Nov 28

 The exhaustion is grinding me into the floor.

I am doing my best with it. Sitting upright. Engaging. But it's hard. And the vast majority of the day, 20+ hours is spent at a very low ebb, and I have to fight to surface for a few hours before going back under.

Just. The cycle. I suppose. Maybe.

I think in a little hindsight, getting the MOT done on Wednesday absolutely ground metal where there was already no capacity. Taking The Piss as I call it. And it has not done me any favours. But. Not exactly like something I can skip.

The nausea has also been coming and going with some aggression. I do wonder how much of a component it is to the exhaustion. Chicken and egg. All that stuff. Because some of my worst dips are when I feel especially nauseous.

Last evening in my brief blip of coming up for air, I was having a slow low energy talk to my friend whilst we noodled with a game. ( and for the record, one of the dead giveaways is my voice goes into this croaky low growl, like, it doesn't have the energy to get beyond a croak. not always. but when it does. take note ! the battery warning is on ).

And whilst there I noted the MOT. And that it had wiped me further out. He asked about cars in general. Getting a new one etc. And I mentioned I had spent half my life without a car, but I really liked having a car at this end of my life. And wasn't worried about its impact. I figured I had paid for it by doing decades purely on public transport.

Why was that he asked.

Good question. So I related my experience. Passed the test as you did back then at 17. And. My sister and brother in law had immediately spotted a nice little first car banger. Pennies. Doesn't matter if you ding it. Great. And I had just enough money to buy it.  So my brother in law went with me, and we bought the car. ( note. not my dad ). But would need some help with insurance.

No worries we ( everyone but my parents ) all thought. I could get it for some combined christmas and birthday present.

Except my parents refused. No.

So a bare week or so after buying the car. I sold it on.

And that set a pattern. And I didn't drive again for a good while. And even then. I had a couple of drives. And didn't drive properly until decades later.

Why did your parents refuse he asked ?

Good question. I don't think they wanted me to have a car I said. As it turned out, they eventually bought me a computer which we all put a bit of money to - similar kind of money to the insurance. But refused to help with the car cost. And I said. There did seem to be something of a delight about it. They took satisfaction about not helping. It was absolutely not a case of apologising or explaining or empathising. But more of a gleeful no. Fuck you. Again. Not something I'd hugely thought about. And not something entirely unusual. My mom particularly would get a delight in telling you no or causing some pain. There was something that energised her if she could be mean spirited. This was the normal. So. You kind of didn't notice it. It was just Normal. But also was part of feeding that response to then always be wary of her at best. How was she going to wound you this time.

I did say, as much as I don't hold anger for my parents per se, that was one of the instances that does actually stick in my head a bit. A place where I do have a little... irritation about it. Why would you do that ? Who knows. Perhaps they had their reasons - which wasn't a financial one. Shortly after this, I had also "caught them out", taking my child savings plan entirely for themselves. This was a thing setup by the government in which you could save a little money every year for your kids 17th, 18th birthday. Parents would set it up in their kids names. The only reason I knew. Is because a lot of my friends had one. And they all got a sum of money - almost all of them then put towards cars. When I queried whether I had one. My parents literally squirmed about it. Uncomfortable, prevaricated, then admitted I did have one, and then out of pure fucking shame about it, decided to give me a little of the money that was my savings account. The rest they trousered. But this. Like a lot else in my fucking life. Is bang on theme for them.

Also it should be noted. It wasn't too long after that that my dad decided he deserved a treat for himself, and bought himself the infamous massive diamond ring that he then hoarded. And some stupid amount of thousands of pounds. And then bragged about "how everyone looks at you different when you walk into a pub with the ring on your hand". He even said this to me. Straight up. Like it was a point of immense pride and a win.  

Back to the present. To my friend I said I thought in the end it was just a mild bit of spite that they blocked me getting a car. My mom liked spite. It was her go to thing. There was something... delighted... about teaching you a lesson in how shit life could be. See. This is bad ! Isn't it ! See ! People can be mean ! Yeah ! Do you get it yet ?! See how good that feels ! I can also remember she would get a grim smirk and lit up eyes when you would whack you with her rings around the head. About as delighted as you get from physically whacking someone. This from a modern lens looks very grim indeed. With a bit of time adjusted nonsense, this was not uncommon back in those days. Albeit. The delight bit not so much.

