The Wicker Man

I talked about storytelling in therapy, to make sure I’m on the right track with the methodology. About the idea of imagining a past that wasn’t so shitty, to teach my brain about how life could work even though mine did not. A life where there was enough safety to make the bad parts tolerable. Which they confirmed is more or less the plan. When I ask questions like that my therapist always wants to tell me that imagining things is okay, that I’m not “faking” memories, that it works. It’s clearly a thing they’re concerned about — are worried that I’m concerned about — but I can’t seem to offer them the right reassurance about how I don’t care. All versions of our past selves are imagined (in the same way we imagine our future selves) ¹This is also the thing I want to discuss with @BPS. Storytelling not as a supplement but as encoding. As the system by which memories are converted to a thing we can use in daily life, and are embedded into the various parts of our brain. and I know for a fact that experience is perceptual not objective. I’m slightly concerned that they’re trying to warn me about a thing, but it feels more like them assuming that I’m worried. There will be an easy spot to talk about it next week, when I’m supposed to report back with “good” memories from before I was 14. I really have trouble coming up with any — there are none on my LI list of events — and I’m not sure that’s inaccurate. So to some degree I believe this exercise is about imagining that such events exist, or at least re-imagining the context of some sliver of good thing, so I can attach a good feeling to the past.

Technical concerns conquered, we did LI about feeling like I can have “enough” care. Because my brain is pretty convinced was not possible — that there was no way to bridge the gap between what I felt like I need and what is actually available. That I use care too fast, at an inhuman rate that no one could ever hope to meet. At least not for someone like me. Not only that it wasn’t possible but that it still isn’t. Which is one of the reasons I can’t ever really be safe. And the reason I feel like I use up relationships just by participating in them, or that I want to “save” them from being used up, in case I really need them later when things are inevitably worse.

I’ve had that feeling many times in my life, but the example we used was me at 4 after being stung several times by bees. I was outside behind my house on a day when several old people were home, including my paternal grandparents. I would have preferred to be inside where it was air conditioned and where the people were (including my infant sister), but I had been asked to be outside until someone told me to come back in ²This was a common situation in my life. I spent a huge amount of time outside when I was young, without supervision, and wasn’t in control of when I would be allowed back in. I wasn’t even allowed to ask to come back in (not even to use the bathroom), I just had to wait to be told it was okay. I typically had access to the hose for water but … Continue reading. While outside I was stung several times by bees, 4 or so along my thigh near my hip and several more down my leg. I reacted to this like you might expect, wanting safety and comfort, but I knew those weren’t available — I knew that I was selfish for wanting them — so I settled for just crying in the driveway. I didn’t want to cry but it was difficult not to, particularly since I did not know what bee stings were or why the hurt so much worse than regular puncture wounds or how to get away from the bees without going inside. Eventually my grandmother noticed and shamed Mother into talking to me from the doorway of the house, where she told me that I would be fine and needed to stop making so much noise. Often I would comply but I simply could not, so eventually Mother was shamed into inviting me inside. Once I was there I was subjected to an antagonistic inspection — the sort of thing you might imagine a guard doing to an inmate to assert power — in place of care. And of course no comfort of any kind, just complaints about how I didn’t need to be so upset and was making it hard. Eventually I dissociated from my body. I was still panicked but I went limp and disconnected from the physical pain and disengaged from my “treatment” and just let it happen. This let me stop crying, and eventually after I appeared calmer everyone else calmed down. Mother wanted me to go back outside but no one moved me and since I was unresponsive she eventually lost interest and abandoned me to recover.

So that was a hard time. One where basically all I needed was someone to pay attention to me and offer comfort and guidance. My physical reaction to bee stings is fairly typical ³Though to be clear there was no way for Mother to have known this at the time, since I had not been stung by bees previously. And I had a significant number of stings, which is always a potential concern even for people who don’t have severe reactions. But Mother never bothered to have medical knowledge and certainly wouldn’t have applied it … Continue reading so I wasn’t in serious danger, but I needed someone to help me understand what was happening, to acknowledge and validate my feelings, and to help me be calmer. I needed someone to help me find safety, and to guide me so I could understand how I felt, and how other people would typically feel. But I didn’t get any of that. Instead what I got was people holding me accountable for their feelings, telling me that mine were not only invalid but harmful, a demand that I cope with the situation on my own lest I hurt others, blame for making Mother feel ashamed, and a little bit of physical torture while I got “treatment”, before being left ignored to make what I could of my life. And of course further punishment ⁴I have a clearer understanding now, of how I used to physically dissociate when I was young, and why I associate empathy with making punishment worse. It was part of the punishment process — if I would dissociate while I was being hit, if I became unresponsive and went limp, the punishment stopped satisfying Mother. She needed to see me in pain … Continue reading later for not doing enough to manage Mother’s emotions before I decided to dissociate.

