Re: the soul-sucker

[Guest guest]

Great study. This does make so much sense for me too. My mother always talks

about how easy me and my sister were to care for. She mentions how we didn't

cry. Watching her with my children and her dog, interestingly, has helped

illuminate things for me. She put my 2 year-old in " nap " time for 4 hours

during her babysitting time. When I arrived, he was in the back room crying and

yelling trying to get out of the crib. (She doesn't watch them alone EVER now.)

I notice that she grabs this small dog and pulls him on her lap. She is

oblivious when he yelps or tries to get away. It is hard to watch, but helps me

understand why I'm so f***ed up.

-Coal Miner's Daughter

>

> My nada said the exact same thing - " you kids never cried " . It certainly

seemed odd to me.

>

> I did a google search for " intrusive mothers and infants " and there are many

studies that might explain why - one called " Intrusive and Withdrawn Behaviours

of Mothers Interacting with their Infants and Boyfriends " . REALLY

INTERESTING!!!! BPD mothers are considered to be " intrusive " .

>

> Here are a few excepts from it (Ive deleted all the referencing to make it

easier to read):

>

> During face-to-face, mother±infant interactions,

> withdrawn mothers demonstrate affectively restricted

> behaviours. They appear expressionless and verbalize in a

> flat tone of voice and spend less time touching their

> infants and more time turning away. In contrast, intrusive mothers

> demonstrate greater affectivity and overstimulation, which may interfere with

their infants'

> goal-directed activities. Intrusive mothers exhibit

> anger, hostility, high levels of irritability, and even overt

> physical intrusiveness.

>

>

> Mothers were classified as intrusive if they

> demonstrated physical contacts such as: rough tickling, poking,

> pulling, shaking, looming, and using brisk movements, during

> at least 50%of the interaction. Mothers could also be classified

> as intrusive if they were physically intrusive during somewhat

> smaller proportions of time but demonstrated loud, noncontingent

> speech and exaggerated, fake, facial expressions.

>

> In contrast, mothers who had demonstrated intrusiveness

> with their infants were verbally sharp and

> interfering with their boyfriends' efforts to solve a puzzle.

> Their controlling behaviour emerged over the project of

> ``working together'' on the puzzle. A few never released

> the puzzle, monopolizing it for 100% of the time and

> turning the interaction into a ``tug-of-war'', suggesting

> an inability to play appropriately and impeding goaldirected

> activities with boyfriends as with infants. Yet, mothers were not directly

aggressive toward their boyfriends. As Weissman and Paykel (1974) observed,

mothers targeted infants more than husbands,

> perhaps because infants are more vulnerable.

>

> A google book called Social and Emotional Devlopment in Infancy and Early

Childhood (Pg 434) says:

>

> As a striking demonstration of the sensitivity of the infant to these

differernt maternal ways of being with their infants, infants of intrusive

mothers reacted one way, wheras infants of withdrawn mothers reacted another

way.

> Infants of intrusive mothers spent most of their time looking away from the

mother, and seldom looked at objects. They infrequently cried. Infants of

withdrawn mothers were more likely to protest and be distressed than the infants

of intrusive mothers...

>

>

> The infants of hostile intrusive mothers must cope with a different regulatory

problem (than those with a withdrawn mother)... These infants initially

experience anger, turn away from the mother, push her away, or screen her out.

However, unlike the failure experience of the infnats of withdrawn mothers,

these coping behaviours are occasionally successful in fending off the mother,

these infants eventually internalise an angry and protective style of coping

which is deployed defensively in anticipation of the mothers intrusiveness.

>

>

>

> I think this may explain why so many BPD mothers say that their baby " rejects "

them, or the flip-side, that they were perfect for the sole reason that they

didnt cry much. I feel this may explain a lot for me! And the part about " fake

exaggerated facila expressions " , oh lord, thats a CHARACTERISTIC of this kind of

mothering!!! I never knew that, and it makes so much sense.

>

>

[Guest guest]

Yes, good example of that insane trait where nada expects her child or her pet

or her husband to just instantly obey almost to the point of being able to read

nada's mind, and it doesn't matter if the child or the pet is asleep, or in

another part of the house, or the child is doing homework, etc. The other

person is merely an object to nada, an " it " , and does not have needs or feelings

of " it's " own.

And if " it's " annoying nada by crying or begging to be walked, or has a fever

and needs nursing, then put " it " in the back room and shut the door.

-Annie

>

> Nada's treatment of our dogs was always disturbing. She'd say " come here "

> or " give me a kiss " to one that was sleeping; the dog wouldn't come, and

> she'd scream " stupid dog " , Pretty darn sure she did the same thing to me.

> Laurie

>

>

> In a message dated 11/27/2010 1:31:57 P.M. Eastern Standard Time,

> coalminersdotter@... writes:

>

>

>

>

> Great study. This does make so much sense for me too. My mother always

> talks about how easy me and my sister were to care for. She mentions how we

> didn't cry. Watching her with my children and her dog, interestingly, has

> helped illuminate things for me. She put my 2 year-old in " nap " time for 4

> hours during her babysitting time. When I arrived, he was in the back room

> crying and yelling trying to get out of the crib. (She doesn't watch them

> alone EVER now.)

>

> I notice that she grabs this small dog and pulls him on her lap. She is

> oblivious when he yelps or tries to get away. It is hard to watch, but helps

> me understand why I'm so f***ed up.

>

> -Coal Miner's Daughter

[Guest guest]

Hey ,

Fascinating point you make here. I have noticed this in myself and wondered

about it. I was feeling this way just yesterday. For me, I think some of it is

a learned behavior and some because people actually don't relate to me at times.