When I think about it at length. I can see that perhaps. It's the behaviour of a damaged person. Who has been hurt themselves. Feels unfairly fucked over. Bitter. Traumatised. And then expresses that. By thumping it into their child. It is in some ways a way of communication how hurt they are. I am very hurt. Look. *inflicts pain*. This is how much I hurt. Can you see how much I hurt now ? That makes me feel better hurting you, so you can understand how much I hurt. This is also to a tee what my mom would do to my sister. Hurt her. To demonstrate she was hurting. You're not really part of this family are you. I am going to hurt you. Because I feel lonely.

But it never resolves. It just becomes a pattern of cathartic release. You get to take your pain and misery out on someone. Your kid. In this case. And for a short while. There is a delight and a relief in them.

My friend said. Again.

You were definitely neglected. Without a doubt. And some of what you say. Is not just neglect. It's abuse.

I said I didn't know how to feel about it. Part of me rejected it. I said I was having trouble understanding what abuse and neglect looked like. And I think I had some caricature naive idea of neglect only looking like something from Oliver, where you don't feed kids, don't house them, and beat the shit out of them. And anything above that was Ok. But that. That's not right. And. It's possible. To be fed. And have a roof over your head. But also be neglected and abused. And perhaps. It's more like. The couple living in the same house. They live a life. But also. One of them beats the shit out of the other. They're not being starved. Or kicked out of the house. So. That's ok then ? But they do get regular black eyes ?

I said I found it difficult to process. Difficult to understand. Intellectually. I get it. Mostly. Emotionally. I am struggling with it. And I am going through all sorts of denial, acceptance, shame kind of things with it.

I also said. One interesting thing. Which. Again. Maybe shows you the fire where this is smoke. Is that when I talk about it. It upsets me. I lose my zen. I get close to tears. It starts to fuck me up when I talk about it properly.

Which is. Telling. And not a good sign. And possible signs of actually starting to drag that stuff out into the sunlight. And examine that oh yes. Underneath all the steely control. The normalisation. The acceptance. There is a lot of hurt there. A lot. Like. Life changing amounts. Sliding doors moment.

My friend wondered out loud. Whether the zen johnny. The not angry. Accepting me. Was not the answer. And that. Underneath. There was a lot of pain. And maybe anger. And that this smooth layer on top. Was just a repression. And that you should be angry.

Funny I said. The shrink said it would be ok if I were angry. That maybe I should be angry. That they were angry for me.

For once in my life. I don't know.

This is an odd space.

I don't entirely know what's going on here.

I can feel a lot of emotion about it which seems to be slowly getting louder. Like. The leash is being loosened.

But I don't know.

Slowly. Some of those memories I have. I am. Reliving a little. And. I am feeling where once I didn't. Where once I would just treat it like a historical passage in a book. I am. Cracking open the feeling with it. And it's. Not good. And. It starts to very much fall into focus. That. There is a pattern there. I have been. Formed. Into a shape. By repeated continual constant pressure. To shut up. To not matter. To not have an emotion. To accept difficulty. To accept pain from others. To accept abuse.

And. Through that lens. All that I do for others. All the stuff I also just absorb. My chill. My zen. My capability to just absorb other peoples bad behaviour. Is abuse training. I have been trained to be an abused passive helpful monkey.

And. The only value I had as an adult. Was. How much money I earned. Or how useful I seemed to others. Which would earn my parents kudos. For my dad in particular. How much money he could brag you earned. That's it. Nothing else. Not are you happy - absolutely alien concept. Not at peace - because it went without saying that "life was shit, it will kick you down and then keep kicking you".

So. My friend thought that not being zen about it. Might be useful.

