with me. She replied "Our coffee-drinking days are over," turned around and walked away. I didn't ask why. I didn't understand. I just said "All right then."
If she hadn't been so vulnerable, insecure, and dramatic, she might have explained; if I hadn't been so eager to defend myself by easily letting people go and writing them off, I would have demanded an explanation. But we were both too messed up to talk about the issue.
I only learned what the issue was from her ex, years later, recently, in fact.
Her phone had translated my "<:-)" into "he he."
Un-fucking-believable.
And I was suddenly hurt. Because I understood and could no longer write her off. I could no longer rationalize that "I don't really need a friend who was willing to end it just because I sent a stupid message that may have been misguided, but certainly not malicious."
I wrote my parents off decades ago on some unconscious level. I don't know what it would take for me to be able to feel hurt by them.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
D-fense
I'm now irritated and angry that my therapist expects me to cry and express my hurt over what my parents did and who they were. That he sees my laughing and smiling over my discoveries and memories as a defense from my feelings.
I mean, yes, there's truth to that. But it's also a very real and sincere and only natural way to react.
I don't feel pain when I remember how I've seen the mask slip and the look of pure hatred and disgust in my father's eyes. I don't feel hurt when I remember the gloating glint in my father's eyes when he thought he had the power to frighten and hurt me.
The feeling I have is a pleasant one.
"See?" It tells me. "It's not your fault you feel nothing but fear, anger, disgust, and frustration for this man. He's a sadistic destructive malignant narcissist."
You can't be hurt by someone you have no relationship with, no love or respect for, nothing at all, less than nothing. I mean, you can get angry, or you can laugh at how crazy and bizarre a person is, but you're not going to have your feelings hurt and cry about it.
If a crazy person who clearly hates you for no apparent reason says something critical to you or looks at you in a nasty way, are you going to cry over your hurt feelings? No. You're more probably going to laugh about how bizarre it is.
This is a defense, that's true. We defend ourselves against crazy people who are never going to have a relationship with us and are only interested in hurting us. We don't let them near.
I've had that defense against my father for as long as I can remember. There was probably a time when I loved and trusted him, but I can't access that - this probably ended when I was a baby.
Since then, I've known one thing well, albeit not consciously: if I give him the pleasure of knowing he's hurt me, he'll hurt me more. If I am tough and show no reaction at all, he'll leave me alone. That's the only defense a powerless child has. And that's my power. The only thing I truly know as strength.
The only clear memory I have of childhood spankings is the realization that they're not going to happen again because I've won by not showing any pain or fear.
He almost admitted to me that he could never break me when I was a child, recently. In a roundabout way, and, of course, talking about my mother spanking me, not him, but it was there. An admiring sort of anger in his eyes as he recounted how stubborn I was as a child. How they couldn't break my will.
This went on with words as weapons.
It's a battle, a war, a concentration camp. If you've been in a war, yes, you're likely to have been hurt and messed up in different ways. But you're not expected to cry because the enemy soldiers hurt your feelings, are you? If you've been in a concentration camp, there surely are many horrible things to recount. But you're not likely going to weep over how the guards didn't like you or how the Kommandant hurt your feelings. You wouldn't be open to having your feelings hurt in the first place. Because you're in the kind of situation where you're trying to survive against a powerful enemy. There's no time or place for having your feelings hurt by that enemy and wanting to cry over that.
So, yes, it's a defense. And it's a damned good one, one that works with sadistic narcissists. And it's one I've had in place since I was tiny. And I'm not hiding anything or even really holding anything back - I don't remember the last time there was anything there.
I mean, yes, there's truth to that. But it's also a very real and sincere and only natural way to react.
I don't feel pain when I remember how I've seen the mask slip and the look of pure hatred and disgust in my father's eyes. I don't feel hurt when I remember the gloating glint in my father's eyes when he thought he had the power to frighten and hurt me.
The feeling I have is a pleasant one.
"See?" It tells me. "It's not your fault you feel nothing but fear, anger, disgust, and frustration for this man. He's a sadistic destructive malignant narcissist."
You can't be hurt by someone you have no relationship with, no love or respect for, nothing at all, less than nothing. I mean, you can get angry, or you can laugh at how crazy and bizarre a person is, but you're not going to have your feelings hurt and cry about it.
If a crazy person who clearly hates you for no apparent reason says something critical to you or looks at you in a nasty way, are you going to cry over your hurt feelings? No. You're more probably going to laugh about how bizarre it is.
This is a defense, that's true. We defend ourselves against crazy people who are never going to have a relationship with us and are only interested in hurting us. We don't let them near.
I've had that defense against my father for as long as I can remember. There was probably a time when I loved and trusted him, but I can't access that - this probably ended when I was a baby.
Since then, I've known one thing well, albeit not consciously: if I give him the pleasure of knowing he's hurt me, he'll hurt me more. If I am tough and show no reaction at all, he'll leave me alone. That's the only defense a powerless child has. And that's my power. The only thing I truly know as strength.
The only clear memory I have of childhood spankings is the realization that they're not going to happen again because I've won by not showing any pain or fear.
He almost admitted to me that he could never break me when I was a child, recently. In a roundabout way, and, of course, talking about my mother spanking me, not him, but it was there. An admiring sort of anger in his eyes as he recounted how stubborn I was as a child. How they couldn't break my will.
This went on with words as weapons.
It's a battle, a war, a concentration camp. If you've been in a war, yes, you're likely to have been hurt and messed up in different ways. But you're not expected to cry because the enemy soldiers hurt your feelings, are you? If you've been in a concentration camp, there surely are many horrible things to recount. But you're not likely going to weep over how the guards didn't like you or how the Kommandant hurt your feelings. You wouldn't be open to having your feelings hurt in the first place. Because you're in the kind of situation where you're trying to survive against a powerful enemy. There's no time or place for having your feelings hurt by that enemy and wanting to cry over that.
So, yes, it's a defense. And it's a damned good one, one that works with sadistic narcissists. And it's one I've had in place since I was tiny. And I'm not hiding anything or even really holding anything back - I don't remember the last time there was anything there.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Tough
The tissues on the desk in my therapist's office annoy me. You think I'm gonna cry? No way. I'm tough.
When he says I had a very difficult childhood and many painful events in my past, I don't trust him to mean it. I'm wondering if he's being sarcastic, as in "Oh, poor you. You whiny brat." (I brought it up at the end of the session and he was able to convince me he definitely means it; that almost made me cry.)
Being vulnerable in front of others is dangerous and stupid. If you admit to any hurt feelings, ever, you will be attacked where it hurts AND you will be called ungrateful, whiny, and weak.