I can really get into my own world, know what I mean?

I notice this when writing music. It's like I have to go off alone somewhere,

at least in my mind to be capable of forming original thoughts. I feel lonely

when I am really being myself.

>> > It *feels* like I was never taught to experience my own mood as my own

mood; my own perceptions as my own perceptions--that feeling my own mood or

having my own perceptions is the same as being all alone and it's a sort of

nothingness.

>

> Can anyone else relate to that?

>

>

>

[Guest guest]

Hi Coal Miner's Daughter,

Do you feel fulfilled when you're writing music? I write

(mainly short stories) and I also *have* to be alone so that I can work on my

writing.But " courting the muse " is a solitary pursuit; any self initiated

creative endeavour requires gaining access to one's own subjective spiritual

font of inspiration so I think what you said about needing to go off alone

somewhere to be capable of forming original thoughts is very normal,creativity

wise!

The writer Virginia Woolf wrote an entire essay on the theme of

women writers needing to have " a room of one's own " in order to create

literature and I'm sure the same must hold for musicians as well or for anyone

who needs " musing space " to be creative.It seems to me that as KOs what we don't

get to have in many figurative senses is a room of our own where we can tend to

our own inspiration-- " really being ourselves " is taboo,so that when we engage in

some creative expression of our truest selves it can feel more like solitary

exile than forging a vitally creative alliance with our own muse--feeling alone

when we are most being ourselves.

My feeling completely alone with my own moods/perceptions is one of the

most pernicious symptoms of Complex PTSD: feeling utterly alone.I was literally

treated like a non entity when I was growing up: my

feelings,thoughts,preferences,wishes,desires were all total *crap* to my

" parents " .

If I liked something,it was worthless and stupid.If I was interested in

something,it was worthless and stupid.

I can remember fada mocking me and ridiculing me in front of the entire

family when we'd go to dinner at my grandparents' home and nobody saying or

doing anything about it.It was like I really didn't matter at all to anyone.My

feelings meant absolutely nothing to anyone.I was simply *nobody*,just an object

of ridicule.

Or nada saying some cruel or cutting thing to me *on purpose to hurt me*

and my maternal grandmother heard it and just walked away,leaving me there like

I didn't matter at all.

If ever I dared to tell nada that whatever she had said or done had

offended me or hurt my feelings,I got: " If you're so miserable,why don't you

just kill yourself? "

For the members of my FOO,I was the one who had no value.It was like a

mobbing situation,everyone agreeing at least that when it came to me,nobody

cared.

One time when I was about nine I was at my paternal grandmother's house

on a Sunday when she had arranged to have a plumber come to fix a leaky pipe.I

was sucking on a mint when the plumber knocked on her front door--he really

banged harshly on the door and I think that even then I must have had a PTSD

startle reflex and when I heard that banging I automatically startled.I gasped

and the mint got lodged in my throat.

My grandmother opened the door for the plumber while I pulled on her

sleeve and pointed to my throat.I had tried to cough up the mint but it was

stuck.She pushed me away and muttered annoyed, " Let go of me " as the plumber came

into the house.

She was telling him about whatever it was she needed him to

fix,completely ignoring me.I was starting to panic because I couldn't dislodge

the mint from my throat--the plumber took one look at me and said, " What's wrong

honey? Are you ok? "

I pointed to my throat again and he said, " Oh my god,are you choking on

something? "

I nodded and he quickly gave me the " Heimlich maneuver " and the mint

shot out onto the carpet.He was patting me on the back,very concerned,and asking

me, " Are you alright now? Can you breathe? "

WHILE MY GRANDMOTHER WHO HADN'T EVEN NOTICED WAS WALKING AHEAD THROUGH

THE HOUSE AND SAYING, " I want you to have a look in the bathroom first " ...

The plumber said to her, " Hey,lady,this little girl was choking on

something " and my grandmother just barely turned back to us and went, " Uh

huh.Now,I think the main problem is the leaky pipe in the bathroom... "

I remember the plumber shaking his head and glaring at her and

reaching back to give me a hug and at the exact moment I felt like I was

*really* there,like I actually was someone;that what had just happened to me was

real and I felt so profoundly GLAD that the plumber even cared.I felt

so...vitalized and comforted,like I could *feel* the blood flowing through my

veins and I *knew* that I really did exist.

When he left that day,the plumber said to me, " You know,you're a really

nice little girl,if you ever need help you can always dial O for operator on the

phone,just dial O... "

And I wondered,would the operator be as nice as you?

That was what I got,day in and day out from the FOO,this being nothing

and nobody.I nourished my soul alot on natural beauty,like sunsets,taking

comfort from beauty,drawing a feeling of hope from that.So when other people

don't appreciate the soul nourishing qualities of beautiful events like sunsets

and I am the only one who seems to notice,I get triggered back into feeling like

I am utterly alone; the only one who *needs* the comfort of natural beauty,like

my mood and my perception mean nothing because they are only meaningful to me

and I also remember how that happened and that hurts.I actually don't think that

I've ever told this to anyone--what I do is never mention it at all and turn my

attention back to the other person or people like everything is fine.I have

never been able to explain this " utterly alone " feeling so I try to deal with it

on my own.The second part of this particular Complex PTSD symptom is also

feeling as if nobody else would ever understand! And,lol,I just don't expect

anyone to.

All of that was mainly a vent...no need to respond,I know I sound like

Debbie Downer but thanks for letting me sound off...Existential solitude and

needing solitude to create are two very different things...

