I've been poking around for a thread that already addresses this and I can't. So I'll just come out and ask it myself. (and get feedback on what I really want to know instead of stuff that relates to someone else? there's a thought.)
My therapist thinks I'm really very angry. That I should be angry, even if I think and claim that I'm not. That underneath the bleakness, underneath the eating disorder and the cutting and the depression, I'm really pretty outraged at my abusers. The people that hurt me. The ones who set all those triggers into place all these years ago.
I don't feel angry. I will admit, now, that I do get angry on occassion. When the line is very clear cut, when someone does something that hurts one or both of my kids. When it's a case of righteous indignation and wrath. I get angry for my friends. Not for myself.
I think it comes from trying to understand my own father? I do, in a really odd way. More so as I get older, as I had my own kids. I look back at the history of his family, and I know in general what shaped him into the person he became. Abuse, neglect, abandonment, running away in a sense from all that to join the army and go off to vietnam, coming back, drugs and alcohol and a slow descent as his bipolar got worse and some schizophrenic tendencies came out, and everything meshed together. He never got help for any of that, and then I was born, and I triggered him something awful. I can see that, on paper, and I've been to hell and back in my own therapy and trying to understand why I am who I am, and I *know*.
I remember all his sleepless nights, finally passing out in a chair in front of the tv. I remember waking him up carefully to steer him to bed. I remember the lostness his eyes would get. I remember the heaviness of his depression.
I know that all the most horrible things he did, he has no memory of, because he was so far out of his own head. It wasn't really him, and he didn't have control over those things, and I know this is so because when I was about 8 he did start going to therapy. He was on meds, he was getting a grip, he was better. For two years of my childhood he was an awesome father. Then he got scared of his recovery and he stopped, and everything went back how it was.
I had my daughter, and she looked exactly like me as a newborn, and she was so happy. Some bad mornings it infuriated me to see her so happy, so innocent, so joyful. I realized that this is what pissed my dad most about me as a baby. Because I knew, because I could see how him and I turned out, I made a conscious choice not to repeat it. My daughter had enough problems as an infant, and growing. (preemie, birth defect, severe developmental delays and sensory integration issues that turned to autism) She did not need anything else.
I can't get angry at my dad. He wasn't really there. Is that my problem? I've got to blame somebody, and I was the only one who was in my right mind at the time, so it's my fault? (perceived, anyway. Intellectually I know it wasn't. In my heart I still believe it was)
why does my head keep going in circles and circles trying to absolve everybody who abused me of their responsibility?
My therapist thinks I'm really very angry. That I should be angry, even if I think and claim that I'm not. That underneath the bleakness, underneath the eating disorder and the cutting and the depression, I'm really pretty outraged at my abusers. The people that hurt me. The ones who set all those triggers into place all these years ago.
I don't feel angry. I will admit, now, that I do get angry on occassion. When the line is very clear cut, when someone does something that hurts one or both of my kids. When it's a case of righteous indignation and wrath. I get angry for my friends. Not for myself.
I think it comes from trying to understand my own father? I do, in a really odd way. More so as I get older, as I had my own kids. I look back at the history of his family, and I know in general what shaped him into the person he became. Abuse, neglect, abandonment, running away in a sense from all that to join the army and go off to vietnam, coming back, drugs and alcohol and a slow descent as his bipolar got worse and some schizophrenic tendencies came out, and everything meshed together. He never got help for any of that, and then I was born, and I triggered him something awful. I can see that, on paper, and I've been to hell and back in my own therapy and trying to understand why I am who I am, and I *know*.
I remember all his sleepless nights, finally passing out in a chair in front of the tv. I remember waking him up carefully to steer him to bed. I remember the lostness his eyes would get. I remember the heaviness of his depression.
I know that all the most horrible things he did, he has no memory of, because he was so far out of his own head. It wasn't really him, and he didn't have control over those things, and I know this is so because when I was about 8 he did start going to therapy. He was on meds, he was getting a grip, he was better. For two years of my childhood he was an awesome father. Then he got scared of his recovery and he stopped, and everything went back how it was.
I had my daughter, and she looked exactly like me as a newborn, and she was so happy. Some bad mornings it infuriated me to see her so happy, so innocent, so joyful. I realized that this is what pissed my dad most about me as a baby. Because I knew, because I could see how him and I turned out, I made a conscious choice not to repeat it. My daughter had enough problems as an infant, and growing. (preemie, birth defect, severe developmental delays and sensory integration issues that turned to autism) She did not need anything else.
I can't get angry at my dad. He wasn't really there. Is that my problem? I've got to blame somebody, and I was the only one who was in my right mind at the time, so it's my fault? (perceived, anyway. Intellectually I know it wasn't. In my heart I still believe it was)
why does my head keep going in circles and circles trying to absolve everybody who abused me of their responsibility?