When you're hurt by someone, what you do is grit your teeth, clench your whole body, and bear it and just wait for it to be over. You don't even admit it hurts. You don't give them that pleasure.
My therapist asked me if I was aware of an interesting defense I had: whenever I talk about painful experiences, I smile and laugh. I wasn't aware of it. And I didn't mind I had it. I kind of thought that was cool. I'm aware, rationally, that this is messed up and actually weak, but I don't think I can help feeling this way. I don't even remember talking about painful experiences - just things my parents did. I didn't feel any pain.
I would loathe and disgust myself if I were to break down and cry before this father figure - not that I'm tempted to.
My husband is the only one I can cry in front of - and I loathe and disgust myself for that, too.
When he says I had a very difficult childhood and many painful events in my past, I don't trust him to mean it. I'm wondering if he's being sarcastic, as in "Oh, poor you. You whiny brat." (I brought it up at the end of the session and he was able to convince me he definitely means it; that almost made me cry.)
Being vulnerable in front of others is dangerous and stupid. If you admit to any hurt feelings, ever, you will be attacked where it hurts AND you will be called ungrateful, whiny, and weak.
When you're hurt by someone, what you do is grit your teeth, clench your whole body, and bear it and just wait for it to be over. You don't even admit it hurts. You don't give them that pleasure.
My therapist asked me if I was aware of an interesting defense I had: whenever I talk about painful experiences, I smile and laugh. I wasn't aware of it. And I didn't mind I had it. I kind of thought that was cool. I'm aware, rationally, that this is messed up and actually weak, but I don't think I can help feeling this way. I don't even remember talking about painful experiences - just things my parents did. I didn't feel any pain.
I would loathe and disgust myself if I were to break down and cry before this father figure - not that I'm tempted to.
My husband is the only one I can cry in front of - and I loathe and disgust myself for that, too.
The Black Hole Swallows Me Whole
After I learned that I had messed both my children up, my husband was annoyed that I wouldn't stop biting my nails and cuticles, which were swollen and bloody.
So I screamed that biting my nails is just a defense from what I'd really like to do, and that's cut myself, stab myself, kill myself, really hurt myself. Then I slapped myself and punched myself in the face.
Then I shut myself in the bathroom and sobbed uncontrollably for two hours because no one has ever loved me and no one could, because if they feel something for me it's because they don't know the darkness in me, and my husband will never truly understand me and if he does he'll be disgusted at how weak and evil and empty I am, and yes, my children love me, because they're naive and innocent, but they shouldn't, they'd be better off without me.
I know none of this is true. But I feel it now and don't know what to do about it. Telling myself it isn't true doesn't really help.
I'm not sure where to go from here. Now I'm just down. Maybe up is next, maybe what's next is digging downwards through rock bottom.
So I screamed that biting my nails is just a defense from what I'd really like to do, and that's cut myself, stab myself, kill myself, really hurt myself. Then I slapped myself and punched myself in the face.
Then I shut myself in the bathroom and sobbed uncontrollably for two hours because no one has ever loved me and no one could, because if they feel something for me it's because they don't know the darkness in me, and my husband will never truly understand me and if he does he'll be disgusted at how weak and evil and empty I am, and yes, my children love me, because they're naive and innocent, but they shouldn't, they'd be better off without me.
I know none of this is true. But I feel it now and don't know what to do about it. Telling myself it isn't true doesn't really help.
I'm not sure where to go from here. Now I'm just down. Maybe up is next, maybe what's next is digging downwards through rock bottom.
Friday, December 7, 2012
For Quercus Garryana - The Black Hole
I owe you several posts, but I really wanted to do this one that I never even promised. :)
It's my list of reasons why I love the discovery of the black hole. The one caused by the absence of parental love that will never be filled.
1) I've always known it was there. I was just never allowed to feel it, acknowledge it, know about it. See, my life and family and everything was perfect. But now I consciously know the black hole is part of who I am.
2) I finally have a right to who I am and what I feel. I've been angsty, dark, cynical, depressed, black, at different points in my life. I was not just being an ungrateful poser. It was me.
3) Pain, sadness, loneliness, anything, feels better than the empty denial of it. Much better.
4) We're all different and have different crosses to bear. We don't have to be happy or fulfilled or fucking perfect. That's what the narcs demanded from us. That's not what being human is all about. I never have to be happy or whole or perfectly content. Just truly honest and human, thank you.
5) Everybody hurts.
It's OK to hurt and feel sad and incomplete and like you're missing something. It's part of being human. I feel like I need to make this point again, even after 4)
Even people from wonderful families have thorns in their sides. It's what being human entails. It's kind of beautiful, really.
6) Finally seeing that black hole face to face, being broken and vulnerable - leaves you open to the really good things in life. You're a Christian, right? Leonard Cohen has some of my favorite lyrics about Christ:
And Jesus was a sailor
When he walked upon the water
And he spent a long time watching
From his lonely wooden tower
And when he knew for certain
Only drowning men could see him
He said "All men will be sailors then
Until the sea shall free them"
But he himself was broken
Long before the sky would open
Forsaken, almost human
He sank beneath your wisdom like a stone
only drowning men could see him
he himself was broken
It makes me shiver, every time.
7) My favorite insight: the real me doesn't need or want perfect, non-messed-up parents now. No, they wouldn't truly get the real me. Nor would my actual dysfunctional still-messed-up parents.
What the real me now wants and needs and gets is other ACoNs - the ones who've been there and understand and offer support and empathy.
How I got myself to finally cry: I imagined asking my therapist if he'd been loved by his parents; I imagined him replying, calmly, slightly sadly, but mostly with empathy: "No". And I felt like someone could understand the hell inside and not judge me. Know it's real and I'm not a wimpy liar making it up. That gave me the permission to feel it and own it.
And that's me and that's really OK.
It's my list of reasons why I love the discovery of the black hole. The one caused by the absence of parental love that will never be filled.
1) I've always known it was there. I was just never allowed to feel it, acknowledge it, know about it. See, my life and family and everything was perfect. But now I consciously know the black hole is part of who I am.
2) I finally have a right to who I am and what I feel. I've been angsty, dark, cynical, depressed, black, at different points in my life. I was not just being an ungrateful poser. It was me.
3) Pain, sadness, loneliness, anything, feels better than the empty denial of it. Much better.
4) We're all different and have different crosses to bear. We don't have to be happy or fulfilled or fucking perfect. That's what the narcs demanded from us. That's not what being human is all about. I never have to be happy or whole or perfectly content. Just truly honest and human, thank you.
5) Everybody hurts.
