I have been trying all morning to write a post.

I have three minutes left….

I was working at this when the neighbours began to saw wood with a power tool–tree trimming? Not sure. It was very close and very loud and it got to me pretty quickly. I thought I was coming along with this. Sadly, no.

I stopped being able to think pretty quickly. I don’t know if I am always as aware of this as a process when it’s happening, just the lack of coordination in my brain. I put headphones on: this seemed a sensible to do and thought of listening to music. I had an idea for a song that might be soothing. I couldn’t remember the artist. I have it on my laptop. I couldn’t remember how to access that.

Looking at this, it seems to me the real fear is that I am not actually allowed to have comfort or soothing, and even trying to think about how to soothe myself makes me feel even more frightened.

I was thinking about this and abruptly switched out, which has not happened in a long time. Gabriel started chatting with my friend about this. He wanted to know the name of the yellow lady. (She’s wearing a yellow dress.)

It was interesting to feel this happening. My mind seemed able to proceed along a single track again.

After a while, he remembered the name and looked it up.

He asked my friend if he was allowed to get a Popsicle. She told him he could, so off I went to get one out of the freezer.

All of this seemed to help. I ate the Popsicle, listened to the song, and opted for a shower.

I wonder about parts and where they came from. Gabriel clearly remembered the experience of being frightened and wanting to hide. Those experiences were accessible to me in that state, but he also understood that some self-soothing measures might help. I don’t know what makes me feel more frightened when I know I am me than when I think I am someone else (in my mind own mind).

I wonder if the parts are about getting your needs met without calling up the fears this invokes that result from having your needs disallowed. The first need is perhaps to speak, and so it appears that the parts hold the memories of the events themselves, but they are merely there to allow you to speak about it. It’s okay for me to talk about it, because I am not the one doing the talking. I don’t know. I just wonder a lot of things.

Traditionally, we think of the adult self taking care of and soothing the child parts, but my question about this is whether, when this happens, the adult self never experiences the self as being worthy of comfort. The comfort is given to someone you used to be, but that you no are longer. I am not 3 years old, but I could still go for a cold Popsicle on a warm, summer day. Someone singing a cheerful, happy Russian song still calms me. I need to experience my adult self as being allowed to seek comfort too. Gabriel isn’t the only one who could go for a Popsicle. I just wonder about all of this.

Following up on the therapy foray, I called yesterday and the office assistant said a therapist would call me back. No one did. After my little breakdown, I called again. It was interesting. I have been noticing my felt responses to people, which I hadn’t really been aware of before. I heard the same office assistant on the phone as yesterday and felt–good? A bit settled. I explained I had called yesterday and had not gotten a call back.

She said she would put in the request again, read back my number to me (I had to correct her, so perhaps that had been it), and said she would make a note that it was my second call.

It has struck me lately that I am distinguishing between people in my mind. Don’t laugh. I have attachment problems.

C’s new uncle-in-law has said he will call C’s Boyfriend and warn him. I think it would be good if the boy felt afraid. When I talk to the boy, I talk to him from the perspective of self-interest, which might be because I don’t see him as having a real capacity for empathy.

I should say I have thought this boy was the kindest of C’s boyfriends thus far. The little pricking of worry and unease have solidified into something more complete at this point. Mostly that he is three. I don’t know how to explain it. It is like understanding my dad was a human being and he also had real feelings. He was not a machine. But I don’t want to peek into his mind. His humanity does not make him less frightening to me. My understanding of him does not make me like him.

What happens to a child when the parent is very controlling and malevolent is that the child learns to assume what people want is surrender. So he surrenders himself in order to receive whatever nurturing he can. The surrender is not intended to be deceptive. He does not realize people would not prefer to be deceived.

I think this boy is like that. He does not know people don’t want to be told beautiful lies. I see this as somehow related to the core element of abusive intimate relationships: beautiful lies. “I am telling you the most beautiful lies I can think of. Why can’t I get any satisfaction out of this?” But lies don’t to lead to connection.

The frustration and anger mount, but he never realizes he is doing it wrong.

I just wonder.

 

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