Ashes
It has been years since I felt I was a thing. Years since I studied the nuts and bolts that hold my personality together.
Perhaps I am a touch melodramatic - but it is no lie to say that I essentially created myself. There is scientific backing for my theory. Why do you think the military is careful to undress the personality of every raw recruit? And who is to say that children are any less cruel than a drill sergeant?
My childhood personality was essentially destroyed in middle school. Imagine small town girl meets big city - then pile on a nice touch of psychological warfare. (You know it is bad when the principle not only knows your name - but stops to apologize for the treatment you are receiving from other students. He broke confidentiality to assure my parents (and me) that one of my main tormentors was switching school districts - and soon I would only have four tormentors instead of five - wheee.)
I had two choices: to withdraw from the world so that nothing else could ever hurt me - or pick up the shards of my life, and try to patch them back together. I won't pretend that I took the high road by choice. I withdrew from the world for eight years. I perfected a control over my body and my emotions that was amazing to the few who have seen it. If I have a stomach bug, I often have the choice of whether or not to throw up. I can cry and hold a conversation on the phone - without the other person ever knowing that I'm in distress. But, in college, thanks to the love and support of my roommates, the walls came crumbling down.
I remember the day that I made the decision to live. A rape counselor made a presentation to our psychology class - asking everyone in the room to write down her name and number. She explained that this was her way of ensuring anyone who needed the number would get it - and still retain their anonymity. Then she went on to describe the human response to traumatic events - and the healing process. We humans are strange creatures. We build a cocoon when we hurt. And there is nothing wrong with building the cocoon - as long as it eventually hatches. But for a few individuals - the cocoon becomes a prison.
Maybe it was the counselor. Maybe it was the sunlight. Maybe it was the three bicyclist that passed me on the street. SOMETHING that day tore open my cocoon.
It was time to begin the process of piecing myself together.
Creation of my "operating system" was slow - and painful. I still have crossed wires that I never fixed. The most prominent is my reaction to emergency situations - I dissolve into helpless laughter. At first, I gauged my success by the reaction of others. I was fluid as water. If someone mentioned they hated my laughter, I stopped laughing. I learned to put others before myself - and then spent years realizing that I was my own person - and had my own self worth.
Over time, I grew confident and stopped changing the habits that people didn't like - realizing that I could not please everyone. I began to like the person I had created. Eventually I fell in love with myself - and did my damndest to lock myself out of the control center. It was a scary step - closing that door. Making the promise to myself that I would STOP tinkering with the nuts and bolts of my personality. It was time to live - and to enjoy living.
And then yesterday I received a psychological blow, which left me feeling as if I had been kicked by a donkey.
Not two weeks ago, I passed a "final systems test" - where I overheard something hurtful (about me) that an acquaintance was telling one of my friends. I debated for a long time as to whether it was worth approaching the acquaintance - and then decided that ultimately, she was just that - an acquaintance - and her opinion could only affect me if I allowed it. FOR THE FIRST TIME, I DID NOT FEEL A NEED TO DEFEND MYSELF. This was a victory over 18 years in the making. Let her think what she wants to. I know who I am.
I am an optimist. Goodness knows, I've had enough occasions where throwing myself off a building seemed a justifiable solution - but I have used strength and humor to carry me through. I have always had faith that the Universe will watch out for me - that things happen for a reason - and everything will "turn out" in the end.
The last few years have been hard (though by no means "special" - we all have our trials and tribulations). But recently I have been seeking counseling - because I feel I have too much on my plate - and too little support. I have noticed my system careening off balance, and have made countermoves to restore stability.
Such a simple comment - to set my world on end: "Both of you are such negative people," the counselor said, referencing my husband and I.
It was said in a rush at the end of a session. Here, it is taken out of context - the situation left unexplained. But it cut. Deep. Drawing blood from a wound I thought long healed. It turned my soul inside out and showed me the ragged seams.
I know it is not true. In my bones, I know it is not true. Everything in my life is choice. I have made myself, and I can make myself again. But somewhere along the way, I allowed myself to be warped. The personality I have so painstakingly crafted is coming apart - and now, after 18 years, I find myself staring at the nuts and bolts - and right now it hurts to much too touch them.
I want to clarify that my counselor did not so much cause the wound as draw my attention to it. My soul has been bleeding for a few years now, but I was unaware how much had leaked beyond myself. I am hurt. I am confused. I am angry with no real target.
Because I know that under the facade, I AM unhappy. I don't like the person that I have become - and for ANYONE to be able to think I am a creature of negativity - to know that I am projecting a persona that can be perceived as a generator of negativity . . .
It knocks the breath out of my body. It leaves me feeling frail and hollow - like a thing of ashes, ready to crumble at a touch. I am not even sure I can explain the why of the wound to anyone else - save to say that it is kin to discovering you have become a thing you hated and swore you would never turn into.
If I seem a little "off-color" this week, pray forgive. To an extent, I am soul-wounded and fighting hard not to withdraw into another cocoon. Not to worry - I have faith that I will come through this. I just need time - and a large wrench with a good grip.