It's OK to hurt and feel sad and incomplete and like you're missing something. It's part of being human. I feel like I need to make this point again, even after 4)
Even people from wonderful families have thorns in their sides. It's what being human entails. It's kind of beautiful, really.
6) Finally seeing that black hole face to face, being broken and vulnerable - leaves you open to the really good things in life. You're a Christian, right? Leonard Cohen has some of my favorite lyrics about Christ:
And Jesus was a sailor
When he walked upon the water
And he spent a long time watching
From his lonely wooden tower
And when he knew for certain
Only drowning men could see him
He said "All men will be sailors then
Until the sea shall free them"
But he himself was broken
Long before the sky would open
Forsaken, almost human
He sank beneath your wisdom like a stone
only drowning men could see him
he himself was broken
It makes me shiver, every time.
7) My favorite insight: the real me doesn't need or want perfect, non-messed-up parents now. No, they wouldn't truly get the real me. Nor would my actual dysfunctional still-messed-up parents.
What the real me now wants and needs and gets is other ACoNs - the ones who've been there and understand and offer support and empathy.
How I got myself to finally cry: I imagined asking my therapist if he'd been loved by his parents; I imagined him replying, calmly, slightly sadly, but mostly with empathy: "No". And I felt like someone could understand the hell inside and not judge me. Know it's real and I'm not a wimpy liar making it up. That gave me the permission to feel it and own it.
And that's me and that's really OK.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Almost Alive
After being able to cry and feel about my childhood a bit - nothing too dramatic, but still a huge step for me - I spent the next several days very happily doing my job and thinking I'm good at it and then spontaneously singing and playing the guitar at a party - in front of people, unabashedly well. And I felt so happy and alive.
My first reaction: I must be running away from feeling the bad stuff.
When I thought about it: I'm living life, actually. Enjoying the good stuff freely and without shame and guilt. I wasn't looking for it, it just happened.
Both feeling sad about the bad stuff and feeling free to enjoy the good stuff were forbidden in my home. I mistrust both.
I'm now slowly starting to allow myself both - any they come in a package, or so it seems.
My first reaction: I must be running away from feeling the bad stuff.
When I thought about it: I'm living life, actually. Enjoying the good stuff freely and without shame and guilt. I wasn't looking for it, it just happened.
Both feeling sad about the bad stuff and feeling free to enjoy the good stuff were forbidden in my home. I mistrust both.
I'm now slowly starting to allow myself both - any they come in a package, or so it seems.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
My doll and me
This is the four-year-old me, holding my poor Nameless Doll.
It is one of the rare photos my father took in which I'm not posing for him with a dutiful happy smile. I'm being me, unaware of being photographed. I wonder why he took this picture and why he scanned it and gave it to me. Perhaps to prove how happy I was with the doll he'd bought for me.
This is the doll I hated for being so dull and needy. The one I brutally spanked but then held in sorrow and despair. I remembered her again and wrote this:
A sad doll
Plastic, cloth, and dullness
Too hard, too soft
Stuck up and cold
Weepy and needy
Whipped, beaten, kicked
Then thrown away
She stays there all alone
Picked up again
Held
Because I have no one else
To hold
If I could have that doll again
I remembered, in the past several days, the delicious solace of hugging an inanimate object. It is a comfort I don't remember being able to get from my parents.
I finally made a real connection between the doll and myself. I used to feel so sorry for what she had to go through, but felt nothing for the child - who probably went through the same - because the child was boring, annoying, whiny, needy, unlovable (and had it coming) and she was also cold and tough (and could easily endure it).
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Connecting the dots. And finding my way.
I did it. I'm in.
I've been able to feel and cry for two days now. I have cried for the little girl who was never loved and was never allowed to even understand and feel that simple fact. I have cried for the frightened, terrorized, and abused child who had to play the role of the happy, grateful daughter, even to herself. I have cried for the adult who is still largely living in this hell and will forever be left with this black hole.
I was able to do this after I connected all the dots of why I didn't allow myself to feel my feelings.
I realized it wasn't fear of pain, or mere detachment, or simple protection of myself. We ACoNs can take pain. We're not wimps. It really was not about that.
It was the opposite. It was the compulsion to be strong.
It was fear and obligation and guilt. The terror of betraying my parents by proving, through my feelings, that they hurt me. What I was never allowed to do as a child.
I remember being told "You're so ugly when you cry" and "Don't cry or I'll give you something to cry about" and I remember that the moral of the comic I drew - described in The Torture Chamber For Babies - was that if you severely beat your children because they cry, they will cry more. Crying was forbidden because it made them look bad and because it annoyed them.
The only moral defense I ever had was not reacting to any way they hurt me at all.
Crying and feeling hurt by them is the ultimate betrayal. It proves it was real. And once I realized this, I wanted to rebel more than ever.
And I feel real now. I've taken a huge step that cannot be undone. I've felt more for everything and everyone, too.
I even feel more empathy for my parents - like feeling truly sorry for them as children, too. And it's the opposite of excusing anything. They excused and idealized and obeyed their parents.
It didn't drown me and the world didn't come crashing down. There's pain, but I've never been afraid of that, and it feels much better than being dead. It's everything I'd hoped it would be.
It's a first step of many, and I know I have a long way to go still, but it feels like the most important breakthrough for me yet.
I've been able to feel and cry for two days now. I have cried for the little girl who was never loved and was never allowed to even understand and feel that simple fact. I have cried for the frightened, terrorized, and abused child who had to play the role of the happy, grateful daughter, even to herself. I have cried for the adult who is still largely living in this hell and will forever be left with this black hole.
I was able to do this after I connected all the dots of why I didn't allow myself to feel my feelings.
I realized it wasn't fear of pain, or mere detachment, or simple protection of myself. We ACoNs can take pain. We're not wimps. It really was not about that.
It was the opposite. It was the compulsion to be strong.
It was fear and obligation and guilt. The terror of betraying my parents by proving, through my feelings, that they hurt me. What I was never allowed to do as a child.
I remember being told "You're so ugly when you cry" and "Don't cry or I'll give you something to cry about" and I remember that the moral of the comic I drew - described in The Torture Chamber For Babies - was that if you severely beat your children because they cry, they will cry more. Crying was forbidden because it made them look bad and because it annoyed them.
The only moral defense I ever had was not reacting to any way they hurt me at all.
Crying and feeling hurt by them is the ultimate betrayal. It proves it was real. And once I realized this, I wanted to rebel more than ever.
And I feel real now. I've taken a huge step that cannot be undone. I've felt more for everything and everyone, too.
I even feel more empathy for my parents - like feeling truly sorry for them as children, too. And it's the opposite of excusing anything. They excused and idealized and obeyed their parents.
