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"Sometimes the appropriate response to reality is to go insane." - Philip K. Dick

A great quotation

Sunday, 07 September 2008

It's not having been in the dark house, but having left it, that counts. ~ Theodore Roosevelt

I'm Still Standing

Friday, 18 July 2008

You could never know what it's like
Your blood like winter freezes just like ice
And there's a cold lonely light that shines from you
You'll wind up like the wreck you hide behind that mask you use

And did you think this fool could never win
Well look at me, I'm coming back again
I got a taste of love in a simple way
And if you need to know while I'm still standing you just fade away

Don't you know I'm still standing better than I ever did
Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid
I'm still standing after all this time
Picking up the pieces of my life without you on my mind

I'm still standing yeah yeah yeah
I'm still standing yeah yeah yeah

Once I never could hope to win
You starting down the road leaving me again
The threats you made were meant to cut me down
And if our love was just a circus you'd be a clown by now

- Elton John, Bernie Taupin

And now that I understand....

Friday, 11 July 2008

Now that I've finally seen and figured out that my mother created a straw figure (not unlike the logical fallacy of the "straw man argument") and made it a stand-in for me and then pinned all of her own self-loathing on it (see the past couple of entries here if you want to come up to speed), I not only understand that her rage and stupidity and abuse had nothing at all to do with me.... I can stop being that figment of her imagination.

You see, I really did love my mother. I really did want to please her. I really did want to be a "good girl", which meant doing everything she wanted. Nevermind that some of what she wanted was impossible, contradictory, illogical... I did want to please her. She held out her "approval" like a carrot, which I eventually figured out I was NEVER going to get, but as a child, I didn't know that the problem was her, and not me. I tried to be what she told me I should be, in order to get her approval, which I never got.

I don't have to be any of the things she said I was, the things she still tells people that I am. I am free. I haven't really been doing that for a long time, but somewhere, deep in my psyche, was still the ghost of a self who would repeat all the things that she said and wonder if they were true...

Well, now I know for sure that none of them were true, and none of them are true. I don't have to be ANY of that any more. NOTHING she ever said to me has to have any weight whatsoever. I don't have to "let go" of it, I can throw it out as totally and utterly irrelevant, because it wasn't even about me, It was about her, and it was about the straw figure she created.

I've said before that she doesn't even know me, but now I see that for absolute sure. She doesn't hate me. She hates herself, and she hates the fake me she created. The real me is a total stranger to her, and a complete mystery.

I am my own. I am myself, I owe her nothing, and nothing she ever said about me was true or correct or valid. I was never that person, even though I tried sometimes to conform to it in order to gain her approval. She doesn't even know me... and she doesn't even care.

So, well, she can go on living her below-the-poverty-level life in her hideously ugly, avacado green, paint-peeling house, in that ignorant little American Midwestern town, with her lying, abusive husband and her very, very unhappy self, blaming everything on the fake image of the daughter she never knew.

It's nothing to do with me.

I finally understand

Thursday, 10 July 2008

I am so happy to finally figure this out. I feel like a huge brick wall has broken to bits in front of me, and I have a clear view for the first time ever. Wow!

So many things make sense to me now that I finally understand that my mother will do anything possible to avoid taking any measure of responsibility for herself and her life, and knowing that any time something is less than absolutely perfect, it sets off her own self-loathing (I'm not entirely sure the relationship between perfection and self-loathing, but I know there is one; I don't really care what it is, though).

One of the suicide attempts I made as a teenager involved me, in a fit of rage and despair, just swallowing a bunch of pills from the medicine cabinet. My mother's reaction? Well, she actually said to me that it was very inconsiderate of me to do that, because some of those were prescription, and now they had to drive all the way to the next town to get the prescription refilled. Your daughter tries to kill herself, or at least is so upset she's willing to risk her life to send you a message, and all you can say is, "How inconsiderate of you, now I have to drive all the way to get a refill!"?

