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.

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.

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.