It didn't drown me and the world didn't come crashing down. There's pain, but I've never been afraid of that, and it feels much better than being dead. It's everything I'd hoped it would be.
It's a first step of many, and I know I have a long way to go still, but it feels like the most important breakthrough for me yet.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
What I didn't have
More homework I got: list the things you never had as a child. And try to feel it, too.
1) I didn't have a strong, supportive, gentle mother. I didn't have a mother who really loved me or liked me or seemed interested in me or talked to me or supported me emotionally in any way. Instead, I had an absence, a weak woman who might have had some feelings for me at some point, but I'll never know because she betrayed me and sacrificed me to her extremely narcissistic husband for the sake of peace.
I didn't have a mother I could trust or feel safe around or look up to or feel warm about.
I can now imagine people like my aunt or Ruth or Tundra Woman in this role and tear up at the recognized difference. Now I don't have a mother who might talk to me and offer advice, wisdom, support; who might be a good grandmother to my kids and babysit and help out sometimes. I don't know if this would have happened had she stayed alive, but somehow I just can't really imagine it.
2) I didn't have a kind, understanding, wise father. I didn't have a father who really loved me for who I was or was interested in finding out who that might be. Instead, first I had an insanely controlling father who demanded nothing short of worship from me while appropriating all my achievements, and then I had a totally rejecting father who had had enough of me and couldn't show me off any more and discarded me before I could reject him. Now I don't have a father I can count on to want me good and not harm me or my family if it should happen to suit him. He will sometimes give us money or material things.
I didn't have a father I could trust to love and protect me and be proud of me and one I could be proud of.
I now allow myself to imagine all the older men I've liked and respected over the years in the role of my father. Crazily enough, I sometimes even "accused" myself of having a crush on them - although it wasn't actually true - because that was safer than realizing I was looking for a good father figure because the original sucked.
3) I didn't have unconditional love from my parents - the safe knowledge that whoever I was and whatever I did, my parents wouldn't stop loving me. In fact, withholding love was my father's favorite weapon, and I never even thought my mother loved me. My mother had many problems with how different and unladylike and awkward I was, while my father had problems whenever I wasn't interesting, original, or smart enough to impress the commoners all around us. Either way, I couldn't win and the pressure was high, but I still chose my father's rules because it meant I could be dark and eccentric and drink.
4) I didn't have ownership over my own body and possessions. And no right to privacy, if they didn't feel like it. My diaries were read, my room searched. If they felt like it, however, I could be alone in my room reading for hours every day. Or out until 5AM drinking. Bliss. It depended on their current mood.
5) I didn't have permission to express or even feel my own feelings. I was forbidden to cry as a child because it a) showed their parenting in a bad light and b) bothered and irritated them. If I cried, I'd be given something to cry for, and then I a) again wasn't allowed to cry and b) realized the only way to "win" and find a semblance of peace and freedom would be to never react to anything in any emotional or "weak" way. I believe my father stopped beating me with a belt when I stopped showing any reaction to it.
6) I didn't have unconditional support for any good thing I might choose to do with my life. I had lots of open "support" in public places where my father could show off (taking me to classes, being at recitals, school board, thesis defense) and little outside of that.
7) I didn't have permission to attach to other, sane people. My father, who was utterly incapable of even faking closeness and love, was insanely jealous of me loving anyone else. Luckily, while he was at work, my mother's stepfather often took me out to tag along with him, at the behest of my grandma, who was the one officially babysitting me - but she was also quite narcissistic and grew tired of me quickly. He didn't. He kind of liked me. And I adored him. I even had the courage to list him as the person I loved best when people asked that silly question. I seem to recall my father shooting a look of hatred at my grandpa on one such occasion.
8) I didn't have warmth growing up. From anyone. Those who could have given it to me weren't allowed to.
9) I didn't have permission to share anything negative about my family with anyone. Including myself. This made me detach from myself. This prevented forming actual honest relationships with others.
10) I didn't have the right to be myself. Not only were they unable to love me for who I was, but, as they had no idea who I really was, I was constantly treated and talked to as someone else - weird, inexplicable characters accused of weird, inexplicable flaws, thoughts, and feelings. I remember constantly feeling shocked at who they seemed to think I was - and this changed in a matter of seconds.
1) I didn't have a strong, supportive, gentle mother. I didn't have a mother who really loved me or liked me or seemed interested in me or talked to me or supported me emotionally in any way. Instead, I had an absence, a weak woman who might have had some feelings for me at some point, but I'll never know because she betrayed me and sacrificed me to her extremely narcissistic husband for the sake of peace.
I didn't have a mother I could trust or feel safe around or look up to or feel warm about.
I can now imagine people like my aunt or Ruth or Tundra Woman in this role and tear up at the recognized difference. Now I don't have a mother who might talk to me and offer advice, wisdom, support; who might be a good grandmother to my kids and babysit and help out sometimes. I don't know if this would have happened had she stayed alive, but somehow I just can't really imagine it.
2) I didn't have a kind, understanding, wise father. I didn't have a father who really loved me for who I was or was interested in finding out who that might be. Instead, first I had an insanely controlling father who demanded nothing short of worship from me while appropriating all my achievements, and then I had a totally rejecting father who had had enough of me and couldn't show me off any more and discarded me before I could reject him. Now I don't have a father I can count on to want me good and not harm me or my family if it should happen to suit him. He will sometimes give us money or material things.
I didn't have a father I could trust to love and protect me and be proud of me and one I could be proud of.
I now allow myself to imagine all the older men I've liked and respected over the years in the role of my father. Crazily enough, I sometimes even "accused" myself of having a crush on them - although it wasn't actually true - because that was safer than realizing I was looking for a good father figure because the original sucked.
3) I didn't have unconditional love from my parents - the safe knowledge that whoever I was and whatever I did, my parents wouldn't stop loving me. In fact, withholding love was my father's favorite weapon, and I never even thought my mother loved me. My mother had many problems with how different and unladylike and awkward I was, while my father had problems whenever I wasn't interesting, original, or smart enough to impress the commoners all around us. Either way, I couldn't win and the pressure was high, but I still chose my father's rules because it meant I could be dark and eccentric and drink.
4) I didn't have ownership over my own body and possessions. And no right to privacy, if they didn't feel like it. My diaries were read, my room searched. If they felt like it, however, I could be alone in my room reading for hours every day. Or out until 5AM drinking. Bliss. It depended on their current mood.
