Love Hurts March 2004-
Another book…..
THE LOVE THAT KILLS ?
I DON’T KNOW HOW MUCH EFFORT TO PUT INTO THIS IDEA. I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHETHER WRITING THIS BOOK WOULD BE A GOOD IDEA (FOR CATHARSIS) OR A BAD ONE.
I just find that I am extremely tired…..exhausted to the point of being almost unable to rise again from the sleep-dream position……of living all the time with the predominant feelings being guilt, shame, failure, inadequacy. My Mother has been using these to control me (or at least attempt to control me) all my life. But she has also instilled in me the idea that if I ever openly criticise her for this, particularly if I chose to share my views on it with the world, that would be unfathomably evil….one may never find any fault in one’s mother or her mothering skills.
Simply:
Ask my Mother what is good about me. No matter how many times you, or I, repeat the question you will not get any answer. There is nothing good about me.
Ask her what I am good at. Again, no amount of repeating the question will come up with any answer.
Ask her why I should be loved, or supported, or respected….how I might make a good partner, friend or parent. No answer.
But it’s not just that I have no positive worth. It’s worse.
Ask her what is wrong with me. You won’t need to repeat the question to get an accounting that extends over 40 years and includes almost everything that I ever chose for myself in my life. From wrong haircut to beard, wrong clothes, wrong job, wrong beliefs, wrong choice of women (indeed wrong sex drive in the first place). The one thing I have been consistent on in life is getting things wrong. Everything.
Maybe she unconsciously adopted this attitude towards me in my tender youth as a means of making me socially crippled and thus she would never lose me. Or maybe it’s just a way of paying me back for all my earlier wrongness to continually criticise and put down everything else in my life to the point where I have no pride, self-respect or confidence? Punishment?
Mum seems to see herself, however, as a successful social personality….lots of good warm friends, as she sees it. Yet from the viewpoint I have developed during wide travels through many cultures, I find that she is actually quite withdrawn most of the time and doesn’t really have much skill in making new friends….she has just become skilful in not letting any go, however they first managed to come to her. She is often quoting to me how badly my Uncle George thinks of me….based of course, entirely on her own input. But the other night I phoned him for a chat and found she’s left him stuck in an upset for over a month and he hasn’t a clue why!
Anyway, this book idea got me up last night in the middle of the night. I just couldn’t get back to sleep. The idea is just to write the story of my lifelong relationship with my mother….how that led to teenage rebellion, children with double personalities (one for the parents, shy, cringing and awkward, one for elsewhere, confident, noisy and fun-loving), leaving home, Psychology at university, Drugs, Scientology, choice of partners, etc….including the fact that it all came on top for me and Ali when Mum turned the Police on us. Now that is crippling your own children to stop them getting into trouble. And at a time when we, at 34 and 35, had more money and property than anyone in our family had ever dreamed of!
But what would be the value in such a book? I am unlikely to write it as a screenplay or novel bound to win awards. I can’t see it would be an enjoyable experience for others, to read it. It might help relieve others from having to go through similar unnecessary upsetting experiences. It might even help solve a lot of the nation’s drugs problems. After all, why would anyone take any drugs in the first place if everything was already hunky-dory?
Yet I believe writing this story would have cathartic effect on me….like I can cast off this unwarranted mantle of guilt She keeps placing on me. It should be returned to sender…but I could never knowingly hurt my mother anywhere near as much as she has unknowingly and repeatedly hurt my life. Why should it be a crime to mention this, worthy of being struck down by God for my evil? If any other human being hurt me….child, friend, partner, stranger or whoever….I would communicate with them as honestly and efficiently as I possibly could…hoping to repair the damage and avoid it happening again.
The truth is, at this stage, Mum would never be able to confront the magnitude of hurt caused for me by these things I am alluding to. To open the door to accepting even one little part of it would cause her to be inevitably overwhelmed by the flood of truth that must follow.