I’ve got lots of examples that fit the same shape of that story. I think that one popped out because I was trying to remember things from when I was young and because I’ve been worried about dissociation. And I was thinking of this story in the context of my historic belief that I use care too fast, and that my excessive rate of need — my inhuman demand — is the reason I could never have enough. I’ve been working on that belief the past couple of weeks, trying to imagine it’s not true. I’m making progress but it’s tied into a lot of related things, like my belief that relationships come with a certain lifetime limit of care (like health insurance lifetime maximums) and so must decay shortly after I start them. And it’s reinforced by treatment not just of me but of others: like most narcs Mother pretends to like most people when she first mets them, and eventually grows to hate them over the course of a handful of interactions. The whole mix of things makes it tricky for me to find a perspective that holds together as I try to pull out the bullshit.

But M’s dishwashing feels are teaching me about how I’m wrong about when to expect care, and wrong about why I was so often asked to do without. There are lots of reasons it’s hard for me to have care but one I’ve had trouble seeing is that I was consistently lied to about it from the time I was an infant. Not just about things that young people need extra care with — like that part where you can’t lift your own head — but about important old person things like when to have medical care or other professional assistance, when to respond to bodily illness or injury. Even self-care, which doesn’t even require getting outside help, is a thing I was pretty consistently lied to about, and that I have a difficult time seeing past. It was always much more important for me to manage Mother’s emotions — typically though my suffering — than for me to have even basic comfort let alone actual care. It was so distressing for her when I needed or wanted anything, and it was my job to make sure she felt better.

So I used the one thing I could get in infinite supply — shame — to build a world where that behavior was “easy”. Where my needs or desires or boundaries were all things I should be ashamed of, should hide and minimize and learn to do without. Not only was being sick shameful but letting anyone know was much worse, and if you couldn’t hide it you could at least learn to deal with it alone and without making any sound or using any supplies or moving too much. Being sick is no reason to have attention – only selfish monsters want attention – if anything it’s a reason to further withdraw so that you don’t accidentally trick someone into noticing you and responding to your infantile behavior with empathy. Above all else I needed to be ashamed of wanting empathy. It was bad enough that I had it myself, let alone that I ever asked anyone else to feel it.

In addition to being ashamed to want (let alone have) help, it is very difficult for me to even imagine it’s a thing I could have, a thing that reliably exists in the world (for a person like me). My brain is full of lies about when it’s appropriate to have any amount of care, even if I provide it entirely myself. And it’s full of lies about how anyone knowing I need help, whether or not they provide any, is sure to ruin my life. They would know about my inhuman nature and needs and would be disgusted by my imposition upon their empathy. But V is helping me learn about how shame can layer on top of pain and fear as a barrier to having help. I’m rarely afraid to be emotionally vulnerable, and I’m almost always able to marshal my fear ⁵Not that I don’t have fear. I’m afraid of all sorts of things, probably more than you are. Many parts of my life have been terrifying and I genuinely do not ever feel safe enough to entrust my care to others. I’ve just trained myself to do thing regardless of my fear state, if I decide they’re important. This is a terrible plan, in case … Continue reading even if I was. I was trained my whole life to never imagine that I got boundaries and to just keep going even though I was often unsafe, so I’m not worried that people will know I’m not independent or smart or strong whatever. I’m afraid that I’ll hurt them if they find out about me. If I let my need leak out into the world of humans and corrupt them.

A lot of you are helping me learn about the availability of care and safety. I still don’t feel like I have enough myself. I’m still not super sure how to get it. But when I look across my life in LI I can see how I have created a world where I can provide huge amounts of care to people. A world where I like doing it, and where people like what I do. Even Pete imagines he’s proud of me for the care I can bring to bear ⁶Of course he doesn’t know what care is. Mostly he likes the idea that he gets to brag about the person he imagines I am, between racism and inaccurate discussion of taxes. Still it’s the most supportive he’s ever been, just by imagining that he doesn’t hate what I’m doing. He would hate it if he knew what it involved, but he doesn’t … Continue reading. I still don’t understand how I can apply that to myself; I often can’t provide myself enough care to eat lunch. But you’re definitely helping me feel like care exists, and to see the ways that I do understand it, even if my brain has trouble applying that knowledge to my own life.

