Sep 26

 Relationships.

My ever hair trigger sensitivity to people "not having a good time" around me.

From what I said yesterday. There is another clear fallout.

We already have kind of figured out that my hypervigilance is caused by having to anticipate my environment. To gauge the adults to see which way the wind was currently blowing. Watching carefully for the faintest ripple of emotional disturbance before it was acted on. Seeing the snarl form before it quite arrived. Like it or not. I was trained in an environment where not doing that was punished. And doing that at least gave you some chance. Over and over. In my formative years. So that by the time I was a mid teen. I was already adept at reading people, and, to some extent regulating them. Perhaps this is why I was the social butterfly accepted by all the different social groups. That capability to get there before they did, and adjust to their moods, wants, sensibilities. How very agreeable.

But I realise now.

This also followed me into relationships.

I have done this with every relationship I have had. Without realising it. I watched the rise and fall of their mood. And when trouble starts to form, whatever it is, sad, angry, bleak, I "feel" it. In a visceral way. Not in an intellectual way. I feel there is something wrong. It starts a small anxiety. It also urges me to do something. That I need to do something. And, I think, if I look at it closely. It is driven by safety. The old training in me. It says I am in an unsafe environment with someone who potentially is going to flip out. Not that might be based in reality ( it sometimes is ). But is based in what I have learned.

And so particularly when I was younger. That anxiety. I would try ways to regulate with the person. To fix what was going on. To return to a point of peace. I didn't realise it at the time. But I was again craving peace. Calm. Safety. And I was sensitive to that being disturbed. Over sensitive.

In in the intervening years I have learned that sometimes the best thing to do is nothing. Not out of lack of care. But because sometimes there isn't anything you can do. And trying to do something can sometimes make it worse. There is a wisdom there, certainly not very far at all from the therapists textbook, that says sometimes the best you can do is be supportive, quietly, but not intervene, not try to fix, just listen. And be there. But. That took me years to understand that. And now ironically. My lack of energy has robbed me of almost everything but that at this point.

In any case.

I can see with each relationship the same pattern. And also. What damage they do to me. Because. To a small extent. Each one relives that trauma from my parents. Each one is a descent into the awfulness particularly with my volatile mom. In fact. The latest of these. Years ago now. Felt so like my moms behaviour, that it crossed my mind after the event, whether they didn't share at least a little of the same pathology. And perhaps they do. But perhaps what I felt more than that, was the same cycle of mood swing, followed by awful consequences. Abuse to me. Literally. Screaming at me. Throwing punches at me. The same manipulations. The same seeking of confrontation and escalation.

As an adult in that case and adept at de-escalation, and also not rising to the same anger - no need to react. It still didn't work. 

But that whole pattern. Made me horribly sick. Some kind of psychologically sick. And not because of the situation itself - as bad as that was. I think as much as anything, it made me very much relive what I had been through before. 

In any case.

I have always said about relationships. That all I ever really wanted was peace. I thought. Because I was just a zen kind of person. But. I think. In actuality. It is the trauma reaction. Really not wanting that upset. Really not wanting to put my childhood self in an unsafe place again. And much of my intellectual capability and emotional capability stretched out to sense the oncoming storms, and do something about it.

I have. Over the years. Put boundaries down. It's not ok you treat me like this. But almost certainly not as strongly as I should. Not as quickly as I should. Slow. Soaking up the pain instead.

I think that is always my pattern. Adapt to others. That social butterfly. Fitting in. Pre-empting. Slotting into your mood. Your space. Regulating with you. And who I am. Or what I am. Doesn't matter. Wrongs done to me. Don't matter. Until eventually they do.

But within that. Also my identity fades.

That question. From last year. Who am I ?

I don't know. I am not anyone. Wait. You know who you are ? I don't. 

I think. 

The same theme follows throughout.

To be sure it should not be treated as the singular song. The all present, almighty, black and white. Sometimes softer, sometimes louder. Intertwined with other things. Like everything like that. Life is never as simple as a one trick pony.

Nevertheless. I can see its theme written very large across my past. And who I am.

Hmm.

Self therapy work. I think almost certainly because of the work I have been doing for the last year and a half at proper therapy.

The other question though that lurks in the background. Is to what end. As I already know. Having answers. Explanations. Has nothing to do with happiness. Sometimes. Oftentimes. Quite the reverse.

I don't know.

I am unsure of the value of it. In theory. It is always better to know. To understand a problem is to have a chance to react to it. To help it. Fix it even. Without that. You can never do that.

Then again. Somethings are unfixable. Or as good as. Particularly in an imperfect world where you don't always have the resources, the time, the energy, the youth to allot the necessary firepower to fix the thing. Sometimes you have to accept the creaky bridge. And is then knowing that its creaky and why, better than not knowing ?

I don't think there is a clean answer to that. I think the answer is. Sometimes yes. And sometimes no. That's the awful bit.

I always thought my misery was intrinsic to me. Some special sauce. Just. The flavour of noodles on the packet that I came in. But. Nudges from the therapist. And also reconsidering. Because. Environment plays its part. Upbringing plays its part. How much of your "flavour". Is shaped by what you went through.

And now. I can see. That much of what I do or who I am is linked back to exactly that.

What cost does all that have is then the question. How much misery does that kindle. Not at an intellectual think it over level. But the subtler lower level one. The one that just gets sad because. But why ? Because. It has been treated like that for a long time. Because its safety mechanisms make it anxious in that way. Because its capability to adapt predisposes it to acceptance of the intolerable.

But who knows.

I think. I kinda do.

I am not sure I like it.