5) I didn't have permission to express or even feel my own feelings. I was forbidden to cry as a child because it a) showed their parenting in a bad light and b) bothered and irritated them. If I cried, I'd be given something to cry for, and then I a) again wasn't allowed to cry and b) realized the only way to "win" and find a semblance of peace and freedom would be to never react to anything in any emotional or "weak" way. I believe my father stopped beating me with a belt when I stopped showing any reaction to it.
6) I didn't have unconditional support for any good thing I might choose to do with my life. I had lots of open "support" in public places where my father could show off (taking me to classes, being at recitals, school board, thesis defense) and little outside of that.
7) I didn't have permission to attach to other, sane people. My father, who was utterly incapable of even faking closeness and love, was insanely jealous of me loving anyone else. Luckily, while he was at work, my mother's stepfather often took me out to tag along with him, at the behest of my grandma, who was the one officially babysitting me - but she was also quite narcissistic and grew tired of me quickly. He didn't. He kind of liked me. And I adored him. I even had the courage to list him as the person I loved best when people asked that silly question. I seem to recall my father shooting a look of hatred at my grandpa on one such occasion.
8) I didn't have warmth growing up. From anyone. Those who could have given it to me weren't allowed to.
9) I didn't have permission to share anything negative about my family with anyone. Including myself. This made me detach from myself. This prevented forming actual honest relationships with others.
10) I didn't have the right to be myself. Not only were they unable to love me for who I was, but, as they had no idea who I really was, I was constantly treated and talked to as someone else - weird, inexplicable characters accused of weird, inexplicable flaws, thoughts, and feelings. I remember constantly feeling shocked at who they seemed to think I was - and this changed in a matter of seconds.
Friday, November 16, 2012
Stuff that always made me cry
I was given this homework assignment by my therapist as I can only afford therapy once a month: think about the music/films/books that make you cry and connect that with what you never had as a child.
(I had admitted that I can cry at music and films, but not about my own life)
These are the first few things that come to mind:
The Cranberries: Ode to my family
Why: The lyrics "My mother ... she'd hold me ... My father ... he liked me"
What it has to do with what I never had: My mother wasn't allowed to hold me - at least once I was old enough to remember. This part leaves me cold, to be honest; anything pertaining to mothers tends to; but "my father ... liked me" just blows me away. It's so beautiful and simple and real. No one liked me. They doted on me, loooved me, did so much for me, but it was so damn obvious they didn't like me.
I think my mother's stepfather liked me. I still cry when I remember him. I also think another distant relative did - the one I thought was my biological father. This idea of him as my biological father moved me emotionally too. These two older men liked me and seemed interested in me and seemed to have been able to have a conversation or two with me. This in itself is incredible.
Leonard Cohen: Hallelujah
Why: There's a blaze of light
In every word
It doesn't matter which you heard
The holy or the broken hallelujah
...
I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but hallelujah
What it has to do with what I never had: I was never allowed to be ordinary, imperfect, human, or just wrong. It's amazing to me that God doesn't require perfection or holiness - brokenness and truth are all I have right now, too. And that's fine.
Schindler's list
Why: Pretty much anything involving concentration camps deeply moves me on a seemingly too personal level. I'm not just talking about the general human reaction to other humans being inhumanly treated - it's more than that and it's personal.
What it has to do with what I never had: It may sound crazy, but I'm sure other ACoNs will understand: a narcissistic family is a bit like a concentration camp. The golden children are the capos, the scapegoats are all the others. You are afraid and insecure and vulnerable all the time. You are someone's property. Your basic humanity is denied. You are (often) physically deprived and hurt. Your owners get to define reality in which you're somehow to blame and they're just defending themselves. And there's no way out.
Tangled
Why: From Schindler's list to a Disney cartoon... yeah, I know. The scene where Rapunzel's hair is cut off and she is liberated from being loved for what she can do for others is incredibly cathartic to me. It made me sob the first time I saw it.
What it has to do with what I never had: I still don't have the guts to trust my family of choice to love me for who I am instead of what I do. If I don't make enough money and buy everyone's favorite food, I'm afraid I just won't be worthwhile to them. This is not always true and I'm working on it, but I sure wish someone could just fix me in one fell swoop like this.
The Mill on the Floss by George Eliot
Why: Maggie invests a great deal of time and energy into suppressing her immoral feelings, while still not managing to avoid the wrath of everyone she loves without really ever having done anything wrong. Finally, the river Floss floods and she drowns rescuing her brother.
What it has to do with what I never had: Wow, I sobbed while reading this book ages ago and never made any connections with anything at all - I just saw myself as a sentimental girl. I still wasn't sure what it had to do with anything until I wrote the above description.
I suppress my immoral feelings towards my parents too, and still, just by virtue of not thinking about them as wonderful and perfect, I constantly risk incurring wrath. It's easy to forget that I have never done anything wrong to my parents - really, truly, I haven't. I have merely questioned their actions and mindsets and have felt a few fleeting negative feelings towards them - much less than most normal kids do.
Water will not be put down. The river will flood. My feelings will not be suppressed forever. I hope they don't drown me.
(I had admitted that I can cry at music and films, but not about my own life)
These are the first few things that come to mind:
The Cranberries: Ode to my family
Why: The lyrics "My mother ... she'd hold me ... My father ... he liked me"
What it has to do with what I never had: My mother wasn't allowed to hold me - at least once I was old enough to remember. This part leaves me cold, to be honest; anything pertaining to mothers tends to; but "my father ... liked me" just blows me away. It's so beautiful and simple and real. No one liked me. They doted on me, loooved me, did so much for me, but it was so damn obvious they didn't like me.
I think my mother's stepfather liked me. I still cry when I remember him. I also think another distant relative did - the one I thought was my biological father. This idea of him as my biological father moved me emotionally too. These two older men liked me and seemed interested in me and seemed to have been able to have a conversation or two with me. This in itself is incredible.
Leonard Cohen: Hallelujah
Why: There's a blaze of light
In every word
It doesn't matter which you heard
The holy or the broken hallelujah
...
I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but hallelujah
What it has to do with what I never had: I was never allowed to be ordinary, imperfect, human, or just wrong. It's amazing to me that God doesn't require perfection or holiness - brokenness and truth are all I have right now, too. And that's fine.
Schindler's list
Why: Pretty much anything involving concentration camps deeply moves me on a seemingly too personal level. I'm not just talking about the general human reaction to other humans being inhumanly treated - it's more than that and it's personal.
What it has to do with what I never had: It may sound crazy, but I'm sure other ACoNs will understand: a narcissistic family is a bit like a concentration camp. The golden children are the capos, the scapegoats are all the others. You are afraid and insecure and vulnerable all the time. You are someone's property. Your basic humanity is denied. You are (often) physically deprived and hurt. Your owners get to define reality in which you're somehow to blame and they're just defending themselves. And there's no way out.