> >> > It *feels* like I was never taught to experience my own mood as my own

mood; my own perceptions as my own perceptions--that feeling my own mood or

having my own perceptions is the same as being all alone and it's a sort of

nothingness.

> >

> > Can anyone else relate to that?

> >

> >

> >

>

[Guest guest]

Hi Coal Miner's Daughter,

Do you feel fulfilled when you're writing music? I write

(mainly short stories) and I also *have* to be alone so that I can work on my

writing.But " courting the muse " is a solitary pursuit; any self initiated

creative endeavour requires gaining access to one's own subjective spiritual

font of inspiration so I think what you said about needing to go off alone

somewhere to be capable of forming original thoughts is very normal,creativity

wise!

The writer Virginia Woolf wrote an entire essay on the theme of

women writers needing to have " a room of one's own " in order to create

literature and I'm sure the same must hold for musicians as well or for anyone

who needs " musing space " to be creative.It seems to me that as KOs what we don't

get to have in many figurative senses is a room of our own where we can tend to

our own inspiration-- " really being ourselves " is taboo,so that when we engage in

some creative expression of our truest selves it can feel more like solitary

exile than forging a vitally creative alliance with our own muse--feeling alone

when we are most being ourselves.

My feeling completely alone with my own moods/perceptions is one of the

most pernicious symptoms of Complex PTSD: feeling utterly alone.I was literally

treated like a non entity when I was growing up: my

feelings,thoughts,preferences,wishes,desires were all total *crap* to my

" parents " .

If I liked something,it was worthless and stupid.If I was interested in

something,it was worthless and stupid.

I can remember fada mocking me and ridiculing me in front of the entire

family when we'd go to dinner at my grandparents' home and nobody saying or

doing anything about it.It was like I really didn't matter at all to anyone.My

feelings meant absolutely nothing to anyone.I was simply *nobody*,just an object

of ridicule.

Or nada saying some cruel or cutting thing to me *on purpose to hurt me*

and my maternal grandmother heard it and just walked away,leaving me there like

I didn't matter at all.

If ever I dared to tell nada that whatever she had said or done had

offended me or hurt my feelings,I got: " If you're so miserable,why don't you

just kill yourself? "

For the members of my FOO,I was the one who had no value.It was like a

mobbing situation,everyone agreeing at least that when it came to me,nobody

cared.

One time when I was about nine I was at my paternal grandmother's house

on a Sunday when she had arranged to have a plumber come to fix a leaky pipe.I

was sucking on a mint when the plumber knocked on her front door--he really

banged harshly on the door and I think that even then I must have had a PTSD

startle reflex and when I heard that banging I automatically startled.I gasped

and the mint got lodged in my throat.

My grandmother opened the door for the plumber while I pulled on her

sleeve and pointed to my throat.I had tried to cough up the mint but it was

stuck.She pushed me away and muttered annoyed, " Let go of me " as the plumber came

into the house.

She was telling him about whatever it was she needed him to

fix,completely ignoring me.I was starting to panic because I couldn't dislodge

the mint from my throat--the plumber took one look at me and said, " What's wrong

honey? Are you ok? "

I pointed to my throat again and he said, " Oh my god,are you choking on

something? "

I nodded and he quickly gave me the " Heimlich maneuver " and the mint

shot out onto the carpet.He was patting me on the back,very concerned,and asking

me, " Are you alright now? Can you breathe? "

WHILE MY GRANDMOTHER WHO HADN'T EVEN NOTICED WAS WALKING AHEAD THROUGH

THE HOUSE AND SAYING, " I want you to have a look in the bathroom first " ...

The plumber said to her, " Hey,lady,this little girl was choking on

something " and my grandmother just barely turned back to us and went, " Uh

huh.Now,I think the main problem is the leaky pipe in the bathroom... "

I remember the plumber shaking his head and glaring at her and

reaching back to give me a hug and at the exact moment I felt like I was

*really* there,like I actually was someone;that what had just happened to me was

real and I felt so profoundly GLAD that the plumber even cared.I felt

so...vitalized and comforted,like I could *feel* the blood flowing through my

veins and I *knew* that I really did exist.

When he left that day,the plumber said to me, " You know,you're a really

nice little girl,if you ever need help you can always dial O for operator on the

phone,just dial O... "

And I wondered,would the operator be as nice as you?

That was what I got,day in and day out from the FOO,this being nothing

and nobody.I nourished my soul alot on natural beauty,like sunsets,taking

comfort from beauty,drawing a feeling of hope from that.So when other people

don't appreciate the soul nourishing qualities of beautiful events like sunsets

and I am the only one who seems to notice,I get triggered back into feeling like

I am utterly alone; the only one who *needs* the comfort of natural beauty,like

my mood and my perception mean nothing because they are only meaningful to me

and I also remember how that happened and that hurts.I actually don't think that

I've ever told this to anyone--what I do is never mention it at all and turn my

attention back to the other person or people like everything is fine.I have

never been able to explain this " utterly alone " feeling so I try to deal with it

on my own.The second part of this particular Complex PTSD symptom is also

feeling as if nobody else would ever understand! And,lol,I just don't expect

anyone to.

All of that was mainly a vent...no need to respond,I know I sound like

Debbie Downer but thanks for letting me sound off...Existential solitude and

needing solitude to create are two very different things...

> >> > It *feels* like I was never taught to experience my own mood as my own

mood; my own perceptions as my own perceptions--that feeling my own mood or

having my own perceptions is the same as being all alone and it's a sort of

nothingness.

