Marco is the kind of friend everybody wish to have. The best of kind. He is loyal to a fault, protective, supportive, curious and intelligent. We have known each other for years and he certainly knows me better than anyone else. If something terrible had happened in my childhood, together we could figure it out.
Being the caring person that he is, I wasn’t surprised to see him rushed over to my place the moment we hung up the phone. My distressed call had done its toll. From there, it took no time at all for us to get absorbed into the matter at hand. Actually, that’s not exactly how it happened. First we made it to a nice little Italian café, ordered a couple of steaming hot cappuccinos; it was after all a rather cold day of January, and sat at a small round table located just besides a colossal marble of Michelangelo’s David and then, we began. Having David’s private parts hanging in my face was a rather witty introduction to the subject.
It’s all a little insane when you stop to think about it. My family at large and all its members have always had strained rapports and interactions with one another. Enmity has existed between us for as long as I can remember. The antagonism was so bad; we could not even eat all sitting together at the same table. The rare conversations or rather exchange of sounds or grunts were more than just harsh insulting language, it was loaded with vitriol. Yet, from the neighbors’ perspective, we appeared to be a nice little family like all the others. And as long as they thought us to be normal, we ought to be. My mother was all about appearances.
Both Marco and I were quite aware that based on the raw material we had to work with; we could easily come up with just about any arguments supporting a probable conclusion that some sexual abuse might had taken place in my childhood, or that I had been relocated by alien forces into a micro disfunctional environment for research purposes. Truly anything was possible. I had always felt so out of place amongst them. In fact, for the longest time, I was convinced that I had to have been adopted. There was no way these people could be in any way related to me. We had nothing what-so-ever in common, except perhaps aversion.
Therefore, the idea here was not so much for us to attempt proving or disproving the likelihood, rather to analyze the possibility with an open mind. Given how shaken I had been at the idea, we thought something was afoot.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
The First Impression
That morning, I had an appointment with the hypnotist. It was only an introductory meeting. Mind you, before I let some stranger play with my mind, I’d like to know what he looks like. If all went well, then perhaps we could proceed on another day. In any event, the lapse of time would provide a buffer zone in case I changed my mind.
My first impression of the hypnotist was not the best one ever made. He was a short pudgy balding gay guy with formidable yellow teeth. He had a bounce in his steps, as if the heels of his feet never quite reached the ground. He was dressed conservatively yet, shabbily, like horseplaying boys in boarding schools. Not terribly impressive, still he looked rather harmless.
I understood from doing some research that hypnosis could be used as an adjunct to therapy. That it was a state of inner absorption, concentration and focused attention. A period during which the senses are more acute, enabling a person to gain control by being more engaged in the inner world. Although there is deep relaxation involved, the mind is perfectly alert. This is the zone where that individual can resolve inner conflicts. And that was exactly the reason why I wanted to do it.
So there we were, sitting in his office, talking about what had brought me there. It was rather pleasant; a cup of tea would not have seemed out of place in that setting. After all, from all the local websites I had searched, hypnotherapy was often linked to crystal balls and tarot cards. Thus, if I could not find out what had happened in my childhood, then perhaps I could have a chat with my guardian angel! Either way, this could prove to be quite interesting if not plainly amusing.
As I mentioned in an earlier chronicle, this hypnotist was not especially versed into the therapeutic aspect of his work. Actually, he was rather clueless about the consequences his words could have. And so, blissfully unaware, eventually asked if perhaps I might have been sexually molested in my childhood? Huh? Well… not that I recall… Oh boy… What had I gotten myself into?
But the comment stuck to my mind; it had made an impression. To tell you the truth, I was stunned. Nobody had ever asked me such questions. Could I have been - I mean molested? I didn’t know. But the possibility didn’t feel far fetch. It was just not something I had ever considered. I guess that’s why I was so surprised, because it didn’t seem so ridiculous. It actually made sense.
I was scheduled to meet with him again the day after to address the issue. Now, I wasn’t so sure anymore it was a good idea. One thing was clear though, it was time to take advantage of the buffer zone for an emergency meeting with my best friend, Marco.
My first impression of the hypnotist was not the best one ever made. He was a short pudgy balding gay guy with formidable yellow teeth. He had a bounce in his steps, as if the heels of his feet never quite reached the ground. He was dressed conservatively yet, shabbily, like horseplaying boys in boarding schools. Not terribly impressive, still he looked rather harmless.
