I know what I wrote about in my last post is not a new thought. It’s just I am thinking about it in a somewhat different way. I have more acceptance around it, perhaps. I am not sure. I seem to be doing a lot of that. Recycling old thoughts and looking at them from a slightly different perspective. The change in perspective is hard to describe. I think when I write about it, the reader can’t see it. It looks the same. But, from inside, it isn’t.

The first thought I have about this is just that the person who has these feelings was someone I didn’t want to be. It seemed insurvivable to be the person. I lived through things that made me feel as though life could only come to a screeching halt. Nothing short of that was even possible.

It was someone no one wanted me to be. I was supposed to be abused horrifically and not feel anything about it, not object.

Then, even when I grew up, the consequences of that abuse could only be seen in one these two extreme and adversarial ways: as something I could triumph over or as something that had damaged me irreparably.

But they just happened. It has been incredibly difficult to live with and they gave me few resources with which to develop and grow up. But they are merely events. Events which shaped me, which I remember in the same way and to the same effect that everyone remembers events in their lives. My brain works in the same way that everyone else’s does. The only difference is that it’s a lot more upsetting. I just have to be Buddha to get through the day.

As it turns out, that seems to be somewhat attainable. There are lots of things I must do. Down time is more important than I can say. A hot water bottle seems to figure in mightily. It can be done though. I can cope. I won’t be winning any Nobel prizes soon—staying on an even keel seems to be the most important accomplishment I can have in a day. Nonetheless, it isn’t hopeless.

My second thought is that having your personality integrate sounds wonderful. I mean, everyone loves to get to know themselves at a deeper level, I think. Unless it seems as though oneself is the core of one’s own problems. Then it’s scary.

It’s scary for me. I think that’s the real reason behind the parts. It is just too scary to be me. It is too scary to be the person who feels these things, who experienced these things, who has these thoughts about them. It is terrible that I experienced abuse, but it is terrifying to be the person who would be punished and further traumatized for having feelings about it, for having wants and needs of my own, for reacting to life at all.

And that’s why the hot water bottle is so important. I need to comfort myself just to get through the terror of being myself.

My third thought is that when I started off trying to deal with the trauma, I didn’t quite realize I was going to be a person I didn’t recognize. I had an idea I could just sort through it and go back to the way I was but kind of with an internal freedom, more happiness or something. I didn’t realize it would be a matter of looking at myself and saying, “Who are you?”

That isn’t to say I have completely changed. I was just in denial. This person was always there in some way. This person peeked through in my actions. I might not seem all that different to the people who know me—since I haven’t seen anyone who has known me for the long-term in two years, I don’t really know. But my own experience of myself, what it feels like from the inside, that’s totally different.

It’s just different to be someone with so many feelings and not a cardboard cutout of a person.