I don’t know where to start today. I suppose I will start with the cup.

Someone suggested I check out Holly von Gulden, who does work with attachment for adoptive families, and I did that. In one article I read, she mentions talking to parents about object permanence and constancy. She tells them to put something that is not particularly important under their chairs so that they cannot see it. The writer of the article put a coffee cup under the chair. No problem.

Then they repeated this with something of value to the parents. Not so simple.

Anyway, I thought I would try something like this. I was drinking tea and I had this idea just to try that. Just to put the tea cup under my chair. I did that. It was terribly anxiety provoking. It was just tea, but it felt terrible to leave it there. I was so completely worried about it.

The connection to the present is sort of obvious, isn’t it?

At night, at bed time, I was thinking about this. I have so much trauma to deal with, so many triggers that have nothing to do with anything. And I am tackling those. One at a time, I am tackling the triggers, tackling the memories, trying to put the pieces of myself back together again. It is so hard. But then there is this other thing, this attachment problem that makes relationships so difficult—it’s cropping up now with C, because I have no other close attachments, but it would surface again as soon as I made one. That seems obvious too.

And I just felt so damaged, so broken. I stayed with that for a while. I have stopped pulling away from emotions and thoughts that are painful. I just stay with them. I stay calm and I remain with them, letting them just unfold.

It is not pleasant to see oneself as broken and damaged, or to imagine that one’s personal problems are so great they might not ever be worked out enough to exist in the world without normal life and ordinary relationships being intensely difficult. Among other things, it makes one despair. It made me feel despairing about myself. The work is so hard. There is so much of it, and the results in the future seem so uncertain. But I stayed with it anyway, letting it just unfold.

I started to come around to some compassion for myself. I am not sure how to put that and I didn’t stay in it: I think the pain got too great to stay in for that long. I’ll come back to that though. But it makes me think in feeling all of the dreadful feelings, struggling with the feelings of worthlessness in particular, another sense emerges out of it, which is maybe the desire to help oneself through the pain.

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