I understood from doing some research that hypnosis could be used as an adjunct to therapy. That it was a state of inner absorption, concentration and focused attention. A period during which the senses are more acute, enabling a person to gain control by being more engaged in the inner world. Although there is deep relaxation involved, the mind is perfectly alert. This is the zone where that individual can resolve inner conflicts. And that was exactly the reason why I wanted to do it.
So there we were, sitting in his office, talking about what had brought me there. It was rather pleasant; a cup of tea would not have seemed out of place in that setting. After all, from all the local websites I had searched, hypnotherapy was often linked to crystal balls and tarot cards. Thus, if I could not find out what had happened in my childhood, then perhaps I could have a chat with my guardian angel! Either way, this could prove to be quite interesting if not plainly amusing.
As I mentioned in an earlier chronicle, this hypnotist was not especially versed into the therapeutic aspect of his work. Actually, he was rather clueless about the consequences his words could have. And so, blissfully unaware, eventually asked if perhaps I might have been sexually molested in my childhood? Huh? Well… not that I recall… Oh boy… What had I gotten myself into?
But the comment stuck to my mind; it had made an impression. To tell you the truth, I was stunned. Nobody had ever asked me such questions. Could I have been - I mean molested? I didn’t know. But the possibility didn’t feel far fetch. It was just not something I had ever considered. I guess that’s why I was so surprised, because it didn’t seem so ridiculous. It actually made sense.
I was scheduled to meet with him again the day after to address the issue. Now, I wasn’t so sure anymore it was a good idea. One thing was clear though, it was time to take advantage of the buffer zone for an emergency meeting with my best friend, Marco.
Monday, August 18, 2008
All is About Timing - Good and Bad
I am a real fan of Karl Jung and his principle of synchronicity. I do believe that very often experiences which seem to be coincidences due to chance in term of causality must be the manifestation of parallel forces or circumstances in terms of meaning.
Until then, my life had been an emotional mess and I couldn’t figure out why that was. I went through life in a comatose state of mind: perfectly aware of what was going on around me yet unable to do anything about it. It frustrated me and baffled my friends. But that morning when I woke up, something was different. I could feel it deep inside. I had had enough and sincerely wished for a change. So I was not exactly surprised when later on that day I was introduced to John, the man who would help me figure it all out.
It is certainly as hard to talk about psychotherapy as it is religion. Either way, there must be something not quite right with the talker. With religion, you ought to be some sort of a zealot ready to brandish a bible and preach the words of God to all sinners; while psychotherapy necessarily suggests that you must be crazy. Was I crazy? Had it all - affected my mental - ? Hard to say. Regardless, I embarked on this quest with enthusiasm. I had questions; he had a way to help me find out the answers. That was good enough for me.
I had done my homework over the years, so it was not exactly empty handed and clueless that I started – a therapy. I had a good fifteen years of written dreams and diaries from which I was able to extract a clear pattern of misery. I knew that the mystery resided in my childhood. I also knew that somehow my mother was responsible – aren’t they always? It had always been very clear that she had no love for me, but can one really jeopardize an entire life based on such a fact? I hoped not. It sounded too trivial, too weak. There had to be more. Other than that, my father was rather absent and ostensibly insignificant, and my brother, well, I had no opinion about him. I abhorred him, but I would be damned if I could tell you why. That’s how it all started.
I will spare you the chronological discoveries, although numerous and absolutely fascinating, to make a leap to a more recent time. A determining moment in this venture. Let say, last January. At that time, I felt like I was stalling. John is a brilliant therapist, he would never try to influence the pace of my recollections or provide me with inside information that, as an experienced therapist, he would spot right away, even if I begged him to. It was my job to discover about my past at my own rhythm. Whenever the mind is ready, the information would surface. But what if – the mind – is never ready? I wanted to know and that in spite of its lack of readiness. My level of frustration had risen exponentially. There was something eating at me and I could not figure it out. For years we had worked my life on the same principle as a spider wed, removing all the little knots from the periphery onward. But we had not managed to get to the core of it which remained excessively elusive. Was there even something to discover? With time, the mere possibility that there might be nothing at all was becoming just as disturbing an outcome.
That’s when I decided to do the most radical and ultimately decisive thing of my entire therapy. I went, without consulting John, to see a hypnotherapist. Well, that was no John I assure you. There was not much of a therapist either. It was mainly a – hypnotist. A mere circus performer for he had the look and the disposition of mind. I won’t insult clowns in general by assuming their lack of professionalism and integrity but if they were all so disposed, so was he. Yet, his incommensurable lack of decency or principle is precisely what pulled the rabbit out of the hat.
