The appeal of uncharted territory; what about that? well, in theory, if you are a world explorer it sounds exciting, or a scientist, or an inventor. But if you are digging out pain, it’s a bit of a scary prospect. One that has taken control of my unconscious for quite some time now, causing all kinds of weird behavior like extreme social paranoia.
When it finally unfolds, the symptoms tend to fade out. That’s the positive aspect of it. The closer you get to unearthing it the stronger the symptoms. It’s pretty hard. But then there is pain, nights so agitated that pillows, blanket, sheets end up on the floor; or I masturbate in my sleep over and over and it keeps waking me up. Weird shit. I bet few people wake up at night only to see they’re masturbating.
Weird shit indeed. the social paranoia has been unbearable. And it also caused me to be unable to move forward in work; I have been at a standstill for a while. A long while. The blockages stem in social paranoia; being afraid of .. I am not even sure what I am afraid of; but I know what I constantly feel like I did something wrong. Like my every move is under scrutiny; by everybody that surrounds me. Wonder why I always preferred working alone? I will tell you because it is quite simple.
Many many years ago, after another great, extraordinary orgy (ugh) as me being their sex toy and drunken out of my mind; one of the men, I can’t tell you which one, came to me in the half slumber I was in post orgy;and whispered into my ear. He whispered and kept on repeating himself; one day I will be like them. Right now I don’t like it, it hurts and it damages me everytime; but over time I will get used to it and start enjoying it and eventually I will act like them and like it. I was 8.
One day Martin you will fuck young boys too and love it.
One day Martin, you will fuck men and love it.
One day Martin. I know it hurts now; but we have all been through it and today we like doing it to others.
And that, somehow, got lodged deep into my unconscious. And that; has been; at least partially; the source of the social paranoia.
That particular time happened at my grand parents “roulotte” (camper) near the lake (swamp). It was late in the summer and my father brought me there alone under pretense we would be helping out to close the camp or something stupid like that. If my memory serves well he had made me drunk before leaving home and my mother tried to dissuade him. My father you see has absolutely no self esteem, and cannot just go to an all men orgy by himself. No. He has to bring his son, drunken as a offering to join in the celebrations. How pathetic. As if I was a good, to be traded or given. Fucking idiot; pathetic asshole.
And so we went. I slept a lot (alcohol) and I don’t remember much. it was violent for me as usual, and I am not sure I did much but get fucked, be drunk and sleep. I remember coming back home and I remember the inner state of my father. he was satisfied. He was happy about his weekend; and me? I was completely broken. Destroyed. So his happiness had to be paid by me. It was hard, and my mother avoided being around for the whole day after I came back; she didn’t want to see me in that state… what a lovely family.
EMDR is like magic. (Rapid eye movement therapy). It allows you to focus on a feeling, and upon a few minutes you will find exactly where it stems from. Of course it had to be abuse. I have been tired of the social paranoïa. I also have been tired of being stuck in work and not being able to finish my projects. You see I am wonderful at starting projects, all the ideas have proven to be quite visionary and I have witnessed over the last 10 years how most of them end up in the market after a few years and becoming absolutely ingrained into our habits. I am tired of that, I want to see at least one through completely. And so I walked into therapy with that purpose, last Wednesday. I have been hesitant to do more EMDR lately as there are plenty of half awoken me’s laying around and I am struggling to keep my mind together; I get so scattered. Lots of passion as always but all over the fucking place.
I have also clearly understood that there is no point in digging in therapy unless I embrace the pain. If I block it and act/project the opposite; when I end up digging everything is locked up inside. It is as if you had two islands, one with your dark side and one with your bright side. If you are on the island of the bright side and you dig, you’ll find nothing of darkness. It’s pointless.
And so in the last few days I’ve been paying attention to the coping mechanisms and removing them, exposing the darkness. I’m a bit afraid I will end up alone; but I have no choice if I want to heal. It’ll be hard for the people around me; but it bears fruit.
My mother must have known about my father’s lover. She must have known about her father’s behavior. She just didn’t want to deal with it.
And so every day my father would tell me how much he loved me. What empty words. How fucking crazy; how absolutely ab-ominous. The fact that he insisted so much clearly demonstrates how untrue it was. and he did insist; all the time. But then the actions didn’t match; and there has always been the “in front of the curtain” vs “behind the curtain” duality that absolutely fucked me up.
fuck him. and fuck my uncles and grand father. I feel devastated. I sincerely hope they were wrong and that I didn’t touch other kids. But it is possible I have. As of yet, I don’t remember. I know I didn’t do it once their abuse stopped; but I might have done it with their guidance. It feels a bit like the stories of the child soldiers in Africa who commit atrocities. You take away everything from them. All that is beautiful by guiding them into such actions.
This particular wound was very hurtful. It’s taken 3-4 days to fully open, and it feel like you are pulling apart two big rocks and finding a lake of puss underneath. it stinks. and I really don’t want to be around people. Hence I had to be replaced today at rafting. I wish it wasn’t that way. I wish that hadn’t been pushed upon me. Opening the wound feels very much like pulling on the space-time of your memory at a particular moment. Imagine a straight line, and the you poured water on it in a specific place, and it creates a bubble below and the line ends up closing on itself above the bubble.
The bubble is the dissociated memory; whilst the line is my .. I don’t know what it is. But when you pull on it, it opens up the bubble and the first thing you feel is irritation; the line touching itself to close up on the bubble; that part of the line is very irritated. It’s a particular feeling, I’ve come to recognize it. I hadn’t felt it in a long time and I was a bit scared of the puss in the bubble.