Tangled
Why: From Schindler's list to a Disney cartoon... yeah, I know. The scene where Rapunzel's hair is cut off and she is liberated from being loved for what she can do for others is incredibly cathartic to me. It made me sob the first time I saw it.
What it has to do with what I never had: I still don't have the guts to trust my family of choice to love me for who I am instead of what I do. If I don't make enough money and buy everyone's favorite food, I'm afraid I just won't be worthwhile to them. This is not always true and I'm working on it, but I sure wish someone could just fix me in one fell swoop like this.
The Mill on the Floss by George Eliot
Why: Maggie invests a great deal of time and energy into suppressing her immoral feelings, while still not managing to avoid the wrath of everyone she loves without really ever having done anything wrong. Finally, the river Floss floods and she drowns rescuing her brother.
What it has to do with what I never had: Wow, I sobbed while reading this book ages ago and never made any connections with anything at all - I just saw myself as a sentimental girl. I still wasn't sure what it had to do with anything until I wrote the above description.
I suppress my immoral feelings towards my parents too, and still, just by virtue of not thinking about them as wonderful and perfect, I constantly risk incurring wrath. It's easy to forget that I have never done anything wrong to my parents - really, truly, I haven't. I have merely questioned their actions and mindsets and have felt a few fleeting negative feelings towards them - much less than most normal kids do.
Water will not be put down. The river will flood. My feelings will not be suppressed forever. I hope they don't drown me.
Buried feelings
I had the first session with the new therapist last night and I noticed an interesting thing.
When I talked about my parents and my childhood, my throat sometimes squeezed and my voice wouldn't come out. It's like I knew there was an emotion under there somewhere, but I couldn't really feel it or express it or even identify it.
It felt like wading through murky waters and tripping over something without knowing what it is.
Did I feel anything back then, when I was 4, or 6, or 8? Or was I already burying everything? Are these grief, anger, pain that I felt or normally would have felt if I hadn't emotionally detached from myself?
My therapist encouraged me to express my feelings freely and I just couldn't. I tried going back to the words that I had trouble pronouncing, but it was already gone. I did have several thoughts, though (these are always easier) on why I can't express my emotions:
"I can't be weak. When you express hurt and pain and anger, you're weak. If you cry, you're very weak and you're admitting someone can hurt you and thus has power over you." (my therapist said the opposite is true - you exorcise your parents' power over you when you acknowledge what you needed from them but never got. I like the sound of this, but can't make the leap to applying it)
"I can't be needy. If I'm needy, I'm boring and inconvenient, not only to my parents, but to everyone else too." (my therapist said the need of a child to be loved is a very real and legitimate need. I like the sound of this, but can't make the leap to applying it)
"I can't be emotional. This is not me. I'm not one of those emotional people." (not necessarily true, as I have no idea who I really am, and most likely a result of projection, but still the word "emotional" sounds dirty to me)
These are the things I said in session. Later, I tried more to release my feelings, and I started feeling increasingly anxious.
Then I had one of the worst anxiety nightmares ever in which all the possible catastrophes I could imagine happened (from war and destruction and the bombing of our neighborhood to being late to pick up my kid at preschool and having to buy her neeew shooooes before the next paycheck and crying about it and being gossiped about because of it).
It's like I'm deadly afraid of expressing my real feelings about my parents and my childhood, so I'm stuck at "numb." There's a scab on my heart and I wonder what's underneath, but am afraid to pick at it. Perhaps for good reason. Perhaps not.
If I express my buried feelings,
it will be real. it can't be undone. they hurt me and were bad parents and I had a bad childhood.
I will have really betrayed them. really disobeyed them. horrible punishment will ensue.
I somehow know, feel it, that this was the ultimate betrayal when I was a child. To show to them or anyone else that they were less than perfect parents. I showed it by crying, being emotional, being sad, being hurt, being angry in reaction to their actions. I distinctly remember being told I'd be given something to cry for if I don't stop and feel it in my bones that this really wasn't just an empty threat.
Crying and feeling the proper reaction to their treatment is the ultimate treason and that's probably why I still can't do it.
But I might if I start thinking about it as the ultimate rebellion as well.
When I talked about my parents and my childhood, my throat sometimes squeezed and my voice wouldn't come out. It's like I knew there was an emotion under there somewhere, but I couldn't really feel it or express it or even identify it.
It felt like wading through murky waters and tripping over something without knowing what it is.
Did I feel anything back then, when I was 4, or 6, or 8? Or was I already burying everything? Are these grief, anger, pain that I felt or normally would have felt if I hadn't emotionally detached from myself?
My therapist encouraged me to express my feelings freely and I just couldn't. I tried going back to the words that I had trouble pronouncing, but it was already gone. I did have several thoughts, though (these are always easier) on why I can't express my emotions:
"I can't be weak. When you express hurt and pain and anger, you're weak. If you cry, you're very weak and you're admitting someone can hurt you and thus has power over you." (my therapist said the opposite is true - you exorcise your parents' power over you when you acknowledge what you needed from them but never got. I like the sound of this, but can't make the leap to applying it)
"I can't be needy. If I'm needy, I'm boring and inconvenient, not only to my parents, but to everyone else too." (my therapist said the need of a child to be loved is a very real and legitimate need. I like the sound of this, but can't make the leap to applying it)
"I can't be emotional. This is not me. I'm not one of those emotional people." (not necessarily true, as I have no idea who I really am, and most likely a result of projection, but still the word "emotional" sounds dirty to me)
These are the things I said in session. Later, I tried more to release my feelings, and I started feeling increasingly anxious.
Then I had one of the worst anxiety nightmares ever in which all the possible catastrophes I could imagine happened (from war and destruction and the bombing of our neighborhood to being late to pick up my kid at preschool and having to buy her neeew shooooes before the next paycheck and crying about it and being gossiped about because of it).
It's like I'm deadly afraid of expressing my real feelings about my parents and my childhood, so I'm stuck at "numb." There's a scab on my heart and I wonder what's underneath, but am afraid to pick at it. Perhaps for good reason. Perhaps not.
If I express my buried feelings,
it will be real. it can't be undone. they hurt me and were bad parents and I had a bad childhood.
I will have really betrayed them. really disobeyed them. horrible punishment will ensue.
I somehow know, feel it, that this was the ultimate betrayal when I was a child. To show to them or anyone else that they were less than perfect parents. I showed it by crying, being emotional, being sad, being hurt, being angry in reaction to their actions. I distinctly remember being told I'd be given something to cry for if I don't stop and feel it in my bones that this really wasn't just an empty threat.