> >

> > Can anyone else relate to that?

> >

> >

> >

>

[Guest guest]

Hi Coal Miner's Daughter,

Do you feel fulfilled when you're writing music? I write

(mainly short stories) and I also *have* to be alone so that I can work on my

writing.But " courting the muse " is a solitary pursuit; any self initiated

creative endeavour requires gaining access to one's own subjective spiritual

font of inspiration so I think what you said about needing to go off alone

somewhere to be capable of forming original thoughts is very normal,creativity

wise!

The writer Virginia Woolf wrote an entire essay on the theme of

women writers needing to have " a room of one's own " in order to create

literature and I'm sure the same must hold for musicians as well or for anyone

who needs " musing space " to be creative.It seems to me that as KOs what we don't

get to have in many figurative senses is a room of our own where we can tend to

our own inspiration-- " really being ourselves " is taboo,so that when we engage in

some creative expression of our truest selves it can feel more like solitary

exile than forging a vitally creative alliance with our own muse--feeling alone

when we are most being ourselves.

My feeling completely alone with my own moods/perceptions is one of the

most pernicious symptoms of Complex PTSD: feeling utterly alone.I was literally

treated like a non entity when I was growing up: my

feelings,thoughts,preferences,wishes,desires were all total *crap* to my

" parents " .

If I liked something,it was worthless and stupid.If I was interested in

something,it was worthless and stupid.

I can remember fada mocking me and ridiculing me in front of the entire

family when we'd go to dinner at my grandparents' home and nobody saying or

doing anything about it.It was like I really didn't matter at all to anyone.My

feelings meant absolutely nothing to anyone.I was simply *nobody*,just an object

of ridicule.

Or nada saying some cruel or cutting thing to me *on purpose to hurt me*

and my maternal grandmother heard it and just walked away,leaving me there like

I didn't matter at all.

If ever I dared to tell nada that whatever she had said or done had

offended me or hurt my feelings,I got: " If you're so miserable,why don't you

just kill yourself? "

For the members of my FOO,I was the one who had no value.It was like a

mobbing situation,everyone agreeing at least that when it came to me,nobody

cared.

One time when I was about nine I was at my paternal grandmother's house

on a Sunday when she had arranged to have a plumber come to fix a leaky pipe.I

was sucking on a mint when the plumber knocked on her front door--he really

banged harshly on the door and I think that even then I must have had a PTSD

startle reflex and when I heard that banging I automatically startled.I gasped

and the mint got lodged in my throat.

My grandmother opened the door for the plumber while I pulled on her

sleeve and pointed to my throat.I had tried to cough up the mint but it was

stuck.She pushed me away and muttered annoyed, " Let go of me " as the plumber came

into the house.

She was telling him about whatever it was she needed him to

fix,completely ignoring me.I was starting to panic because I couldn't dislodge

the mint from my throat--the plumber took one look at me and said, " What's wrong

honey? Are you ok? "

I pointed to my throat again and he said, " Oh my god,are you choking on

something? "

I nodded and he quickly gave me the " Heimlich maneuver " and the mint

shot out onto the carpet.He was patting me on the back,very concerned,and asking

me, " Are you alright now? Can you breathe? "

WHILE MY GRANDMOTHER WHO HADN'T EVEN NOTICED WAS WALKING AHEAD THROUGH

THE HOUSE AND SAYING, " I want you to have a look in the bathroom first " ...

The plumber said to her, " Hey,lady,this little girl was choking on

something " and my grandmother just barely turned back to us and went, " Uh

huh.Now,I think the main problem is the leaky pipe in the bathroom... "

I remember the plumber shaking his head and glaring at her and

reaching back to give me a hug and at the exact moment I felt like I was

*really* there,like I actually was someone;that what had just happened to me was

real and I felt so profoundly GLAD that the plumber even cared.I felt

so...vitalized and comforted,like I could *feel* the blood flowing through my

veins and I *knew* that I really did exist.

When he left that day,the plumber said to me, " You know,you're a really

nice little girl,if you ever need help you can always dial O for operator on the

phone,just dial O... "

And I wondered,would the operator be as nice as you?

That was what I got,day in and day out from the FOO,this being nothing

and nobody.I nourished my soul alot on natural beauty,like sunsets,taking

comfort from beauty,drawing a feeling of hope from that.So when other people

don't appreciate the soul nourishing qualities of beautiful events like sunsets

and I am the only one who seems to notice,I get triggered back into feeling like

I am utterly alone; the only one who *needs* the comfort of natural beauty,like

my mood and my perception mean nothing because they are only meaningful to me

and I also remember how that happened and that hurts.I actually don't think that

I've ever told this to anyone--what I do is never mention it at all and turn my

attention back to the other person or people like everything is fine.I have

never been able to explain this " utterly alone " feeling so I try to deal with it

on my own.The second part of this particular Complex PTSD symptom is also

feeling as if nobody else would ever understand! And,lol,I just don't expect

anyone to.

All of that was mainly a vent...no need to respond,I know I sound like

Debbie Downer but thanks for letting me sound off...Existential solitude and

needing solitude to create are two very different things...

> >> > It *feels* like I was never taught to experience my own mood as my own

mood; my own perceptions as my own perceptions--that feeling my own mood or

having my own perceptions is the same as being all alone and it's a sort of

nothingness.

> >

> > Can anyone else relate to that?

> >

> >

> >

>

[Guest guest]

Your memory of the choking incident just made me cry, . It truly is as

though you were raised by monitor lizards. Talking, human-shaped monitor

lizards. Your entire foo were/are all just inhuman in their callous

indifference to you.

