"Everything's got a moral, if only you can find it." ~ Lewis Carroll
So all day yesterday and into the evening, I had the self-loathing soundtrack repeating endlessly in my head. I thought it was because I was feeling angry with my father. Late in the evening, I remembered my therapist said she thought it was related to sexual abuse and suggested that I remember with whom I'm really angry. So I shifted my thoughts and started substituting his name instead of mine. It only took a couple of minutes for me to be overwhelmed with rage. It always makes me feel like a want to set myself on fire. It makes me want to disappear. It makes me want to implode. I stopped the thoughts. I couldn't bear it anymore. Here's the big surprise--it worked. For the rest of the evening, the cruel voice inside my head was silenced.
I still tend to minimize that abuse. As I thought about that, about why I don't want to face how horrible it was and the damage that was done, it dawned on me that somewhere deep inside I still believe that it was my fault. That really makes me angry. I've managed to keep that a secret from myself for a while now. My logical mind knows it wasn't my fault. it's that child inside who believes otherwise.
Somewhere in the midst of all of these epiphanies, it occurred to me that recounting the events of my life doesn't help because I am unwilling to move across the threshold of my memories. I can recount them to myself endlessly, but the meaning of those events is still more than I can bear. I know the meaning. I'd just rather not have to confront it. The meaning of those memories plunges me into darkness, so much darkness that I'm uncertain whether I can return to the light. Confronting the despair barely hidden behind the events my past makes me not want to go on living.
I thought yesterday about letting a friend of mine read this weblog. I thought about it, but I didn't do it. I'm afraid she will no longer like me. I have no idea what the fuck that's about. If someone were to ask me if I like myself, the answer would be yes. there are a lot of things I like about myself. I think. now I'm uncertain, having had this revelation.
On the other hand, it's true that one of my biggest difficulties in life is letting people know me. I tailor my personality to fit my audience. Would my audience like me to be intellectual? Then I'll downplay the parts of myself that don't fit that bill. Would my audience like to believe all I ever think about is shoes? Can do. I just temporarily excise other parts of my personality. I don't know why this is. I know when I first started therapy this last time, I told my therapist that I wanted to figure out what people want from me and give it to them so they'll go away and leave me alone. That's not so true at this moment. but if that's not it, I'm not sure why the hell I behave that way.
america held hostage day 1857
bushism of the day:
"I'm hopeful. I know there is a lot of ambition in Washington, obviously. But I hope the ambitious realize that they are more likely to succeed with success as opposed to failure."
—Interview with the Associated Press, Jan. 18, 2001