Therapy, session 6
This session was another one where my head just spun afterward. I was very glad to have my notebook, even though my notes are a frantic, scribbly mess.
We talked a lot about how I'm alone in my life, how I'm most comfortable when I'm alone, mainly because that's how I've always managed to keep myself safe. I've lived most of my life feeling that if I never let anyone in, they'll never be able to hurt me. I fear the unknown; the possibility that I could be hurt by someone I trust makes solitude mighty appealing in comparison.
This is a recurring topic in my therapy so far; I feel like we go over this stuff almost every session. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that my dad really put the fucking zap on my brain back in the day. He never hit me or physically hurt me, but the toxic words he pounded into my impressionable little head sure did the job on me. When I think of the possibility of someday having children of my own, I see myself, hear myself saying those same things that he said to me. Those same things his dad said to him.
When I was about 13, I had this friend named Mike who was a year or two younger than me. Mike was a good kid, a little ditzy, but fun to hang out with. One day he was over at my house and needed to call home to let his mom know where he was. At the time, we had an old-fashioned rotary dial telephone (my dad didn't believe in touch-tone) and Mike had never seen one. He didn't know how to dial it. For no reason at all, I grabbed the phone out of his hand and in just about the meanest tone, I said "You're a stupid idiot!". The moment I said it, it echoed in my own ear as if my dad had been there saying it to me. The realization hit me like a brick, and my mouth snapped shut so hard it hurt my teeth. I like to think that I apologized to poor Mike, but I don't even remember what happened after that. I hope I apologized.
I can't ever let myself do that to another person again. Ever.
Would I be as bad as my dad if I were to have kids? Hell no. But he wasn't as bad as his dad - my grandfather was an alcoholic, a master of verbal abuse and used to beat my dad with a belt. I'm sure my dad used to tell himself he'd be a better dad than his dad was. I'd just as soon break the cycle completely and never have children than perpetuate that family tradition in any way.
Not only am I afraid to let others in for fear they may hurt me, I'm also afraid of repeating the past. My solitude keeps me safe, and it keeps me from hurting anyone else. I've got to somehow get beyond that and learn to trust. Trust myself, trust others.
We talked a lot about how I'm alone in my life, how I'm most comfortable when I'm alone, mainly because that's how I've always managed to keep myself safe. I've lived most of my life feeling that if I never let anyone in, they'll never be able to hurt me. I fear the unknown; the possibility that I could be hurt by someone I trust makes solitude mighty appealing in comparison.
This is a recurring topic in my therapy so far; I feel like we go over this stuff almost every session. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that my dad really put the fucking zap on my brain back in the day. He never hit me or physically hurt me, but the toxic words he pounded into my impressionable little head sure did the job on me. When I think of the possibility of someday having children of my own, I see myself, hear myself saying those same things that he said to me. Those same things his dad said to him.
When I was about 13, I had this friend named Mike who was a year or two younger than me. Mike was a good kid, a little ditzy, but fun to hang out with. One day he was over at my house and needed to call home to let his mom know where he was. At the time, we had an old-fashioned rotary dial telephone (my dad didn't believe in touch-tone) and Mike had never seen one. He didn't know how to dial it. For no reason at all, I grabbed the phone out of his hand and in just about the meanest tone, I said "You're a stupid idiot!". The moment I said it, it echoed in my own ear as if my dad had been there saying it to me. The realization hit me like a brick, and my mouth snapped shut so hard it hurt my teeth. I like to think that I apologized to poor Mike, but I don't even remember what happened after that. I hope I apologized.
I can't ever let myself do that to another person again. Ever.
Would I be as bad as my dad if I were to have kids? Hell no. But he wasn't as bad as his dad - my grandfather was an alcoholic, a master of verbal abuse and used to beat my dad with a belt. I'm sure my dad used to tell himself he'd be a better dad than his dad was. I'd just as soon break the cycle completely and never have children than perpetuate that family tradition in any way.
Not only am I afraid to let others in for fear they may hurt me, I'm also afraid of repeating the past. My solitude keeps me safe, and it keeps me from hurting anyone else. I've got to somehow get beyond that and learn to trust. Trust myself, trust others.
Labels: shrink
posted by steve at 9:24 PM
5 Comments:
Mike... Mike... Mike... Did I know him? I think I remember a kid in Westbrooke named Mike but I can't picture him at all...
Mellar
Yeah, you knew him. I can't think of his last name at the moment, but he lived down the sidewalk from your dad's first Westbrooke place, near the parking lot, across the sidewalk from Bryan Monahan. He looked sorta like Anthony Michael Hall in Breakfast Club, but with curly blond hair. He had a younger brother, too. I think they moved to Utah or some other odd place when I was about 13.
These are powerful words and thoughts, Steve. I don't have answers, just quiet support. And this: I think you have it in you to be a fabulous dad.
I like being alone as well. I think its because I don't want to be hurt plus most people annoy me.
Can't say anything but good about my parents. I know I'm lucky.
At 13, you yelled at Mike for being an idiot. At 40 I _very_ nearly yelled at someone at work last Thrs for being an idiot in a meeting. My manager cut me off moments before he would've had to fire me. I was very frustrated & angry. My patience is short and especially so with the incompetence that has been evolving in the last week or two. It will only get worse. Which is why I turn to hobbies (computers (ironically), photography & radios) to take my mind off of day to day BS. It seems to help quite a bit.
A rotary phone is great. I still have this one and use it today. Also have a Touch Tone(tm) phone as well (and 3 in addition to this one).
And, I have to agree with Lisa, I think you could be a great dad (not just a father, but a dad).
Lisa: Thank you. Quiet support is often the best support.
Greg: You're definitely lucky. And thank you for your comments. I hope the work stuff doesn't keep devolving like that.
Post a Comment
<< Home