What the hell, let’s poke this thing with a stick and see what falls out.
As patient readers know, I have recently realized, on a visceral level, that there is a huge psychological wound at the center of my mind and that it is this primary injury that has left me psychologically crippled for my entire life.
When I was raped by a stranger at the age of four, I retreated into my mind to escape the situation and have yet to emerge.
Hence the wound. It was far too large a trauma for me to be able heal, especially in my weakened condition. This was compounded by the fact that I did not even have the words to tell anyone what had happened, let alone the courage to actually approach someone and tell them.
So the whole event has remained virtually unprocessed in my mind for almost 44 years. For decades, I never thought of it at all.
It was as though I simply trained myself not to see it. I never forgot it, exactly. It was more like one day, I suddenly realized it had been there all the time.
And the would it caused exerts a terrible gravity over my entire psyche. I have very few memories of what life was like without it.
I lost my innocence so young that I barely remember it.
And that really messes a fella up. I knew far too much, far too young. Innocence is like a protective layer that makes sure young minds don’t learn about things before they can handle them, and mine was ripped away from me at a brutally young age.
No wonder I was always such a “knowing” child. An “old soul”, as the hippies and mystics call it. But not because I’ve been through a million reincarnations.
It’s because I’ve seen shit, man.
Right now, in my life, I feel like I am still kind of gnawing at the edges of this wound of mine. And that feels pretty good. Just reducing the jagged edges of it is a great relief.
But on a higher level, I feel like my mind is working on something big. I feel like the forces of my mind are slowly surrounding the wound in order to engulf it like an amoeba, and slowly crush and dissolve it from all sides.
So that’s pretty cool, I guess.
Means I might actually see some big time recovery soon. If I can heal that fucking wound, I will become so much healthier and stronger. I will finally be able to face the world with enthusiasm and pride because I don’t have this crippling injury any more.
And I know I can do it. In fact, at this point, it’s inevitable. The pressure on the wound is as inexorable and powerful as glaciation, and it cannot hold.
Things will likely get worse before they get better, though. Because the obvious denouement to this is my remembering the incident itself, and the closer I get to that point, the more it’s going to hurt and the more I’ll want to stop.
But I won’t stop. In my own highly specialized way, I am incredibly tough, and I can bulldoze through the pain if the goal is worthy.
Pain is nothing It passes. Growth is permanent. It lasts.
And I am going to grow no matter what.
More after the break.
Big Wound, part 2
Would it be weird if I started capitalizing wound?
My big Wound. Hmmm.
Kinda weird, but I am going to go with it for now to try it out.
This frigging Wound of mine has (metaphorical) weight. I can feel it in my mind, just hanging there in cargo netting in the center of it all, like lost contraband.
I have borne this burden for almost my entire life. It has left me bent and stooped like a hunchback and warped my entire development as a person for 44 years.
Ergo, it’s hard to imagine life without it. It’s such a fundamental structural element of my entire psyche. It’s like trying to imagine a house with no foundation.
But the fucker’s got to go. If I fall apart without it, fine. That just means I will have to put myself back together, and I can do a way better job this time.
I mean, the previous me was built by a child. A very scared, hurt, miserable child.
I love that boy. He went through so much all alone. He was socially isolated and profoundly lonely and longed for the friends and warm family connection he instinctively knew others had and he did not. There was days in elementary school when he was so depressed that the whole world felt unreal and hollow, and he would just wander the streets, unable to concentrate well enough to find his way home.
And yet, he just kept going. Trudging through life, going to school like a good little robot, leading a largely joyless and at times downright awful life full of fear of things most people don’t even notice, and bearing all those burdens silently and alone.
Looking at it that way, it’s no wonder that I am not a functional adult. I got so very little of the emotional nutrients I needed in order to grow up healthy and strong. No love, acceptance, guidance, affection. sense of having a place where you belong, socialization with my peers, nothing.
Just books and TV and video games.
Well you were one heck of a kid, little guy, and don’t let anyone tell you different – including yourself. You did absolutely nothing to justify the shitty way life treated you and it is not your fault you were too weak and scared to fight back.
You deserved all the love and hugs and listening and understanding in the world. You deserved a good mentor, a family that made you feel included, and a close-knit group of friends who did everything together.
So please accept this big warm hug from a stranger from the future, kid.
Maybe together we can find a way out of this cage.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.