As you might see by now, the big picture this week is shame. I’m ashamed to want your attention, and ashamed to want to give you any. I’m ashamed to be proud of you or to be appreciated. I’m ashamed to have needs. To want or have my own boundaries. To be visible. To exist. It’s actually sort of hard for me to imagine things I’m not ashamed about, or when I do, to not be ashamed of not being ashamed. I’ve built a lot of my life to try to avoid that shame, and all the rest I push through every day. I just accept that I am acting immorally and make peace with not knowing anything better. I make the survival decision to do things I think will hurt people — things like asking them to empathize with me — because I cannot figure out how to survive without such acts. And it kills me a little every morning.

But I do want your attention. And my own boundaries. And to be proud of you. I want to do those things without being ashamed, instead of resignedly after having exhausted all other options. I am not super close to knowing how to make that go, but it’s already a great relief to imagine that there’s a thing I hate that I could stop having. I’m an expert at running away and I finally have a worthy opponent.

J is helping me learn how to not be ashamed of my past abusive relationships. Or of the parts I am currently reliving. Helping me imagine a world where I can both have boundaries in close relationships. My brain is pretty sure that my options are “enforce boundaries” — a thing I can technically execute without issue — or “be close”. But of course that’s a lie about how I was expected to manage other people’s emotions. I had to be sure nothing I did ever made Mother uncomfortable, particularly if she was likely to be anxious. And that’s not a thing you can do if you have boundaries. Her feelings always come first, because she can’t handle her life like you can, because her life is so hard in part because of you. It’s so easy to see that codependence as something I created – as something I recreate now – because it’s inherent to me. But it’s still just part of the lies I was taught as a toddler, where my own empathy was used against me and other people’s empathy was denied to me.

There’s a good party trick in all this bullshit. I am an expert at coping, at behaving calmly, at taking action in a crisis, and at helping others be calm. It’s a skill I want to share with you. I know you can see it sometimes — it’s part of how you imagine I can help you in an emergency. But it’s a thing I can help you with even when the stakes are lower, if you share enough of your life to let me see when you could use it. It’s a thing I like helping with, and that I’ve finally decided I am capable at, and capable of teaching. For a very long time I’ve held myself as incapable (particularly of the teaching part) regardless of evidence, but I think my life would be better if I decided otherwise.

It’s also a thing I think you are capable of — teaching me about my feelings and how to handle them. When I write, when we talk, when I imagine you in my head, I am always asking for your opinion and judgement. Once in a while I want your technical expertise, though I try to make it very clear when that’s happening. But usually I just want you to think about me and my situation and let me know how you think I would feel about it, and maybe how you think I might feel better about it. You like The Screed in part because I talk about you in it. I pay attention and tell you how I feel and what I hope for. I share how I’m proud of and afraid for you. I talk to you about how I expect you’ll feel. Do it for me. Talk about how you think I feel. Tell me about how you think I could feel better.

Also consider that I often need to be treated like a toddler, which again you are well qualified to do. I missed or was mislead about a lot of important information an experiences that most people get before they start school. So if you notice me doing something dumb, or being confused about a feeling or a common situation, go ahead and assume I do not know how this works, and show me. The world tells me I should be ashamed of this sort of help. It tells you to be ashamed to offer it. But it’s a thing I need so I’m asking you to do it anyway. I suspect this is a thing a lot of people need from time to time, but we’ve build a world where only the very young can get it, and even then only from a very small number of sources.

I think I can help you with shame too. I can help you think about many of the things that you’re afraid or ashamed or anxious or conflicted or otherwise have mixed and unpleasant feelings about. Things that your brain wants to file away and never consider again. I’m ashamed of everything and have lived a terrible life in which I was frequently asked to imagine how things could be worse. There’s just nothing you can tell me that I think is shameful, at least not compared to me. I know me telling you I don’t share your shame doesn’t alleviate it, but you could imagine that it makes me safe to share with, so that you don’t have to be ashamed and alone. Isolation is often the hardest part of any situation, and shame makes that so much more likely. So do your worst. Put me on your side against shame, instead of holding me away from it.