Thank God that plumber had a human soul and was able to notice your distress and

had the know-how to help you.

You're so amazingly lucky; there were so many occasions that you almost wound up

as a " tragic accidental child death " . Holy freaking cow.

-Annie

>

> Hi Coal Miner's Daughter,

>

> Do you feel fulfilled when you're writing music? I write

(mainly short stories) and I also *have* to be alone so that I can work on my

writing.But " courting the muse " is a solitary pursuit; any self initiated

creative endeavour requires gaining access to one's own subjective spiritual

font of inspiration so I think what you said about needing to go off alone

somewhere to be capable of forming original thoughts is very normal,creativity

wise!

>

> The writer Virginia Woolf wrote an entire essay on the theme of

women writers needing to have " a room of one's own " in order to create

literature and I'm sure the same must hold for musicians as well or for anyone

who needs " musing space " to be creative.It seems to me that as KOs what we don't

get to have in many figurative senses is a room of our own where we can tend to

our own inspiration-- " really being ourselves " is taboo,so that when we engage in

some creative expression of our truest selves it can feel more like solitary

exile than forging a vitally creative alliance with our own muse--feeling alone

when we are most being ourselves.

>

> My feeling completely alone with my own moods/perceptions is one of

the most pernicious symptoms of Complex PTSD: feeling utterly alone.I was

literally treated like a non entity when I was growing up: my

feelings,thoughts,preferences,wishes,desires were all total *crap* to my

" parents " .

>

> If I liked something,it was worthless and stupid.If I was interested

in something,it was worthless and stupid.

>

> I can remember fada mocking me and ridiculing me in front of the

entire family when we'd go to dinner at my grandparents' home and nobody saying

or doing anything about it.It was like I really didn't matter at all to

anyone.My feelings meant absolutely nothing to anyone.I was simply *nobody*,just

an object of ridicule.

>

> Or nada saying some cruel or cutting thing to me *on purpose to hurt

me* and my maternal grandmother heard it and just walked away,leaving me there

like I didn't matter at all.

>

> If ever I dared to tell nada that whatever she had said or done had

offended me or hurt my feelings,I got: " If you're so miserable,why don't you

just kill yourself? "

>

> For the members of my FOO,I was the one who had no value.It was like

a mobbing situation,everyone agreeing at least that when it came to me,nobody

cared.

>

> One time when I was about nine I was at my paternal grandmother's

house on a Sunday when she had arranged to have a plumber come to fix a leaky

pipe.I was sucking on a mint when the plumber knocked on her front door--he

really banged harshly on the door and I think that even then I must have had a

PTSD startle reflex and when I heard that banging I automatically startled.I

gasped and the mint got lodged in my throat.

>

> My grandmother opened the door for the plumber while I pulled on her

sleeve and pointed to my throat.I had tried to cough up the mint but it was

stuck.She pushed me away and muttered annoyed, " Let go of me " as the plumber came

into the house.

>

> She was telling him about whatever it was she needed him to

fix,completely ignoring me.I was starting to panic because I couldn't dislodge

the mint from my throat--the plumber took one look at me and said, " What's wrong

honey? Are you ok? "

>

> I pointed to my throat again and he said, " Oh my god,are you choking on

something? "

>

> I nodded and he quickly gave me the " Heimlich maneuver " and the mint

shot out onto the carpet.He was patting me on the back,very concerned,and asking

me, " Are you alright now? Can you breathe? "

>

> WHILE MY GRANDMOTHER WHO HADN'T EVEN NOTICED WAS WALKING AHEAD

THROUGH THE HOUSE AND SAYING, " I want you to have a look in the bathroom

first " ...

>

> The plumber said to her, " Hey,lady,this little girl was choking on

something " and my grandmother just barely turned back to us and went, " Uh

huh.Now,I think the main problem is the leaky pipe in the bathroom... "

>

> I remember the plumber shaking his head and glaring at her and

reaching back to give me a hug and at the exact moment I felt like I was

*really* there,like I actually was someone;that what had just happened to me was

real and I felt so profoundly GLAD that the plumber even cared.I felt

so...vitalized and comforted,like I could *feel* the blood flowing through my

veins and I *knew* that I really did exist.

>

> When he left that day,the plumber said to me, " You know,you're a

really nice little girl,if you ever need help you can always dial O for operator

on the phone,just dial O... "

>

> And I wondered,would the operator be as nice as you?

>

> That was what I got,day in and day out from the FOO,this being nothing

and nobody.I nourished my soul alot on natural beauty,like sunsets,taking

comfort from beauty,drawing a feeling of hope from that.So when other people

don't appreciate the soul nourishing qualities of beautiful events like sunsets

and I am the only one who seems to notice,I get triggered back into feeling like

I am utterly alone; the only one who *needs* the comfort of natural beauty,like

my mood and my perception mean nothing because they are only meaningful to me

and I also remember how that happened and that hurts.I actually don't think that

I've ever told this to anyone--what I do is never mention it at all and turn my

attention back to the other person or people like everything is fine.I have

never been able to explain this " utterly alone " feeling so I try to deal with it

on my own.The second part of this particular Complex PTSD symptom is also

feeling as if nobody else would ever understand! And,lol,I just don't expect

anyone to.

>

> All of that was mainly a vent...no need to respond,I know I sound like

Debbie Downer but thanks for letting me sound off...Existential solitude and

needing solitude to create are two very different things...