Right I said. And a few days ago. I had a conversation with myself. Confronting my dad. Here is what you have done to me. This is the hurt you have inflicted. Tell me what you think raising a child is - and I know what he would say, feed it, shelter it, clothe it. That's it. Not be nice to it. In fact. Be mean to it. To teach it life is shit. Ignore it. Remove it when it's inconvenient. And I would say. The thing is. They class that as neglect. That isn't all of what being a parent is. Look at your peers. Your friends. What did they do with their kids. Ask them. Ask them their stories. You will find things there they did that you never did. Ask them. Ask if they regularly turned around to their kids and said, when we're dead you can dance on our graves. Ask them if they had that kind of relationship with their kids. Think about in particular one family we were friends with. Did the ever say anything close to that with their kids ? No. They did not. I know they did not. You know it. So. Can you see the difference ? Can you see all the times you are wrapped up inside yourself. Depressed. Or bitter. Or angry. The world revolves around you. The kids don't matter. They are an obstacle to your world. And all the time mom would lay into me. And you know that happened. I know you know. Because you told her that happened when it came up in the last 10 years or so of her life. And she self realised. That she had been - in her own words - "a terrible mother".

But I said to my friend. I do all that. And then what.

My mom is gone. I can't say anything to her. My dad is basically gone. The person that there once was there is long gone. Only a fragment of a ghost remains.

What would be the upshot ?

Either he rejects it all. Or he realises what he has done. And perhaps it destroys him.

What purpose does any of it have ?

All that I'm left with after that. Is being sad. And a little sympathy if he realised how he had so badly failed. How terrible that would be to experience that. Hard.

So what's the point ?

Well my friend said. I'm not sure confrontation would be the way to go. But. And I'm not sure I should be talking to you about it as I'm not a shrink. I think. These are things only your shrink should explore with you - for fear of getting it wrong.

I was upset.

Again. Of course.

Tearful. But keeping it in check.

I don't know.

Perhaps all of this is nothing but a lightning rod. No doubt fuckery is in my past. But maybe like everyone else I attach a current state to something that doesn't entirely deserve it. I am human. But. Then again. There are so many bad things I have in my past. When you actually look at them. And don't just gloss over them. And it's not just me. That's the thing. It's not just me in my own little delusional world. My brother has it. My sister has it. They have their own unique stories. Unique harms. And all of it rhymes. All of it is the same shit. My sister almost never talks about it. My brother almost never mentions it. But when a little thing drops out. It's the same shit. And some of those things. We have experience as adults. In real time. Watching one experience it from the others perspective.

I don't know.

And there is this weird... extra emotion coming up with it.

I am going to call it shame.

But that's a strong word. But maybe it is. Because slowly over the days and weeks. It is getting stronger.

I feel a shame that I have those stories to tell. I feel like. I need to shut up. And not tell anyone. And that I am lesser for it. That I should be able to just ignore it. Or it never happened. Or I am wrong. Or flawed. Or not strong enough. And that it would be best. If I just shut up about it. Pretend it never happened. And move on. And that I am thinking about it and feeling it. Gives me a sense of shame. That I want to hide.

But this is 100% not me. I am open. I am honest. And this feeling of wanting to hide something. A shame. Is something I am not going to tolerate. I am not going to be a person that isn't honest with themselves or others. And so I won't let it do that to me.

But I do feel it. I do feel - maybe for the first time ever - a strong tug to hide something. In my past.

Like I say.

Strange place I am floating through.

Stupid therapy.

Look what its done !

Ha ha. I of course say that tongue in cheek. 

Ho hum.

A few days ago. Not feeling particuarly well.

For the first time in... god knows how long.

I felt a tiny bit of warmth.

A tiny glimmer of. I don't fucking know. Genuine. Warm. Happy. Hope. Peace.

It was small. The tiniest ember. But it was there. I could feel it. And I didn't know where it had come from. Or anything.

It went away.

But.

It was a thing.

And I didn't know if it was connected to me releasing all this shit.

The straight up intellectual slam dunk is yes that's exactly what that is, you're going through a process, and it's quite possible all this fucking shit on top of you has maybe, possibly, started to shift, and for the first time in.. forever. There is a genuine tiny slither of light. Despite everything still being shit.

But I don't know.

Maybe it was indigestion.

Or my CFS lighting up a stupid bit of hormonal response.

My health is shit. Everything is shit. I have no reason to be delighted in anything.

And this is still. Still. The aftermath from that identity question now 4 weeks ago.

Maybe. It's just all smoke and mirrors.

Unhappy little narrative weaves.

Maybe not.