Until then, my life had been an emotional mess and I couldn’t figure out why that was. I went through life in a comatose state of mind: perfectly aware of what was going on around me yet unable to do anything about it. It frustrated me and baffled my friends. But that morning when I woke up, something was different. I could feel it deep inside. I had had enough and sincerely wished for a change. So I was not exactly surprised when later on that day I was introduced to John, the man who would help me figure it all out.
It is certainly as hard to talk about psychotherapy as it is religion. Either way, there must be something not quite right with the talker. With religion, you ought to be some sort of a zealot ready to brandish a bible and preach the words of God to all sinners; while psychotherapy necessarily suggests that you must be crazy. Was I crazy? Had it all - affected my mental - ? Hard to say. Regardless, I embarked on this quest with enthusiasm. I had questions; he had a way to help me find out the answers. That was good enough for me.
I had done my homework over the years, so it was not exactly empty handed and clueless that I started – a therapy. I had a good fifteen years of written dreams and diaries from which I was able to extract a clear pattern of misery. I knew that the mystery resided in my childhood. I also knew that somehow my mother was responsible – aren’t they always? It had always been very clear that she had no love for me, but can one really jeopardize an entire life based on such a fact? I hoped not. It sounded too trivial, too weak. There had to be more. Other than that, my father was rather absent and ostensibly insignificant, and my brother, well, I had no opinion about him. I abhorred him, but I would be damned if I could tell you why. That’s how it all started.
I will spare you the chronological discoveries, although numerous and absolutely fascinating, to make a leap to a more recent time. A determining moment in this venture. Let say, last January. At that time, I felt like I was stalling. John is a brilliant therapist, he would never try to influence the pace of my recollections or provide me with inside information that, as an experienced therapist, he would spot right away, even if I begged him to. It was my job to discover about my past at my own rhythm. Whenever the mind is ready, the information would surface. But what if – the mind – is never ready? I wanted to know and that in spite of its lack of readiness. My level of frustration had risen exponentially. There was something eating at me and I could not figure it out. For years we had worked my life on the same principle as a spider wed, removing all the little knots from the periphery onward. But we had not managed to get to the core of it which remained excessively elusive. Was there even something to discover? With time, the mere possibility that there might be nothing at all was becoming just as disturbing an outcome.
That’s when I decided to do the most radical and ultimately decisive thing of my entire therapy. I went, without consulting John, to see a hypnotherapist. Well, that was no John I assure you. There was not much of a therapist either. It was mainly a – hypnotist. A mere circus performer for he had the look and the disposition of mind. I won’t insult clowns in general by assuming their lack of professionalism and integrity but if they were all so disposed, so was he. Yet, his incommensurable lack of decency or principle is precisely what pulled the rabbit out of the hat.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Highlights and Lowlights
I simply cannot disclose a complete account of the events of my life in perfect order of time or consequence without ever providing you with glimpses of the present time. That would be completely unfair. Imagine, it took me years to come to this level of sanity. By the time this particular moment should appear in the narration, it may no longer matter. But for now, it does.
Last night I met with Sally. Sally is my hairdresser extraordinaire. We had meant to get together for dinner for years but there was always something in the way. I guess if we really wanted to, we could have made it happen. We chose not to. Sally has one of those rollercoaster types of life. Spending time with her means hours of good laughs. During my last appointment with her, last week when my highlights and haircut needed major refreshing; I had been more somber than usual, not imparting her with the crazy events of my life as she was herself generously doing. I was not my usual bubbly self. I had lots on my mind but blaring my most private thoughts over the noise of a hair blower in a busy salon was not going to do it for me. However, this time it turned out a little differently. Once the masterpiece was completed, the usual accolade granted and the promise of a getting together soon was phrased, Sally actually opened her diary and went ahead suggesting date and time. I was stunned. Delightfully so, but still. I was not sure I was ready for such commitment. None-the-less, a date was set for yesterday night. No only did we set a date but we actually kept it. Oh, I did try to cancel a few times, but unusually so, I felt guilty. Coming from me, this is nothing short of a miracle. I would not bother telling you all this if I had not already explained to you about my pretense at being a hard core loner.
So last night we went to that new place overlooking the beach. We had a glass of wine and shared a few starters. The conversation was easy and funny. We have both come such a long way since we met years ago. I managed to share with her all that I had not dared in the salon and I was surprised to see how easy it was. How simple. How utterly normal she made me feel, normal and resilient. And then we spoke of trivialities and it felt good. Misfortune after all, can be just another subject of conversation amongst many.