Shanda has been having a hard time. For lots of small reasons, but they’ve been building up. They were already pretty stressful a week ago, but you were doing okay having help and taking it easy. And then that stopped and there was no talking because you were overwhelmed because there was no talking. The schedule kept getting busier because things kept falling behind, and because you always needed one more thing to finally be able to get “done” and feel better. So of course with no talking or venting or relaxing or finishing things got worse. I think we’re pointed back up now but I basically just had to wait for you to decide you were done. And even that only bought me one day down before you planned to start right back up.

That’s one of the reasons it’s been so hard to get this written. If I’m going to reconsider how I’m allowed boundaries in my close relationships, you’re at the top of the list. I need your help with the thing where your triggered response is to bash my abuse buttons. I know you don’t mean to. I know you want to do something different. But I need you to treat it like you’re hurting me, because you are. I need you to decide that you are going to manage your own emotions and not leave the hard ones for me to clean up. I can help you be calm, and vent, and feel your feels, but you can’t tell me I’m wrong for not having the feeling you want me to, and you can’t name me as the source of pain that I didn’t cause and don’t control. You don’t have to be perfect, but we do have to treat it as a thing we are actively managing to change. Because I can’t handle you asking me to be ashamed every time you feel bad. I will never recover while that’s still a regular occurrence.

We did get to talk about your project feelings, in a way that I think will help. It’s sort of the same lie M and I believe about the responsibilities of 9-year-olds, as practiced by your parents year after year. The story about how there’s a significant cost to getting help, often paid in anxiety and stress, which sometimes means you don’t want any. A story about how help rarely makes you feel helped or relieves you of any of the parts you found most difficult. That was your truth for a long time but it’s not anymore, at least not with me. I’m excellent at getting things done even under very challenging circumstances. I’m not nervous about what you want and I’m not waiting until the last minute to get started. I don’t think you should be individually responsible. And I hope you seeing that past situation more clearly — feeling like you’re entitled to be overwhelmed a young person who isn’t getting help — lets us move toward a life where you can do projects with me instead of hating each one more and more the closer they get to done.

Lots of new logistics in the past week. I’m taking V and J and Shanda out for piercings in June. 7 new holes among us, including my eyebrow. I’m pretty stoked about my own piercing and to be able to go with J and V. To imagine having and giving support at the same time. I’ve also always imagined myself as the sort of person who facilitates activities that normal people think are dangerous. This isn’t as good as like a drug weekend but it’s a good start. Talked with M about a visit in August, which I have all the feels about for several reasons. It will be good to see you, and it’s an opportunity to kick off a thing we’ve talked about for a year. I also planned time off for myself in early June, and a trip to Vancouver, BC for Bard in July. I usually like to do the Bard trip later (when it’s cooler, since the events are outside) but this year I’m trying to do it on the cheap, so we’re only doing 2 plays over 2 days and then spending a week at home for vacation. They’ve changed the scheduling this year so it’s not possible to see all 4 plays in the same weekend no matter when you go, so this is a good year for a shorter trip.

I’ve chatted a lot with V recently, which has been better support than I ought to expect given the challenges in your life right now. And very welcome on days when I’ve felt separate from Shanda and anxious about M and unable to get out a Screed. Thanks for your attention, and for your help in believing it doesn’t hurt you to give it. Also good job continuing to do things, and to make plans for the future to be different. I know that’s hard right now and you’re doing great.

Talked with M too, trying to push away my anxiety about you. It’s hard for me to believe I’m not making an unreasonable demand but the morale of this Screed is that I’m usually wrong when I think that way. Just as I was here, since it seems to be working and not making you hate me. I had to work out your bit too, and figure out how to talk to you, to get myself back in the mind space for this Screed. But I think all the parts are going very well — much better than my brain would let me expect — and I promise I’ll help you make it seem like less work over time. I really appreciate your engagement, and your help in restoring some pieces of calm I’ve let myself do without for too long.

Talked to @BPS, just a little. I had an idea about a revision to her Masking Machine piece, to make the AI bi-directional. They responded positively and I’m excited to think I might influence their future work in a small way. We also got to share about choosing the bus. I still need to compose my ideas about storytelling as encoding, but I have a feeling that will come easier now that I’ve cleared this.

I’m sure there are 100 other parts I’m forgetting, but we’re already days past where this one should have ended. Next time I should push out some itinerary intermediates if I get stalled on the big one. Videos about fingernails and colors aren’t bad, they’re just what happens some days, and often more valuable than you predict.

ZiB

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