It's a horrible story, I know, but now, I actually understand it. For years it totally perplexed me, I mean, what the hell was she thinking? Now I know. When I did that, all of her internal feelings of guilt, shame, worthlessness, incompetence, etcetera were riled up and instead of dealing with her own issues and owning them, she just turned it on the straw figure she had made and which she told herself was me. She looked at the straw figure she put in front of me, now covered with her own shame, guilt, fear, worthlessness, and so forth, and decided I wasn't really a teenaged girl in desperate pain, I was just terribly inconsiderate.

And she did it because she refused to deal with her own issues. She couldn't care, she couldn't give a damn, because then she'd have to ask herself why I was this disturbed. She'd have to deal with the volcano of self-loathing and her belief that she was a terrible mother (which she was, but only because it was a self-fulfilling prophecy and because she would never deal with her own issues). I've always wondered what stupid thing she would have told her friends and herself if I'd actually died in one of my suicide attempts, in order to cover her guilt and shame and feelings of incompetence... (Actually, she would have put on a huge, dramatic show with lots of black clothes and weeping and she would have played the role of the grieving mother to the hilt. I must say, I'm glad she never got that opportunity.)

Another thing I understand now is why my mother keeps in touch with D___, my very abusive ex. You see, he has nothing but lies, half-truths, and bad things to say about me. This props up the straw figure that she created to be a stand-in for me. It helps to maintain her fantasy about how I'm evil incarnate.

I could never understand why she undermined me at every opportunity, taking any chance she could, even making chances, to snipe at me and rob me of any kind of self-confidence I might have had. I could never understand why she wanted me to be mentally ill, why she wanted me to be homeless. Now I get it. The more I appeared to fail, the more she could justify her straw figure and the more she could deflect her own self-loathing onto it.

When I succeeded, when I did well, when I was happy, when I showed too much intelligence, when I was competent, when I was self-confident, that was a threat to the fake image, the straw figure that she pretended was me and onto which she projected all of her rage and guilt and shame and disgust and loathing and fear....

I know this post probably sounds like I'm miserable and upset and venting all this stuff, but actually, I'm grinning and I'm just so very happy to finally understand, to finally get it. There are so many stories in my life that are exactly like the ones above, so many things that I couldn't understand, that nobody could understand, and now, finally, finally, finally, understand.

Whew. What a relief.

I get it!

Thursday, 10 July 2008

I had a rather big breakthrough in understanding and the dominoes are still falling. I won't go into every realisation I've had because some are quite personal and some are fairly esoteric and of a spiritual nature, and it would take too long to put them into context. This one, however, I can easily share...

Everything that my mother said about me is what she believes about herself. Useless, worthless, good-for-nothing, unattractive, all of it. I know for sure that she believes all of that about herself, and many, many more negative things. She set up a sort of cardboard figure that she said was me and stood it in front of me, and then pinned all of her own self-loathing and frustration on it. When I would dare to speak out in ways that didn't fit her projected image, or I stepped out from behind it, she went hysterical, because, suddenly, she had to face the fact that I wasn't actually what she was claiming I was, that the problem was actually with her...

This makes me feel so much better. All of the evil things she said and did, it was all actually nothing at all to do with me. I was just the invented target for her own self-hatred. It makes me feel better not because it makes it okay (it doesn't) but because I can now TOTALLY dismiss pretty much everything she ever said to me! All of the insults, all of the untrue accusations, all of the bullsh*t, it was just... nothing. Nothing to do with me. I am none of the things she said I was, no matter how hard she wants to try to pin them on me.

Another thing I realised is that she never, never ever takes responsibility for anything. Not for her thoughts, not for her emotions, not for her actions, not for her decisions, nothing. She believes that she's incompetent, probably because at an early age she was either punished for showing any competence or she found that it's easier to be helpless (learned helplessness). She is also the most miserable person I've ever met, mostly because of her own incredibly negative outlook and hateful attitudes, for which she takes no responsibility whatsoever...

