I just kind of feel like lying down.

I’ve been sitting outside today, working on some stuff. There isn’t space for a desk or a table in my room, and I have just sort of expanded myself into the outdoors–like that’s my study.

Meanwhile, it’s the suburbs and there is an astounding amount of machinery going on. Lots of yard work involving leaf blowers and trimmers. The guy next door is sawing wood with a circular saw.

Machines are very triggering, the circular most of all. But anything even remotely like it gets to me. So I am working, and I also have to process this other stuff.

It hit me today–I just had an image in my head where my dad was sort of not my dad. I felt somewhat removed from that element of the memories. And I just thought there I was with a man who saws up corpses I can only presume he killed, and I have to somehow get him to care for me, because that’s what I’ve got. I’ve got one parent who is a monster and another parent who is perpetually one step away from bat-shit crazy if not entirely smack in the midst of it, and that’s my insulation against the world. That’s my protection and source of nurturing.

Not now, but that’s what it was. I was looking at my memories and I thought that’s what I am seeing. I am seeing the absolute hopelessness of the situation. As a child, I had to somehow keep going in spite of that, without any evidence that success was likely or even possible, given my slight life experiences.

I have this image of my brain as a kind of loop, with stuff just ending up in unresolvable paradoxes and basically nothing works.

I feel emotionally very shocked. It’s all stuff I know, but emotionally it’s resonating and it’s shocking. It’s just very shocking. My parents were murderous.

 

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