Crying and feeling the proper reaction to their treatment is the ultimate treason and that's probably why I still can't do it.
But I might if I start thinking about it as the ultimate rebellion as well.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
"It must be"... but it isn't, and that's my biggest problem
One thing I don't quite know what to do with in my communication here is receiving normal, empathetic reactions from normal, empathetic people out there. Very often, when I share something my parents did or said or just a fact concerning my FOO, like that they have never loved me, people say things like "It must be hard" or "That must be so painful" and I freeze, because, frankly, yes, I know, it must be, but it's really not. And that's a problem.
I don't really feel these insights and memories concerning my parents. I'm intellectually aware of them - much like I had to be intellectually aware of the fact that my parents were perfect and absolutely above reproach, but all I felt was just the need to be far, far away from them.
In a way, I feel fake not replying to every decent person offering empathy that no, actually, I don't really have those feelings of sadness, grief, whatever, concerning my parents. It's not painful to know they never loved me - it's liberating. It's not hard for me to know I can never have an authentic relationship with my father - it's a relief to know it's not my fault I've not wanted one since I was tiny.
I do have some emotions towards some people in my life - notably, my FOC - but the emotional part of me that had anything to do with my parents is dead, lost, blocked - search me, I don't know what happened to it. My main reason for going into therapy is trying to discover it - or at least its corpse or ghost. I can't seem to do this on my own.
I don't really feel these insights and memories concerning my parents. I'm intellectually aware of them - much like I had to be intellectually aware of the fact that my parents were perfect and absolutely above reproach, but all I felt was just the need to be far, far away from them.
In a way, I feel fake not replying to every decent person offering empathy that no, actually, I don't really have those feelings of sadness, grief, whatever, concerning my parents. It's not painful to know they never loved me - it's liberating. It's not hard for me to know I can never have an authentic relationship with my father - it's a relief to know it's not my fault I've not wanted one since I was tiny.
I do have some emotions towards some people in my life - notably, my FOC - but the emotional part of me that had anything to do with my parents is dead, lost, blocked - search me, I don't know what happened to it. My main reason for going into therapy is trying to discover it - or at least its corpse or ghost. I can't seem to do this on my own.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Staying Out
The post-Charity-earthquake-tremors have shown me just how far away I am from healthy in my healing journey.
Today, I did something I'm ashamed of. Something I don't remember ever doing. I deleted some of my comments on a blog where a long argument has developed, an argument that has me feeling scared and sad and anxious. I deleted my comments primarily because I am still not in a place where I can say something that can be seen as taking a side in an interpersonal conflict.
I have liked different people in that conflict for sometimes similar and sometimes different reasons. But that's not the only reason I feel I must Stay Out.
I always Stay Out. Still. Whenever anything personal transpires that even smells of potential conflict. I can only debate and discuss general ideas. Never have anything even remotely to do with any confrontation about anything personal. I have no idea if this will ever change.
In my family, conflict was simply forbidden. We were to be nice, polite, and civil to each other at all times, even in the privacy of our home. Of course, the only way to do this in a family is to completely keep its members from being emotionally involved with each other. I'm still somewhat trapped there. I feel safer in my FOC, and can now even sometimes have a bit of a fight with my husband. Friends, family, others? No way.
I used to deal by not being emotionally involved. Now I've changed that. I've somewhat unblocked the ability to have feelings for people. I "even" have feelings for people in this community. It only makes my problem worse. I used to think, while I was still largely narcissistically defended, that I was somehow "above" personal conflicts. I realize now I'm still much, much "below" them. I feel like a child whose parents are fighting - helpless, sad, unable to do anything but hope it'll be over soon.
Today, I did something I'm ashamed of. Something I don't remember ever doing. I deleted some of my comments on a blog where a long argument has developed, an argument that has me feeling scared and sad and anxious. I deleted my comments primarily because I am still not in a place where I can say something that can be seen as taking a side in an interpersonal conflict.
I have liked different people in that conflict for sometimes similar and sometimes different reasons. But that's not the only reason I feel I must Stay Out.
I always Stay Out. Still. Whenever anything personal transpires that even smells of potential conflict. I can only debate and discuss general ideas. Never have anything even remotely to do with any confrontation about anything personal. I have no idea if this will ever change.
In my family, conflict was simply forbidden. We were to be nice, polite, and civil to each other at all times, even in the privacy of our home. Of course, the only way to do this in a family is to completely keep its members from being emotionally involved with each other. I'm still somewhat trapped there. I feel safer in my FOC, and can now even sometimes have a bit of a fight with my husband. Friends, family, others? No way.
I used to deal by not being emotionally involved. Now I've changed that. I've somewhat unblocked the ability to have feelings for people. I "even" have feelings for people in this community. It only makes my problem worse. I used to think, while I was still largely narcissistically defended, that I was somehow "above" personal conflicts. I realize now I'm still much, much "below" them. I feel like a child whose parents are fighting - helpless, sad, unable to do anything but hope it'll be over soon.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Blame and Anger
Here's a confession I'm NOT ashamed to make: I blame my parents and I'm angry at them.
I realize these are negative emotions that are not entirely healthy, constructive, or productive. So what? They still represent great progress for me that I'm not prepared to relinquish.
If I'm angry at my parents, then great. It's the first authentic emotion I've had in decades. If something more vital, healthy, and fulfilling should arise and take the place of anger, I'm not averse to that. But I'm not suppressing my one authentic emotion for my parents just because it might make someone uncomfortable or "it is not constructive." I've been functional and constructive for too long.
If I blame my parents for my problems, it is only because I'm still drowning in the blame game. I was born in it. Only, I used to blame myself for all my deficiencies, problems, and failings. For being cold, selfish, and reserved. Now I plucked the knife out of my own heart and am pointing it at my parents - not even stabbing them with it, just pointing in their general direction. Perhaps at some point I'll use the knife to chop veggies for a nice, healthy salad full of vitamins. I'm not there yet. I don't know what it means not to blame one's parents and assume responsibility for one's actions and emotions - to me, it sounds like I should just go back to blaming myself. As I've no intention of placing the knife back into my heart, this is where I am right now.
Blaming and angry.
I realize these are negative emotions that are not entirely healthy, constructive, or productive. So what? They still represent great progress for me that I'm not prepared to relinquish.
If I'm angry at my parents, then great. It's the first authentic emotion I've had in decades. If something more vital, healthy, and fulfilling should arise and take the place of anger, I'm not averse to that. But I'm not suppressing my one authentic emotion for my parents just because it might make someone uncomfortable or "it is not constructive." I've been functional and constructive for too long.