Perhaps I am a touch melodramatic - but it is no lie to say that I essentially created myself. There is scientific backing for my theory. Why do you think the military is careful to undress the personality of every raw recruit? And who is to say that children are any less cruel than a drill sergeant?
My childhood personality was essentially destroyed in middle school. Imagine small town girl meets big city - then pile on a nice touch of psychological warfare. (You know it is bad when the principle not only knows your name - but stops to apologize for the treatment you are receiving from other students. He broke confidentiality to assure my parents (and me) that one of my main tormentors was switching school districts - and soon I would only have four tormentors instead of five - wheee.)
I had two choices: to withdraw from the world so that nothing else could ever hurt me - or pick up the shards of my life, and try to patch them back together. I won't pretend that I took the high road by choice. I withdrew from the world for eight years. I perfected a control over my body and my emotions that was amazing to the few who have seen it. If I have a stomach bug, I often have the choice of whether or not to throw up. I can cry and hold a conversation on the phone - without the other person ever knowing that I'm in distress. But, in college, thanks to the love and support of my roommates, the walls came crumbling down.
I remember the day that I made the decision to live. A rape counselor made a presentation to our psychology class - asking everyone in the room to write down her name and number. She explained that this was her way of ensuring anyone who needed the number would get it - and still retain their anonymity. Then she went on to describe the human response to traumatic events - and the healing process. We humans are strange creatures. We build a cocoon when we hurt. And there is nothing wrong with building the cocoon - as long as it eventually hatches. But for a few individuals - the cocoon becomes a prison.
Maybe it was the counselor. Maybe it was the sunlight. Maybe it was the three bicyclist that passed me on the street. SOMETHING that day tore open my cocoon.
It was time to begin the process of piecing myself together.
Creation of my "operating system" was slow - and painful. I still have crossed wires that I never fixed. The most prominent is my reaction to emergency situations - I dissolve into helpless laughter. At first, I gauged my success by the reaction of others. I was fluid as water. If someone mentioned they hated my laughter, I stopped laughing. I learned to put others before myself - and then spent years realizing that I was my own person - and had my own self worth.
Over time, I grew confident and stopped changing the habits that people didn't like - realizing that I could not please everyone. I began to like the person I had created. Eventually I fell in love with myself - and did my damndest to lock myself out of the control center. It was a scary step - closing that door. Making the promise to myself that I would STOP tinkering with the nuts and bolts of my personality. It was time to live - and to enjoy living.
And then yesterday I received a psychological blow, which left me feeling as if I had been kicked by a donkey.
Not two weeks ago, I passed a "final systems test" - where I overheard something hurtful (about me) that an acquaintance was telling one of my friends. I debated for a long time as to whether it was worth approaching the acquaintance - and then decided that ultimately, she was just that - an acquaintance - and her opinion could only affect me if I allowed it. FOR THE FIRST TIME, I DID NOT FEEL A NEED TO DEFEND MYSELF. This was a victory over 18 years in the making. Let her think what she wants to. I know who I am.
I am an optimist. Goodness knows, I've had enough occasions where throwing myself off a building seemed a justifiable solution - but I have used strength and humor to carry me through. I have always had faith that the Universe will watch out for me - that things happen for a reason - and everything will "turn out" in the end.
The last few years have been hard (though by no means "special" - we all have our trials and tribulations). But recently I have been seeking counseling - because I feel I have too much on my plate - and too little support. I have noticed my system careening off balance, and have made countermoves to restore stability.
Such a simple comment - to set my world on end: "Both of you are such negative people," the counselor said, referencing my husband and I.
It was said in a rush at the end of a session. Here, it is taken out of context - the situation left unexplained. But it cut. Deep. Drawing blood from a wound I thought long healed. It turned my soul inside out and showed me the ragged seams.
I know it is not true. In my bones, I know it is not true. Everything in my life is choice. I have made myself, and I can make myself again. But somewhere along the way, I allowed myself to be warped. The personality I have so painstakingly crafted is coming apart - and now, after 18 years, I find myself staring at the nuts and bolts - and right now it hurts to much too touch them.
I want to clarify that my counselor did not so much cause the wound as draw my attention to it. My soul has been bleeding for a few years now, but I was unaware how much had leaked beyond myself. I am hurt. I am confused. I am angry with no real target.
Because I know that under the facade, I AM unhappy. I don't like the person that I have become - and for ANYONE to be able to think I am a creature of negativity - to know that I am projecting a persona that can be perceived as a generator of negativity . . .
It knocks the breath out of my body. It leaves me feeling frail and hollow - like a thing of ashes, ready to crumble at a touch. I am not even sure I can explain the why of the wound to anyone else - save to say that it is kin to discovering you have become a thing you hated and swore you would never turn into.
If I seem a little "off-color" this week, pray forgive. To an extent, I am soul-wounded and fighting hard not to withdraw into another cocoon. Not to worry - I have faith that I will come through this. I just need time - and a large wrench with a good grip.
posted by Andrea Peach | 7:47 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home