Last night I met with Sally. Sally is my hairdresser extraordinaire. We had meant to get together for dinner for years but there was always something in the way. I guess if we really wanted to, we could have made it happen. We chose not to. Sally has one of those rollercoaster types of life. Spending time with her means hours of good laughs. During my last appointment with her, last week when my highlights and haircut needed major refreshing; I had been more somber than usual, not imparting her with the crazy events of my life as she was herself generously doing. I was not my usual bubbly self. I had lots on my mind but blaring my most private thoughts over the noise of a hair blower in a busy salon was not going to do it for me. However, this time it turned out a little differently. Once the masterpiece was completed, the usual accolade granted and the promise of a getting together soon was phrased, Sally actually opened her diary and went ahead suggesting date and time. I was stunned. Delightfully so, but still. I was not sure I was ready for such commitment. None-the-less, a date was set for yesterday night. No only did we set a date but we actually kept it. Oh, I did try to cancel a few times, but unusually so, I felt guilty. Coming from me, this is nothing short of a miracle. I would not bother telling you all this if I had not already explained to you about my pretense at being a hard core loner.
So last night we went to that new place overlooking the beach. We had a glass of wine and shared a few starters. The conversation was easy and funny. We have both come such a long way since we met years ago. I managed to share with her all that I had not dared in the salon and I was surprised to see how easy it was. How simple. How utterly normal she made me feel, normal and resilient. And then we spoke of trivialities and it felt good. Misfortune after all, can be just another subject of conversation amongst many.
Friday, August 8, 2008
What's Wrong with Me?
There was obviously something wrong with me. I mean, how could there not be? I am intelligent, attractive; I have a pretty good sense of humor, a strong sense of life, a decent education, plenty of creativity, talents and interests. I am good with people and people seek my company. I have friends, not so many but really good ones. What more could I ask for? I am bursting with potential. But that’s all it is - potential; I have never lived up to it on any levels. Sometimes I wish I could be dim-witted, so I would not realize how a complete waste of an otherwise fantastic life I am leading. I am trapped in a dead-end job, when I should be creating wonderful pieces of art. I have mostly dated men that were completely ill suited to me with whom I could never have build a life, a family. I even used to think of myself as a loner, one who likes spending much time on her own, only to realize recently that I actually enjoy having people around. But, an inherent mistrust tainted my relationships. It’s not that I thought they would cheat me, I simply did not feel safe.
My first recollection ever is one of fright, fright and puzzlement. Why is that? How could a child who grew up in a seemingly - normal - family learn fear from the get go? Something must have happened. That’s the plainest of all explanations. Could there be another one? Years of solitary introspection had proven insufficient to uncover the deed. I needed help. It was time to reclaim my life by doing some serious digging of the mind. It was time to fill up the blanks. Actually, there was really not much more than blanks. I simply wanted a childhood, mine if possible. I have always felt like I was born an adult, the responsible one of the family but chances were, it was not actually the case. I had to find someone who would help me sorted it all out. Someone I could trust. That’s when I met John. He was all I could have hoped for and so much more.
My expected reward: a life of my own. I wanted to become the hero of my own life, and not let that role be held by somebody else.
My first recollection ever is one of fright, fright and puzzlement. Why is that? How could a child who grew up in a seemingly - normal - family learn fear from the get go? Something must have happened. That’s the plainest of all explanations. Could there be another one? Years of solitary introspection had proven insufficient to uncover the deed. I needed help. It was time to reclaim my life by doing some serious digging of the mind. It was time to fill up the blanks. Actually, there was really not much more than blanks. I simply wanted a childhood, mine if possible. I have always felt like I was born an adult, the responsible one of the family but chances were, it was not actually the case. I had to find someone who would help me sorted it all out. Someone I could trust. That’s when I met John. He was all I could have hoped for and so much more.
My expected reward: a life of my own. I wanted to become the hero of my own life, and not let that role be held by somebody else.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
One Day I Shall be Amazed that my Childhood is Finally Over
I am not exactly clueless, not at all. I am actually quite insightful, not that you needed to be to realize that my family was completely insane. But it helped. As far as I can remember, and that’s pretty much all I can remember, I was always aware of the fact that they were not quit right, any of them. It is still true to this day. I have not spoken to my brother in twenty years, or him to my parents. They themselves divorced years and years ago. For the longest time, I thought they were at the root of all my difficulties in life. It turned out, I was right.
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