So the answer seems that no, I shall not start writing this story at present. I shall devote my energies instead to getting to another place to live, where I might massage myself back to life through reflection on what I love and respect in myself, past and present. And, yes, I am sorry….until I am housed in my own accommodation I must ensure communication with my mother is kept to the absolutely necessary minimum. My efforts (according to her) do nothing to improve or enrich her life (I’m apparently worse company than an escaped loony) and it is obvious the conversations we have shared have not enriched my life very much….except when she has been kept to basic facts like names and dates.
Well….wow….looks like things are rapidly going to get more “interesting” though not, perhaps, in the fashion I might have hoped for. Oh well, it’s an opportunity to re-check that old theory of “karma”, uninspected for so long. Perhaps recently my karma has been too much confused with my Mother’s? Anyway, I am going without any luggage as I don’t really expect to be living long separated from what I value.
Last night for the first time ever I pushed Mum out of my room as she kept nagging me even after I had turned off the music. She then decided to fall down on the carpet, hitting the banister on the way….I thought she was acting at the time…..but now it’s an “assault“. I am much more offended by this than I am letting on, but it is a clear sign I must be moving on one way or another. As it happened I had just got back from seeing my doctor who said “go into Glasgow and find housing by talking to people face to face” and from posting 5 letters I typed up on my computer asking SMPs and Local Councillors to help with our domestic crisis here. So now the Social Work Dept is giving me a lift (obligatory) to Cotton Street Housing Office….though I’ve repeatedly clarified I want to be in Glasgow, not Renfrewshire.
Well, I have been asking Mum to call in Social Work assistance….though she didn’t really need to send me off with such an ugly ticket. I wonder if I will survive this ‘learning experience’? Oh well, at least death, if it is waiting, is likely to be much swifter and less painful!
Funny thing is, looking back at the last few pages, I had just convinced myself that I didn’t have much hope staying here. “Careful what you wish for”, eh?
So…..”I’m gonna twist out ‘cause I’ve got the skills”.
Maybe tomorrow when I wake….if I wake…maybe I’ll jump up with energy and hope?
THE LOVE THAT KILLS ?
I DON’T KNOW HOW MUCH EFFORT TO PUT INTO THIS IDEA. I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHETHER WRITING THIS BOOK WOULD BE A GOOD IDEA (FOR CATHARSIS) OR A BAD ONE.
I just find that I am extremely tired…..exhausted to the point of being almost unable to rise again from the sleep-dream position……of living all the time with the predominant feelings being guilt, shame, failure, inadequacy. My Mother has been using these to control me (or at least attempt to control me) all my life. But she has also instilled in me the idea that if I ever openly criticise her for this, particularly if I chose to share my views on it with the world, that would be unfathomably evil….one may never find any fault in one’s mother or her mothering skills.
Simply:
Ask my Mother what is good about me. No matter how many times you, or I, repeat the question you will not get any answer. There is nothing good about me.
Ask her what I am good at. Again, no amount of repeating the question will come up with any answer.
Ask her why I should be loved, or supported, or respected….how I might make a good partner, friend or parent. No answer.
But it’s not just that I have no positive worth. It’s worse.
Ask her what is wrong with me. You won’t need to repeat the question to get an accounting that extends over 40 years and includes almost everything that I ever chose for myself in my life. From wrong haircut to beard, wrong clothes, wrong job, wrong beliefs, wrong choice of women (indeed wrong sex drive in the first place). The one thing I have been consistent on in life is getting things wrong. Everything.
Maybe she unconsciously adopted this attitude towards me in my tender youth as a means of making me socially crippled and thus she would never lose me. Or maybe it’s just a way of paying me back for all my earlier wrongness to continually criticise and put down everything else in my life to the point where I have no pride, self-respect or confidence? Punishment?
Mum seems to see herself, however, as a successful social personality….lots of good warm friends, as she sees it. Yet from the viewpoint I have developed during wide travels through many cultures, I find that she is actually quite withdrawn most of the time and doesn’t really have much skill in making new friends….she has just become skilful in not letting any go, however they first managed to come to her. She is often quoting to me how badly my Uncle George thinks of me….based of course, entirely on her own input. But the other night I phoned him for a chat and found she’s left him stuck in an upset for over a month and he hasn’t a clue why!