If I blame my parents for my problems, it is only because I'm still drowning in the blame game. I was born in it. Only, I used to blame myself for all my deficiencies, problems, and failings. For being cold, selfish, and reserved. Now I plucked the knife out of my own heart and am pointing it at my parents - not even stabbing them with it, just pointing in their general direction. Perhaps at some point I'll use the knife to chop veggies for a nice, healthy salad full of vitamins. I'm not there yet. I don't know what it means not to blame one's parents and assume responsibility for one's actions and emotions - to me, it sounds like I should just go back to blaming myself. As I've no intention of placing the knife back into my heart, this is where I am right now.
Blaming and angry.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Black and White
Cheshire's post got me thinking. I too have succumbed to black and white thinking since the beginning of my recovery.
In a way, it's only natural. When your world is rocked by a revelation, when all your paradigms shift, you're going to go through a period of seeing the world in dichotomies. Have you just become a "born again" Christian? You're going to see the world split into believers and non-believers. Have you just had a baby? You're going to be noticing parents and those who are not all around you. Have you diagnosed your parents with NPD? You're going to be splitting the world into "narcissists" and "non-narcissists" for a while.
It's understandable. After a while, though, this kind of thinking impedes our recovery, because that's exactly the kind of thinking we inherited from our narcissistic parents. People got written off and discarded after getting defined as something unworthy. Based on very little.
For me, personally, the black and white thinking was slowly superseded by a spectrum type thinking. I started seeing "narcissism" as the basis of human evil and present to some extent in most of us, but only really diagnosable as a disorder at the point where it disrupts normal human functioning. When I see it in myself - the relatively small selfishnesses or the proud, martyr-like "selflessnesses" - I no longer categorize myself as a narcissist and thus beyond redemption. I acknowledge a negative element and attempt to eradicate it. Gradually. Mostly, I trust God to do most of the heavy lifting for me.
I'm fresh out of anger and resentment. I feel sorrow and pity for my father. Maybe because I haven't seen him for so long and he's done nothing upsetting lately. Who knows? I just know this feels better.
In a way, it's only natural. When your world is rocked by a revelation, when all your paradigms shift, you're going to go through a period of seeing the world in dichotomies. Have you just become a "born again" Christian? You're going to see the world split into believers and non-believers. Have you just had a baby? You're going to be noticing parents and those who are not all around you. Have you diagnosed your parents with NPD? You're going to be splitting the world into "narcissists" and "non-narcissists" for a while.
It's understandable. After a while, though, this kind of thinking impedes our recovery, because that's exactly the kind of thinking we inherited from our narcissistic parents. People got written off and discarded after getting defined as something unworthy. Based on very little.
For me, personally, the black and white thinking was slowly superseded by a spectrum type thinking. I started seeing "narcissism" as the basis of human evil and present to some extent in most of us, but only really diagnosable as a disorder at the point where it disrupts normal human functioning. When I see it in myself - the relatively small selfishnesses or the proud, martyr-like "selflessnesses" - I no longer categorize myself as a narcissist and thus beyond redemption. I acknowledge a negative element and attempt to eradicate it. Gradually. Mostly, I trust God to do most of the heavy lifting for me.
I'm fresh out of anger and resentment. I feel sorrow and pity for my father. Maybe because I haven't seen him for so long and he's done nothing upsetting lately. Who knows? I just know this feels better.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Only the Blind Can See
It sounds like a paradox, but I'm dead serious. The reason it's so difficult to explain to others what we were missing as children and are still missing now is because it is such a normal, essential thing that those who had it and have it don't even notice it. How can you explain Lack of Love to those whose parents really loved them? How can they understand what it's like never to have received free, safe, unconditional love from those whose duty it was to provide it?
So we talk about the fluff. We talk about their selfish or abusive or lying actions and are told that other parents sometimes do the same. They talk about how our parents raised us, put us through school, bought us stuff. But all this is irrelevant fluff. The issue is Lack of Love. Parental love is something absolutely essential, and yet something invisible, because it's simply taken for granted.
Like eyesight. We don't go around thinking about eyesight all day long, thanking God we have it and feeling empathy towards those who don't. We take it for granted. Only if you're blind, and have known what having eyesight is like, are you likely to See its importance.
When we are told "Well, maybe your parents were unable to really love you, but they put you through school and bought you stuff" it's like telling a person whose parents gouged their eyes out in infancy "Well, your parents blinded you, but they bought you some nice shades, and that white cane they got you sure is neat."
I was blinded early in my life. And only recently have I begun to realize what having eyesight feels like. And only now do I realize what a difference it makes and how essential it is.
So we talk about the fluff. We talk about their selfish or abusive or lying actions and are told that other parents sometimes do the same. They talk about how our parents raised us, put us through school, bought us stuff. But all this is irrelevant fluff. The issue is Lack of Love. Parental love is something absolutely essential, and yet something invisible, because it's simply taken for granted.
Like eyesight. We don't go around thinking about eyesight all day long, thanking God we have it and feeling empathy towards those who don't. We take it for granted. Only if you're blind, and have known what having eyesight is like, are you likely to See its importance.
When we are told "Well, maybe your parents were unable to really love you, but they put you through school and bought you stuff" it's like telling a person whose parents gouged their eyes out in infancy "Well, your parents blinded you, but they bought you some nice shades, and that white cane they got you sure is neat."
I was blinded early in my life. And only recently have I begun to realize what having eyesight feels like. And only now do I realize what a difference it makes and how essential it is.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
A new take on Matt 10: 34-36
"Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to turn a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law — a man’s enemies will be the members of his own household."
When you find yourself in a narcissistic household - a household controlled by someone closed to all light, truth, and love - and awaken and open yourself up to real light, truth, and love, the narcissist will become your enemy. It's inevitable. They can smell it.
I recently started replying to my father's "What are you doing?" with "We're enjoying life together" and he's been worse lately. This is because his daughter's ability to enjoy life with her chosen family is like a slap in the face for a narcissist.
They can't love and live and enjoy. They want to "suffer" and blame and complain. And they want others to do the same. If you dare be happy, you're not one of them. You're the enemy.
When you find yourself in a narcissistic household - a household controlled by someone closed to all light, truth, and love - and awaken and open yourself up to real light, truth, and love, the narcissist will become your enemy. It's inevitable. They can smell it.
I recently started replying to my father's "What are you doing?" with "We're enjoying life together" and he's been worse lately. This is because his daughter's ability to enjoy life with her chosen family is like a slap in the face for a narcissist.
They can't love and live and enjoy. They want to "suffer" and blame and complain. And they want others to do the same. If you dare be happy, you're not one of them. You're the enemy.
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