Excerpt from May 5, 2008 journal
…One of the weirdest things is that even while writing this I’m consumed with a feeling of “who gives a shit? Who is going to even want to read this? Who wants to read about another person’s suffering?” I have this idea in my head that there are hordes of people out there, already judging and despising me, ready to tear me down as soon as I open up.
I was talking about a related issue with my pyschologist this past weekend, and she suggested that maybe I was suffering from a time distortion– that maybe the invisible hating throngs were not actually out there NOW, but were a leftover emotion from my childhood.
I thought this was a great point. When I was a child and teenager, there was a constant hating presence in my life: my stepmother. Whether she was in a shouting match with my dad, engaged in a manipulative tirade against me, or just lurking silently in the house, I could always feel her hate flowing towards me like a river of lava, even when I couldn’t see her. Even now my heart shakes with fear, remembering what it was like– how scared I was of her. She had the power to make me regret things I’d never done, to make me feel like the worst person in the world, to feel ashamed for things that no child (or adult) should feel ashamed for. Her influence was so powerful and pervasive that I feel it to this day.
I haven’t seen her since 1997. I think my decision to move out and never go back to that house was one of the best decisions I’ve made to protect my sanity. But I still imagine that she spends time thinking about me and how much she hates me, and how I ruined her life by merely existing.
Sometimes I remember that 10 years is a long time, and she’s probably way more gray now, and looks a lot older (being a hateful crazy person ages you crazy fast). Would I still be afraid of her if I saw her? Probably. Does it make sense that she would still spend a significant amount of time thinking about me and hating me? Mmmm… not sure about that. She is pretty crazy, so maybe, but it’s a little unreasonable to think that another person could meditate on the hatefulness of my existence every day for 10 years and not get bored with it.
When I told my psychologist that I could feel my stepmother’s hate beaming towards me in a constant, visceral way, whenever I thought of her, she asked me something like, “Who is generating these feelings?” I paused, and said, “I am.” That was when she suggested that I was experiencing time in a distorted manner with respect to my stepmom.
It’s strange, because I do not literally believe any hate-beams are coming my way across Lake Washington. But something in my brain can feel them SO STRONGLY. I imagine this is how a schizophrenic person might feel– they may know their hallucinations aren’t real, but they see them clearly. I know the hate beams aren’t real, but my heart feels them so clearly. The hate beams make me want to tear at myself, to cut myself, to do things that drown out the feeling, to scream and scream and scream. They make me want to throw up or stab my stomach and pull out my innards to alleviate the aching. I want to cry, but my brain knows that is strictly forbidden, so no tears come.
They’re just memories… and neural pathways etched into my brain… This is what PTSD is like.
This is why crazy people should not ever try to raise kids…
4 Comments
I’ve always had this metaphor about growing up that it was like climbing a mountain with many plateaus and sometimes when we reached a plateau it became difficult to keep going because it seemed like such a nice place to stay.
The metaphor fails when it comes to unlearning though. That piece where whatever habits were etched into our thinking when we were growing up seem like such bigger parts of reality than they ever are; at least outside of us.
I think the worth part of crazy is that it’s so hard to make sense of it, but we keep trying, not really knowing what else to do with it.
Hey Jess, I just got a feed reader (am I slow or what?)so I’ve been seeing if any of my contacts have blogs. And wow, they do! And I’m so glad I found that you’re blogging. Oh boy can I relate to what you write here. Completely. As you know, I have dealt with PTSD from my wonderful ex husband. But the things you talk about here have been my constant companions throughout my entire life. It’s only been in the last five years or so that I’ve grown past it.
I never had a family member that wanted to cause me harm. For me it was the entire community. I’ve had some crap things happen. But anyway, by the time I was 20 or so I remember being able to voice this feeling as “them”. I felt that no matter what I did or said or thought…”they” were watching. “They” were looking for me to make a screwup or make a fool of myself or whatever. (I guess there must have been some element of this actually happening at some point, but it became irrelevant when as an adult I was incapacitated by this fear of “them”.) I always felt like “they” were watching me. It wasn’t a paranoia. It was a hatred that “they” felt of me. I could feel them hating me, wanting me to fail, just waiting to pounce on me. I constantly justified all of my actions in a running dialogue in my head. I talked to “them”, sort of, too as I came up with justifications for why I did what I did. It was pervasive. It took the form of a critical voice that chastized me for every little thing. And the end result was that I was ashamed to be alive. I truly felt that “they” wanted to annihilate me. Or at least my life force. I felt like they felt I had to right to be alive.
Of course I realized there was not really a “them”. I knew that nobody really cared that much about what I did. (well, actually…I did have some rather awful bullies out to get me in college) But I always knew that this was an irrational fear and had nothing to do with what was really happening.
Now that I look back on it, I believe that for me it’s a matter of personal boundaries. When I was a kid, my self esteem was based on what others thought of me. It was never connected with my actions whatsoever. So I was always at the mercy of this amorphous “they” who defined me. My self concept was loose, fluid, and my concept of who I was somehow included the opinions of these other entities. Having a self concept so broad meant that I felt unsafe all the time. I had no control over my own inner world. Words are failing me here, but I can refer to a book that really helped me with this concept. CO-DEPENDENCE: MISUNDERSTOOD, MISTREATED by Anne Wilson Schaeff is a really nifty book that helped me a lot. Don’t let the title put you off, it’s not really a book about addiction, per se. It’s about managing your inner world so that the “tapes” no longer play and dictate what you think and feel. Like any self-help book, you take what works for you and toss out the rest. But this was the first and only place I’ve ever seen that talked about some of the more bizarre things I did to myself in my head. And since I recognize some of them in your post here, I thought I’d give my two cents.
Wow you guys… thanks for your comments.
Bryan, I think the whole mechanism of unlearning is just totally bizarre. Trying to change the way your brain processes the world around you is like having a second full time job. And it takes so long… it gets so tiring.
I think a lot of people *don\’t* try to unlearn, or don\’t have any idea where to start, and I can\’t blame them. (Unless their learned habits are harming others while they\’re just sitting on their asses– then I have mouthfuls of swearwords and rude gesticulations for them.)
Ginger– I do that too, keep a running internal dialog justifying everything I do, so I can be prepared to defend myself against anyone who questions me. (Because by questioning me, they of course really mean that I don\’t deserve to exist…wtf.) I\’m actually reading a book on co-dependence now. I\’ve learned a lot of interesting stuff about boundaries, but there\’s a little too much \”higher power\” stuff in it for me. I will check out the one you recommended.
Is it not completely weird what happens to the human brain when we are subjected to prolonged mental/physical anguish at the hands of other humans?
Thanks so much for commenting… it\’s so good to have a reminder that I\’m not alone.
Oh yeah, that higher power stuff…that also kept me out of that codependant stuff. I know it works for some people, but honestly I find that much of the religious stuff is pitifully poor on the boundary department too. I don’t remember if that book has higher power stuff or not…don’t think it does. But I’ve sort of learned to substitute “the way things should be if the world were where I wanted it to be” for higher power and it seems to help. I think a lot of people grew up with a comforting god, so this helps them. For me, god stuff was damaging, so I have to use a different imagery.
Post a Comment