>

>

>

[Guest guest]

Your memory of the choking incident just made me cry, . It truly is as

though you were raised by monitor lizards. Talking, human-shaped monitor

lizards. Your entire foo were/are all just inhuman in their callous

indifference to you.

Thank God that plumber had a human soul and was able to notice your distress and

had the know-how to help you.

You're so amazingly lucky; there were so many occasions that you almost wound up

as a " tragic accidental child death " . Holy freaking cow.

-Annie

>

> Hi Coal Miner's Daughter,

>

> Do you feel fulfilled when you're writing music? I write

(mainly short stories) and I also *have* to be alone so that I can work on my

writing.But " courting the muse " is a solitary pursuit; any self initiated

creative endeavour requires gaining access to one's own subjective spiritual

font of inspiration so I think what you said about needing to go off alone

somewhere to be capable of forming original thoughts is very normal,creativity

wise!

>

> The writer Virginia Woolf wrote an entire essay on the theme of

women writers needing to have " a room of one's own " in order to create

literature and I'm sure the same must hold for musicians as well or for anyone

who needs " musing space " to be creative.It seems to me that as KOs what we don't

get to have in many figurative senses is a room of our own where we can tend to

our own inspiration-- " really being ourselves " is taboo,so that when we engage in

some creative expression of our truest selves it can feel more like solitary

exile than forging a vitally creative alliance with our own muse--feeling alone

when we are most being ourselves.

>

> My feeling completely alone with my own moods/perceptions is one of

the most pernicious symptoms of Complex PTSD: feeling utterly alone.I was

literally treated like a non entity when I was growing up: my

feelings,thoughts,preferences,wishes,desires were all total *crap* to my

" parents " .

>

> If I liked something,it was worthless and stupid.If I was interested

in something,it was worthless and stupid.

>

> I can remember fada mocking me and ridiculing me in front of the

entire family when we'd go to dinner at my grandparents' home and nobody saying

or doing anything about it.It was like I really didn't matter at all to

anyone.My feelings meant absolutely nothing to anyone.I was simply *nobody*,just

an object of ridicule.

>

> Or nada saying some cruel or cutting thing to me *on purpose to hurt

me* and my maternal grandmother heard it and just walked away,leaving me there

like I didn't matter at all.

>

> If ever I dared to tell nada that whatever she had said or done had

offended me or hurt my feelings,I got: " If you're so miserable,why don't you

just kill yourself? "

>

> For the members of my FOO,I was the one who had no value.It was like

a mobbing situation,everyone agreeing at least that when it came to me,nobody

cared.

>

> One time when I was about nine I was at my paternal grandmother's

house on a Sunday when she had arranged to have a plumber come to fix a leaky

pipe.I was sucking on a mint when the plumber knocked on her front door--he

really banged harshly on the door and I think that even then I must have had a

PTSD startle reflex and when I heard that banging I automatically startled.I

gasped and the mint got lodged in my throat.

>

> My grandmother opened the door for the plumber while I pulled on her

sleeve and pointed to my throat.I had tried to cough up the mint but it was

stuck.She pushed me away and muttered annoyed, " Let go of me " as the plumber came

into the house.

>

> She was telling him about whatever it was she needed him to

fix,completely ignoring me.I was starting to panic because I couldn't dislodge

the mint from my throat--the plumber took one look at me and said, " What's wrong

honey? Are you ok? "

>

> I pointed to my throat again and he said, " Oh my god,are you choking on

something? "

>

> I nodded and he quickly gave me the " Heimlich maneuver " and the mint

shot out onto the carpet.He was patting me on the back,very concerned,and asking

me, " Are you alright now? Can you breathe? "

>

> WHILE MY GRANDMOTHER WHO HADN'T EVEN NOTICED WAS WALKING AHEAD

THROUGH THE HOUSE AND SAYING, " I want you to have a look in the bathroom

first " ...

>

> The plumber said to her, " Hey,lady,this little girl was choking on

something " and my grandmother just barely turned back to us and went, " Uh

huh.Now,I think the main problem is the leaky pipe in the bathroom... "

>

> I remember the plumber shaking his head and glaring at her and

reaching back to give me a hug and at the exact moment I felt like I was

*really* there,like I actually was someone;that what had just happened to me was

real and I felt so profoundly GLAD that the plumber even cared.I felt

so...vitalized and comforted,like I could *feel* the blood flowing through my

veins and I *knew* that I really did exist.

>

> When he left that day,the plumber said to me, " You know,you're a

really nice little girl,if you ever need help you can always dial O for operator

on the phone,just dial O... "

>

> And I wondered,would the operator be as nice as you?

>

> That was what I got,day in and day out from the FOO,this being nothing

and nobody.I nourished my soul alot on natural beauty,like sunsets,taking

comfort from beauty,drawing a feeling of hope from that.So when other people

don't appreciate the soul nourishing qualities of beautiful events like sunsets

and I am the only one who seems to notice,I get triggered back into feeling like

I am utterly alone; the only one who *needs* the comfort of natural beauty,like

my mood and my perception mean nothing because they are only meaningful to me

and I also remember how that happened and that hurts.I actually don't think that

I've ever told this to anyone--what I do is never mention it at all and turn my

attention back to the other person or people like everything is fine.I have

never been able to explain this " utterly alone " feeling so I try to deal with it

on my own.The second part of this particular Complex PTSD symptom is also

feeling as if nobody else would ever understand! And,lol,I just don't expect

anyone to.

>

> All of that was mainly a vent...no need to respond,I know I sound like

Debbie Downer but thanks for letting me sound off...Existential solitude and

needing solitude to create are two very different things...

