Sometimes I wonder if I’m too honest to others. I speak about growing up with abuse with such frankness, sometimes, that I wonder if it overwhelms people.And sometimes I’m not honest with myself. I still try to suppress (consciously? unconsciously?) some of my memories. I whitewash it to make it seem not as bad. Just like when I was younger.
Our family would whitewash incidents where dad “jumped off the deep end” and raged at us, so we can say, “Oh, it wasn’t that bad.” “Oh, every family has its dysfunction.” If I to clear away the whitewash to expose the covered-up shit underneath, it was dismissed as me overreacting. or exaggerating.
And to this day, I still am afraid, very afraid, that I might be overreacting when I describe events, the memories that I do remember. So, many times I do understate things. It happens subconsciously, since I’ve been trained to understate and whitewash things, that it’s hard for me to adequately describe events. I constantly self-analyze and self-regulate my writings and tellings to see if maybe I’m the crazy one. And some days I do wonder if maybe I am.
This is all by virtue of trying to brainwash myself, since I grew up with so-called reality ever changing at the whims of the personality disordered parent. Kids of PD parents commonly have this issue.
Us kids of personality disordered parents (and geez, that was hard to write without me second-guessing myself) have a term for learned behaviors. We call them “fleas.” Fleas mimics the behavior of the personality disordered parent, but they are not a sign of us being personality disordered. Children learn from their parents, and sometimes we learn bad things which are difficult to overcome.We have to try to retrain our brains, rewire our responses, and redirect our confused selves in the right direction.
Even though I know the above paragraph objectively, I’m still afraid of becoming like my dad. I suppose every child is afraid of becoming like their parent, but I really don’t want to subject anyone else to what I experienced. And what exactly is that? Hard to say. I still try to understate things even to myself. In many ways, it felt cultic, because of the emotional abuse, the brainwashing and whitewashing, and the fear and suspicion of the outside world.
I suppose you might wonder how this post came about. I have counseling…in less than an hour, in fact. I was trying to think of what I could say or talk about, but I ran into sudden blankness. A brain fart, perhaps. I wondered if I even needed counseling at all, since oh, I should “get over it” especially since I have difficulty remembering memories. That led into me reaffirming to myself that yes, I did experience traumatic things growing up, and that I should go and work on healing. I realized that I’m not very honest to myself about my memories. I just constantly self-doubt, and the self-doubt really bothers me.
Now that I have it written down, I think I know what I want to discuss. The self-doubt.
But now I’m afraid of even talking about that. I don’t really want to cry today, I don’t want to open up that wound so it can be healed properly, I just want to pretend nothing ever happened.
Filed under: Abuse