This is amazingly freeing. One person, when I asked, "Why does she hate me so much?" responded, "Because she's an a&&hole," and that's certainly true enough, but now I have a better idea why she is that, and why she hates me, and it actually lifts a huge burden. NOTHING my mother ever said about me was true! Nothing that I can remember, anyway (I cannot recall even one time that she praised me unconditionally; I'm sure she tells herself that she praised me all the time, of course).

Whew. What a relief. She doesn't actually hate me. She doesn't even know me and she never did. She hates herself, and she used me to deflect her self-loathing. She's still doing that, in fact, still blaming the cardboard cutout that she tells herself is me for every bad thing in her life, the life that she, herself, created.

I just wish I understood WHY my mother hates me

Monday, 07 July 2008

Why does my mother hate me? This is something that I want to understand. I know, it doesn't really matter. I'm almost certainly never going to speak to her or my father again in my lifetime. Neither of them want to speak to me or even care if I'm thriving or dying, although I suspect my mother would rather see me fail than succeed.

And this is what I'm trying to figure out. WHY does my mother hate me? What is it about me that inspires her to hatred? Is it fear? Jealousy? What is it?

I know a few things for sure. Firstly, from the time I was very small I was extremely strong-willed. I would not conform to her plans just because they were her plans. I did want to please her, and I did want her to love me, and I tried to "be good", but so many of her plans and ideas were just completely stupid and pointless, and even at the age of three I could see that. I couldn't see (and still don't see) and need for me to eat liver, which I have always, always hated. I couldn't see the point in cleaning my room if all I was going to get for it at the end was her marching in and complaining about how stupid I was and how I never did anything right and how I was useless because there was some random dust bunny in some unseen corner or the underwear drawer wasn't properly organised or whatever crap she found to pick on me for. I was defiant. I still am defiant in the face of absolute stupidity.

Along the same lines, I refused, from a young age, to conform to her imaginary world. She has this fantasy world constructed for herself, and it's a weird place. Anything that threatens the perfection of her fake world is to be despised. I threatened it all the time, just by being alive and failing to conform sufficiently to her denial. I kept reminding her, unwititngly at first and then later deliberately, that she was lying to herself. She didn't like being reminded.

When I was five and my father was in Viet Nam, it was just me and my mother. She didn't cope well. The whole idea of having to take responsibility for anything was terrifying to her. She started seeing a counsellor. I remember visiting the office, and playing with the toys they had there. Apparently, my mother went to the counsellor and complained that I was unruly and uncontrollable and, I dunno, maybe that I was a "bad seed" who was "born evil" or something, I have no way of knowing. I do know that she told the counsellor that I was "a problem". I know this because my mother told me.

The counsellor observed me and talked to me and then suggested to my mother that the problem wasn't me. That I was perfectly normal. That the problem was my mother's. My mother promptly stopped seeing that counsellor, and I know this because I remember bits of it and also because my mother told me about it.

My mother has hated me pretty much all of my life. She was never happy with anything I ever did. She always believed the worst of me. She always took any side that was against me (my abusive ex-husband, my compulsively lying father, etc.). It was always me who was bad. I was the focus for every bad thing in her entire life. She used me as the reason her life was miserable.

And I understand this, and have for a long time. But... WHY? Why does she prefer to hate me and wish me ill? What does she gain from it? Does it keep her from having to consider the things she's done and the choices she's made? Why does she take pleasure in always thinking the worst of me? Does it protect her from having to think poorly of herself? I've always thought that she doesn't actually know me at all, so am I just a target for all of her projections? Did she create a sort of mannequin or puppet that she tells herself is me, to justify her hatred?

Honestly, I really want to know this. Maybe I need to know it. I want to understand. Why does a woman deliberately go out of her way to hate and despise her only child? What's in it for her? Why is hating me worth it to her? What does she gain from doing this?

And is it really worth it?

How could one person get it all so very wrong?