>

>

>

[Guest guest]

Your memory of the choking incident just made me cry, . It truly is as

though you were raised by monitor lizards. Talking, human-shaped monitor

lizards. Your entire foo were/are all just inhuman in their callous

indifference to you.

Thank God that plumber had a human soul and was able to notice your distress and

had the know-how to help you.

You're so amazingly lucky; there were so many occasions that you almost wound up

as a " tragic accidental child death " . Holy freaking cow.

-Annie

>

> Hi Coal Miner's Daughter,

>

> Do you feel fulfilled when you're writing music? I write

(mainly short stories) and I also *have* to be alone so that I can work on my

writing.But " courting the muse " is a solitary pursuit; any self initiated

creative endeavour requires gaining access to one's own subjective spiritual

font of inspiration so I think what you said about needing to go off alone

somewhere to be capable of forming original thoughts is very normal,creativity

wise!

>

> The writer Virginia Woolf wrote an entire essay on the theme of

women writers needing to have " a room of one's own " in order to create

literature and I'm sure the same must hold for musicians as well or for anyone

who needs " musing space " to be creative.It seems to me that as KOs what we don't

get to have in many figurative senses is a room of our own where we can tend to

our own inspiration-- " really being ourselves " is taboo,so that when we engage in

some creative expression of our truest selves it can feel more like solitary

exile than forging a vitally creative alliance with our own muse--feeling alone

when we are most being ourselves.

>

> My feeling completely alone with my own moods/perceptions is one of

the most pernicious symptoms of Complex PTSD: feeling utterly alone.I was

literally treated like a non entity when I was growing up: my

feelings,thoughts,preferences,wishes,desires were all total *crap* to my

" parents " .

>

> If I liked something,it was worthless and stupid.If I was interested

in something,it was worthless and stupid.

>

> I can remember fada mocking me and ridiculing me in front of the

entire family when we'd go to dinner at my grandparents' home and nobody saying

or doing anything about it.It was like I really didn't matter at all to

anyone.My feelings meant absolutely nothing to anyone.I was simply *nobody*,just

an object of ridicule.

>

> Or nada saying some cruel or cutting thing to me *on purpose to hurt

me* and my maternal grandmother heard it and just walked away,leaving me there

like I didn't matter at all.

>

> If ever I dared to tell nada that whatever she had said or done had

offended me or hurt my feelings,I got: " If you're so miserable,why don't you

just kill yourself? "

>

> For the members of my FOO,I was the one who had no value.It was like

a mobbing situation,everyone agreeing at least that when it came to me,nobody

cared.

>

> One time when I was about nine I was at my paternal grandmother's

house on a Sunday when she had arranged to have a plumber come to fix a leaky

pipe.I was sucking on a mint when the plumber knocked on her front door--he

really banged harshly on the door and I think that even then I must have had a

PTSD startle reflex and when I heard that banging I automatically startled.I

gasped and the mint got lodged in my throat.

>

> My grandmother opened the door for the plumber while I pulled on her

sleeve and pointed to my throat.I had tried to cough up the mint but it was

stuck.She pushed me away and muttered annoyed, " Let go of me " as the plumber came

into the house.

>

> She was telling him about whatever it was she needed him to

fix,completely ignoring me.I was starting to panic because I couldn't dislodge

the mint from my throat--the plumber took one look at me and said, " What's wrong

honey? Are you ok? "

>

> I pointed to my throat again and he said, " Oh my god,are you choking on

something? "

>

> I nodded and he quickly gave me the " Heimlich maneuver " and the mint

shot out onto the carpet.He was patting me on the back,very concerned,and asking

me, " Are you alright now? Can you breathe? "

>

> WHILE MY GRANDMOTHER WHO HADN'T EVEN NOTICED WAS WALKING AHEAD

THROUGH THE HOUSE AND SAYING, " I want you to have a look in the bathroom

first " ...

>

> The plumber said to her, " Hey,lady,this little girl was choking on

something " and my grandmother just barely turned back to us and went, " Uh

huh.Now,I think the main problem is the leaky pipe in the bathroom... "

>

> I remember the plumber shaking his head and glaring at her and

reaching back to give me a hug and at the exact moment I felt like I was

*really* there,like I actually was someone;that what had just happened to me was

real and I felt so profoundly GLAD that the plumber even cared.I felt

so...vitalized and comforted,like I could *feel* the blood flowing through my

veins and I *knew* that I really did exist.

>

> When he left that day,the plumber said to me, " You know,you're a

really nice little girl,if you ever need help you can always dial O for operator

on the phone,just dial O... "

>

> And I wondered,would the operator be as nice as you?

>

> That was what I got,day in and day out from the FOO,this being nothing

and nobody.I nourished my soul alot on natural beauty,like sunsets,taking

comfort from beauty,drawing a feeling of hope from that.So when other people

don't appreciate the soul nourishing qualities of beautiful events like sunsets

and I am the only one who seems to notice,I get triggered back into feeling like

I am utterly alone; the only one who *needs* the comfort of natural beauty,like

my mood and my perception mean nothing because they are only meaningful to me

and I also remember how that happened and that hurts.I actually don't think that

I've ever told this to anyone--what I do is never mention it at all and turn my

attention back to the other person or people like everything is fine.I have

never been able to explain this " utterly alone " feeling so I try to deal with it

on my own.The second part of this particular Complex PTSD symptom is also

feeling as if nobody else would ever understand! And,lol,I just don't expect

anyone to.

