It’s happening again. I’m rocking myself backwards and forwards. This is one of my behaviors that my ex-psychiatrist described as typical of children abandoned in orphanages. It's a self-comforting action. When it acts up, I usually try to figure out what set it off, with little success. Today, it seems pretty obvious--though I’m not completely sure.. The day started with a session with my psychologist. The main thing we talked about was the repetitive negative nature of my relations with men, which seem to have gone from intolerable--severe beatings and psychological abuse, to being treated as an object to be used and thrown away. There wasn’t time to talk about where this comes from, but of course I left wondering about it.
When I go back and try to figure out why my relations with men are so fucked up, I always go back to what happened to me when I was younger. Memories that are distinctive, vivid, and yet I recall them as if they were someone else's memories. There may be other explanations, than the ones I have in mind, but I may well be a ways from getting to them. Peter asked me last year why I don't just leave my traumas behind me, in the past. He can't understand that they are here with me every day, not just as memories, but as causes of repetitions, behavior and situations I must escape from. But I'm not ready to write about it.
Well actually I did just spend several hours writing about it, but I still don't dare post it here. While I was writing I was overcome by an insane obsession to drink. It felt like I was going to implode if I didn't. Only another alcoholic could understand how difficult it was not to run away into drink.
When I go back and try to figure out why my relations with men are so fucked up, I always go back to what happened to me when I was younger. Memories that are distinctive, vivid, and yet I recall them as if they were someone else's memories. There may be other explanations, than the ones I have in mind, but I may well be a ways from getting to them. Peter asked me last year why I don't just leave my traumas behind me, in the past. He can't understand that they are here with me every day, not just as memories, but as causes of repetitions, behavior and situations I must escape from. But I'm not ready to write about it.
Well actually I did just spend several hours writing about it, but I still don't dare post it here. While I was writing I was overcome by an insane obsession to drink. It felt like I was going to implode if I didn't. Only another alcoholic could understand how difficult it was not to run away into drink.
I want to try to write here more often again. During my last vacation I had what I call "beach brain," and as a result couldn't write. Since then I've been feeling like a member of a clean up crew after a natural disaster. Only this disaster wasn't natural, it's just my life, what happens when I let my vigilance down. Day to day activities have kept me from writing. There's more work to be done before I can write, but I'll be back here as often as I can.
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