Anyway, this book idea got me up last night in the middle of the night. I just couldn’t get back to sleep. The idea is just to write the story of my lifelong relationship with my mother….how that led to teenage rebellion, children with double personalities (one for the parents, shy, cringing and awkward, one for elsewhere, confident, noisy and fun-loving), leaving home, Psychology at university, Drugs, Scientology, choice of partners, etc….including the fact that it all came on top for me and Ali when Mum turned the Police on us. Now that is crippling your own children to stop them getting into trouble. And at a time when we, at 34 and 35, had more money and property than anyone in our family had ever dreamed of!
But what would be the value in such a book? I am unlikely to write it as a screenplay or novel bound to win awards. I can’t see it would be an enjoyable experience for others, to read it. It might help relieve others from having to go through similar unnecessary upsetting experiences. It might even help solve a lot of the nation’s drugs problems. After all, why would anyone take any drugs in the first place if everything was already hunky-dory?
Yet I believe writing this story would have cathartic effect on me….like I can cast off this unwarranted mantle of guilt She keeps placing on me. It should be returned to sender…but I could never knowingly hurt my mother anywhere near as much as she has unknowingly and repeatedly hurt my life. Why should it be a crime to mention this, worthy of being struck down by God for my evil? If any other human being hurt me….child, friend, partner, stranger or whoever….I would communicate with them as honestly and efficiently as I possibly could…hoping to repair the damage and avoid it happening again.
The truth is, at this stage, Mum would never be able to confront the magnitude of hurt caused for me by these things I am alluding to. To open the door to accepting even one little part of it would cause her to be inevitably overwhelmed by the flood of truth that must follow.
So the answer seems that no, I shall not start writing this story at present. I shall devote my energies instead to getting to another place to live, where I might massage myself back to life through reflection on what I love and respect in myself, past and present. And, yes, I am sorry….until I am housed in my own accommodation I must ensure communication with my mother is kept to the absolutely necessary minimum. My efforts (according to her) do nothing to improve or enrich her life (I’m apparently worse company than an escaped loony) and it is obvious the conversations we have shared have not enriched my life very much….except when she has been kept to basic facts like names and dates.
Well….wow….looks like things are rapidly going to get more “interesting” though not, perhaps, in the fashion I might have hoped for. Oh well, it’s an opportunity to re-check that old theory of “karma”, uninspected for so long. Perhaps recently my karma has been too much confused with my Mother’s? Anyway, I am going without any luggage as I don’t really expect to be living long separated from what I value.
Last night for the first time ever I pushed Mum out of my room as she kept nagging me even after I had turned off the music. She then decided to fall down on the carpet, hitting the banister on the way….I thought she was acting at the time…..but now it’s an “assault“. I am much more offended by this than I am letting on, but it is a clear sign I must be moving on one way or another. As it happened I had just got back from seeing my doctor who said “go into Glasgow and find housing by talking to people face to face” and from posting 5 letters I typed up on my computer asking SMPs and Local Councillors to help with our domestic crisis here. So now the Social Work Dept is giving me a lift (obligatory) to Cotton Street Housing Office….though I’ve repeatedly clarified I want to be in Glasgow, not Renfrewshire.
Well, I have been asking Mum to call in Social Work assistance….though she didn’t really need to send me off with such an ugly ticket. I wonder if I will survive this ‘learning experience’? Oh well, at least death, if it is waiting, is likely to be much swifter and less painful!
Funny thing is, looking back at the last few pages, I had just convinced myself that I didn’t have much hope staying here. “Careful what you wish for”, eh?
So…..”I’m gonna twist out ‘cause I’ve got the skills”.
Maybe tomorrow when I wake….if I wake…maybe I’ll jump up with energy and hope?
posted by Professor Smile at 4:50 AM
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