I was doing the Therapy Thursday thing and talking to Doc Costin about how I feel like the real me is that scared little animal hiding way down deep in my psyche and how the person I normally think of as myself is, in a very limited sense, a false front I constructed in order to hide that scared little animal.
And I had just told him about how I think getting to the heart of my problems will involve dealing with that scared little animal and we had come to the mutual conclusion that my best way to do that would be through fiction and that’s when the phrase “the fox in the glen” popped into my head like a secret whispered in the dark.
And that’s how I ended up making this :
I briefly considered marking that video as having been made for kids, but it isn’t, not really. That’s why it has the hashtag #storiesforbigkids because it’s really a story for the inner children of other wounded grownups like me.
And I might write more stories like that. I have at least one more chapter’s worth of ideas bubbling in my head. I can see myself continuing it as a series just like I did with those Fruvous stories long ago.
Maybe I should call my scared fox “little Fruvous”. Because just like the Fruvous who was adopted by the nice family next door, and made their Xmas a little more festive, this little fella is also me.
He’s just a version of me designed to help me deal with that scared little animal inside me as opposed to the previous version who was there to deal with my feelings of having been abandoned by my family.
Who knows. Maybe I will write a happy ending for Lil Fru, too.
That would be nice.
I feel even more like I am getting very close to the actual root of my problems now. Lil Fru is at the heart of a lot of my problems and has been pulling the strings behind the scenes for a very long time as he follows his own extremely fear filled agenda.
And that agenda is all about feeling safe. Safety above all else. Safety as the only thing that truly matters. Safety that required eternal hypervigilance because the moment you drop your guard, that’s when they GET you.
Meaning you can never actually believe you are safe. You can never truly relax.
Which means you are very, very tired.
Lil Fru doesn’t even remember what it’s like not to be tired any more. He has been running on fumes for a very long time. This is his “normal”.
Maybe it’s better if I don’t put everything about me into the Little Fru stories, because that would make them even more brutally depressing that the Big Fru ones.
What can I say? My truth is an unpleasant one.
I mean, it starts with a child being raped, for fuck’s sake.
I also talked with Doctor Costin about eventually having to remember the actual rape so I can finally finish processing it and let those memories go.
Not something I want to do, obviously, but I am willing to do it if it means I can find some peace of mind and finally feel like I am home safe.
That means convincing Lil Fru that he’s safe, too. So my thinking is that this will mean taking those terrible memories he’s been holding for so long away from him so he can finally lay down and rest.
He is, I am sure, at the heart of all my anxiety and high-strung agitation. Also quite possibly at the heart of my extraordinary creative and intellectual energies.
Being crazy can have fringe benefits, after all.
But I still think I’d rather be sane.
More after the break.
The infantile response pattern
Consider this to be an appendix to my thoughts on the billionaire brain.
It will be observations on how some people act and consider yourself warned that once you see this pattern, you will see it everywhere.
This response pattern has three main output modes : anger, sadness, and contentment.
Anger is how they demand that their needs be met. They might pound the nearest surface, scream, throw things, and get quite red in the face.
Sadness is how they announce their needs are not being met in a way meant to elicit sympathy. Crying, especially directed towards potential caregivers, is the main mode of expression, with the desired effect of eliciting sympathy, comfort, and nurturing.
Contentment announces that the needs have been met for now and is, of course, expressed via smiles, laughing, and contented little noises.
You may have noticed how I have carefully avoided mentioning anyone’s age. That’s because, while I call this the infantile behaviour pattern, it is found in a hell of a lot of adults as well, especially the wealthy.
Because wealth infantilizes. A wealthy person is like an infant in that they don’t do anything for themselves. Everything they do, they do through those around them.
The main difference is that infants can’t do it for themselves. The rich can, but won’t.
And it doesn’t matter how rich or successful or well-educated the person is, they will still yell when they are unhappy, cry when they want comforting and reassurance, and babble contentedly when they are content.
This is especially noticeable in the classic angry cigar-chomping man. Imagine replacing that cigar with a pacifier and the picture is complete. This is a person who only knows how to relate to the world through anger.
And when perturbed, what do they do? Scream, yell, pound, and throw things while their faces turn red.
And they will often mix in some crying about what a martyr they are and how cruel life is to them and how they don’t deserve all the abuse they are getting from these lazy and stupid and ungrateful people that surround them.
But note how passive this all is. Like with the actual infants, it’s all about getting the response they want from others.
Often while hilariously insisting that they could do a better job themselves and how they are so much more ruggedly independent than you.
Sure, boss, that’s why they kicked you upstairs.
So now you have a quick n’ dirty guide to all the big babies in the world. Feel free to apply these lessons to the next overgrown infant you encounter.
Even if he’s the President.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.