Friday, 20 June 2008

I have written before that I can't really think of anything that my mother taught me that was right. Seriously. I know, that sounds really mean and like I'm angry, but I'm not. I'm just bewildered. She sometimes did the right thing, yes, I mean, she wasn't horrible all the time, and she had her moments that were nice and warm and happy, but when I look at the actual lessons I learned from her, they're all wrong. Every. Single. One. Of. Them.

Anyway, I have written about this previously, so I won't go into that all again, but this topic was raised for me again with a book I'm reading. It's a sort of new-agey type book, but has some extremely practical advice on positive thinking, on where and how you put your attention and focus, and, most importantly, about the importance of consciousness, of awareness. One of the chapters about halfway through the book asserts this:

You are free.
You are powerful.
You are good.
You are love.
You have value.
You have purpose.
All is well.

I was really, really struck by this. These are all classic "positive affirmations," yes, but the thing that struck me, so much so that my jaw actually dropped when I realised it, is that my mother taught me the exact opposite of every one of those.

She taught me that I was trapped.
She taught me that I was powerless.
She taught me that I was "good for nothing" (her precise words).
She taught me that love is conditional (i.e., if you don't conform, you can't be loved).
She taught me that I was worthless (again, her word).
She taught me that I was useless (her word, again).
She taught me that I should be constantly afraid and worried about what might happen next.

Every single one of those things, she taught me the opposite. She did this with a lot of other stuff, too. And I'm not, surprisingly, angry or even upset. I'm gobsmacked. I'm dumbfounded. How can ONE person get EVERYTHING so very, very, VERY wrong?

It boggles the rational mind, truly it does.

If I were a believer in pre-life contracts and so forth (I do believe in life beyond our current physical incarnations, but I'm not sure I believe that you "choose" your family or anything of that sort), I'd think that we had some sort of deal where she would do her best to teach me the opposite of everything, just so that I could overcome it...

Mostly, I think she's just a fool.

And I AM free, powerful, good, love (and lovable!), valuable, and useful, and all is well. Right now, in this moment, all is well. And in the next moment, all will be well. And so on and so on, moment by moment. All is well. I am well. And I am grateful.

When You Learn Abuse, You Live Abuse

Wednesday, 11 June 2008

When You Learn Abuse, You Live Abuse

War Veterans

Thursday, 29 May 2008

First, I've got no particular issue with war veterans. I want to make that clear. I've known a LOT of them (I'm a military brat). However, I'm really triggered right now, and I'm not sure what's "underneath", which is why I'm writing.

There's apparently a certain attitude that any and all "war veterans" are automatically above reproach, no matter how vile they are. Now, I would agree that someone with, say, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is probably in need of some degree of understanding, provided they're willing to acknowledge the problem and get help for it. But just being "a war veteran" does not automatically make someone "a hero" any more than being a survivor of child abuse does.

My father is a war veteran. He's not a hero by anyone's standards. He's an obnoxious, abusive bully. He was before he went to Viet Nam, he was after. Whether or not his experience there (which did not include direct combat as he was not ever a combat soldier) did damage to his psyche, I can't say, but he was a jerk before he went, so I suspect all it did was make him somewhat worse.

To be fair, he had a hell of a childhood. Abusive father, they were apparently quite poor, he was a bit of a ruffian and hotwired a car or two. I'm not saying he hasn't got reasons for being the jerk that he is. I'm also not saying that his experiences in Viet Nam didn't leave a lasting negative impression on an already damaged psyche.

HOWEVER...

Merely being "a war veteran" does not make him "a hero". It does not excuse the things he did. It does not make him great, or even good. It doesn't make his behaviour okay, it doesn't make him a nice guy, it doesn't make him a good father.

Anyone who insists that ALL "war veterans" are automatically entitled to some sort of hero worship merely for the fact that they spent a year in some war situation is seriously out of touch with the real world. Yes, some of these men and women made significant sacrifices for the benefit of others, and I don't deny that.

But it doesn't mean my father is anything less than an abusive, obnoxious bully, veteran or not.

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