Thursday, August 03, 2017, 17:48
Dr.: tell me about our relationship with our mother.
Me: what the hell does that have to do with what I’m here to talk with you about?
Dr. we seem a bit upset, can I do something to make us feel less so?
Me: session ended Dr.! This third person “trialog” you seem to be stuck inside, is not working for me! I came here because I thought it would be a first step to finding some relief from this hell I’m going through; but no, you want to go all “Freud-freak” on me, no thanks, doc!
This was a retelling on the real conversation between my first psychiatrist and me when I learned that I needed some help in explaining what was happening inside of my head!
The “how are we?” crap got old, and quickly so!
Think about the stories you have read in books. There is a beginning a middle, and an ending. But is that really the way it is? Are we not being told something?
Let me use the bible as an example: Genesis 1:1 In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.
The beginning of what? All things, some other things that weren’t yet in existence, because God already was, so something else had to be around, or maybe not, right?
A tale of two cities: it was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
Why? How did we arrive at this point as a beginning of a story?
My story begins far and away from my actual birth. It goes back to ancestry, cultural traditions, origins of first arrivals on new shores, the events that make the present exist.
My PTSI had a beginning beyond me. It started before I was almost molested by a family friend, it started before the attempted molester was born probably. All things have an ultimate causative action that produced the ripples that become the future. I have to believe that; because we can see light from stars that have bee burned out for millions if not billions of years already. It can rain on me on one sidewalk, while the person across the street is totally dry.
Cancer probab;y started before a human being existed. It is said to be in every living human’s body, it just doesn’t manifest itself as a disease in all of us.
A musical note exists before a musician rites it on a page. (personally, I like that one!)I know this may seem a little out of left field, but it is all about beginnings, and whether or not we ever get the whole story. Had things gone differently, my story would have genetically surpassed my existence, and made an impact beyond the point at where my voice was stopped.
I can’t recall the moment it all began to become striped and plaid at the same time. I do know that I was clear one day and then… it was mixed-up and out of focus, not meaning the same as before, not looking familiar. I was playing a role like some actor in a play or a movie, but I knew I wasn’t me right then.
Looking into a mirror I had to stare and search for familiar signs that I had not been replaced. That was some frightening shyt to deal with!
Being confused and determined to deny it takes a lot of energy. It makes life so difficult to live with that all I could do was think of ways to end it, right then, not later. I loved me, but I didn’t feel like me anymore and this was damnable and it was contemptible in my mind! I wanted to kill the stranger and I was the stranger that had to die! That may not be suicidal, so much as it was self-preservation. Of course, this statement makes no sense, which is why I hope that any person on the cusp of eliminating their life, would stop, think about it, and think about it until they fall asleep.
Want the whole story? Sorry, it’s unlikely that any of us will ever have that knowledge. Yesterday I was a slug who was willing to demand his own life as an escape clause, but today, I’m a slug who wants to clean up the slime that has been thrown onto him and just live.
How about you?