Friday, June 27, 2008
Patterns of thought in a borderline world
Patterns of thought that divide and identify some as bad needing to be managed by the experts or superiors (aka the regulators). With knowledge constructed by them and for them, the experts rationalize their attempts to control those whom they designate as needing their guidance. Whether in the name of science or God or other ultimate source, their knowledge is held up as unquestionable.
My mother was stuck in a borderline world of patterns of thought that identified/labeled me as deviant; and as such, in her mind, I always needed regulation, which meant being watched. Walls blocking me from her view were minimalized, so that my "bedroom" was a very visible section of hallway. The only room in the house where there were four walls where I could block her out was the bathroom. Yet, whether in or out of the bathroom, I did my best to be invisible, out of her gaze.
When threatened by her own patterns of thought, she erupted, threatening my existence to demonstate her ability to snuff out or continue my life. Perhaps, that was the ultimate in inequality ... it being her decision to end my life and with it all self-expression or not. She threatened me with death many times from the time I was 2 or 3 years of age.
My mother seemed free to express herself with her range from ignoring me (which for me felt like acceptance) to focusing on me in a murderous rage. My expression and self-expression were supposed to conform to her prescribed role of what I should be. When she expressed her hatred and anger at their extremes, I was most silenced, reduced to an object like a statue made of stone. If I expressed sadness or hurt, she turned up the rage to make me feel worse. So, I had to appear emotionless, like a stone, while her body went stiff and mechanical, her voice changed, and her eyes focused menacingly into my eyes.
Her anger and hate silenced and traumatized me. My mother certainly didn't want to hear my point of view; hers was the only one that mattered. My mother was a self-proclaimed moral expert/authority, and as such, she judged me as evil and needing her correction. At the same time, she was afraid that something would happen to me, like being raped by a drunk, so she would try to regulate who I was friends with and activities I did with those friends. For example, she would not let me go camping with my best friend's family because she claimed there would be drinking there. Her vision of evil awaiting to pounce on me while already being in me must have been tormenting for her. Perhaps, her torment from being sexually abused by a drunken older brother and neglectful parents and she projected onto me her feeling that she was both evil and the victim of evil. My mother likely had no sense of a core and peace of mind that comes from having a sense of a core. Perhaps, her torment was having to construct what little core she had from the outside from her imaginations of what others believed and wanted her to be. She had no peace of mind, just patterns of thought stuck in a vortex of emotions of fear, anger and hatred, with few connections to love and compassion for others and herself.
My mother was stuck in a borderline world of patterns of thought that identified/labeled me as deviant; and as such, in her mind, I always needed regulation, which meant being watched. Walls blocking me from her view were minimalized, so that my "bedroom" was a very visible section of hallway. The only room in the house where there were four walls where I could block her out was the bathroom. Yet, whether in or out of the bathroom, I did my best to be invisible, out of her gaze.
When threatened by her own patterns of thought, she erupted, threatening my existence to demonstate her ability to snuff out or continue my life. Perhaps, that was the ultimate in inequality ... it being her decision to end my life and with it all self-expression or not. She threatened me with death many times from the time I was 2 or 3 years of age.
My mother seemed free to express herself with her range from ignoring me (which for me felt like acceptance) to focusing on me in a murderous rage. My expression and self-expression were supposed to conform to her prescribed role of what I should be. When she expressed her hatred and anger at their extremes, I was most silenced, reduced to an object like a statue made of stone. If I expressed sadness or hurt, she turned up the rage to make me feel worse. So, I had to appear emotionless, like a stone, while her body went stiff and mechanical, her voice changed, and her eyes focused menacingly into my eyes.
Her anger and hate silenced and traumatized me. My mother certainly didn't want to hear my point of view; hers was the only one that mattered. My mother was a self-proclaimed moral expert/authority, and as such, she judged me as evil and needing her correction. At the same time, she was afraid that something would happen to me, like being raped by a drunk, so she would try to regulate who I was friends with and activities I did with those friends. For example, she would not let me go camping with my best friend's family because she claimed there would be drinking there. Her vision of evil awaiting to pounce on me while already being in me must have been tormenting for her. Perhaps, her torment from being sexually abused by a drunken older brother and neglectful parents and she projected onto me her feeling that she was both evil and the victim of evil. My mother likely had no sense of a core and peace of mind that comes from having a sense of a core. Perhaps, her torment was having to construct what little core she had from the outside from her imaginations of what others believed and wanted her to be. She had no peace of mind, just patterns of thought stuck in a vortex of emotions of fear, anger and hatred, with few connections to love and compassion for others and herself.