>

> All of that was mainly a vent...no need to respond,I know I sound like

Debbie Downer but thanks for letting me sound off...Existential solitude and

needing solitude to create are two very different things...

>

>

>

[Guest guest]

Thank you so much,Annie,for your kind and caring thoughts

Before I joined this message board I never thought of my occasions of " cheating

death " as anything more than my own sort of bumbling survival but when I think

of it in the context of " tragic accidental death " it really makes me wonder how

often that does happen: child deaths that go on the official record as " tragic

accidents " being actually nothing of the sort,but the *direct result* of a PD

parent's willful neglect.Or worse,a PD parent's willful intention that flew

under the radar of obvious premeditation.I'd wager there must be hundreds of

child deaths of this nature.It's sickening.Even when the perp has *clearly*

killed a child,they still don't do the time they should in many cases: I was

reading the other day how Steinberg,who beat his little six year old

illegally adopted daughter to death,only served 15 years of a 25 year sentence

because he was released early for " good behavior " .WTH????????

People like that plumber were few and far between in my childhood but they

were all such a shot in the arm to me,messengers of decency and goodness.They

shored up my soul and probably never knew how much their humanity meant to

me,but I continue to bless them all.In my opinion anyone who gives much needed

hope and comfort to an abused child is blessed indeed.

And " monitor lizards " ...LOL...That fits.

>

> Your memory of the choking incident just made me cry, . It truly is

as though you were raised by monitor lizards. Talking, human-shaped monitor

lizards. Your entire foo were/are all just inhuman in their callous

indifference to you.

>

> Thank God that plumber had a human soul and was able to notice your distress

and had the know-how to help you.

>

> You're so amazingly lucky; there were so many occasions that you almost wound

up as a " tragic accidental child death " . Holy freaking cow.

>

> -Annie

[Guest guest]

Thank you so much,Annie,for your kind and caring thoughts

Before I joined this message board I never thought of my occasions of " cheating

death " as anything more than my own sort of bumbling survival but when I think

of it in the context of " tragic accidental death " it really makes me wonder how

often that does happen: child deaths that go on the official record as " tragic

accidents " being actually nothing of the sort,but the *direct result* of a PD

parent's willful neglect.Or worse,a PD parent's willful intention that flew

under the radar of obvious premeditation.I'd wager there must be hundreds of

child deaths of this nature.It's sickening.Even when the perp has *clearly*

killed a child,they still don't do the time they should in many cases: I was

reading the other day how Steinberg,who beat his little six year old

illegally adopted daughter to death,only served 15 years of a 25 year sentence

because he was released early for " good behavior " .WTH????????

People like that plumber were few and far between in my childhood but they

were all such a shot in the arm to me,messengers of decency and goodness.They

shored up my soul and probably never knew how much their humanity meant to

me,but I continue to bless them all.In my opinion anyone who gives much needed

hope and comfort to an abused child is blessed indeed.

And " monitor lizards " ...LOL...That fits.

>

> Your memory of the choking incident just made me cry, . It truly is

as though you were raised by monitor lizards. Talking, human-shaped monitor

lizards. Your entire foo were/are all just inhuman in their callous

indifference to you.

>

> Thank God that plumber had a human soul and was able to notice your distress

and had the know-how to help you.

>

> You're so amazingly lucky; there were so many occasions that you almost wound

up as a " tragic accidental child death " . Holy freaking cow.

>

> -Annie

[Guest guest]

> That was what I got,day in and day out from the FOO,this being nothing

and nobody.I nourished my soul alot on natural beauty,like sunsets,taking

comfort from beauty,drawing a feeling of hope from that.So when other people

don't appreciate the soul nourishing qualities of beautiful events like sunsets

and I am the only one who seems to notice,I get triggered back into feeling like

I am utterly alone; the only one who *needs* the comfort of natural beauty,like

my mood and my perception mean nothing because they are only meaningful to me

and I also remember how that happened and that hurts.I actually don't think that

I've ever told this to anyone--what I do is never mention it at all and turn my

attention back to the other person or people like everything is fine.I have

never been able to explain this " utterly alone " feeling so I try to deal with it

on my own.The second part of this particular Complex PTSD symptom is also

feeling as if nobody else would ever understand! And,lol,I just don't expect

anyone to.

sending retroactive (((((little ))))) hugs - I'm with Annie -

that story about you choking in front of your grandmother and her not even

noticing or caring, my God. I think that plumber was an angel of sorts. I bet

it broke his heart to leave that day knowing the world you lived in. It really

is a miracle you survived.

I have a similar relationship with nature. My comfort was the trees, the

stars, the animals, the sky...I always felt my perceptions of them deeply,

sometimes it was the only thing that could nourish me. I've even occasionally

kept an occasional pet spider or fly (ok that was rare) just to feel connected

to another living thing. It amazes me too how many people are oblivious to the

natural beauty and life around them - and you are right, they have the luxury to

be because they feel deeply and automatically connected to the human life

surrounding them. But they also are missing out on something very special. I

remember feeling " separate " from the flow of connected humanity particularly

starting around age six. I remember this one oak tree particularly well and

also a little girl who said she didn't like me and feeling crushed by it.

Should that be crushing? Probably not, but when your sense of self is already

squashed the rough and tumble of ordinary kid interactions is quite difficult.

Ahhhh, just rambling now. But I say thank to the moon and stars and sun, thanks

to the cats and grasshoppers and caterpillars, thanks to the tall grasses and

trees and wild places.

[Guest guest]

I feel the same intense way with nature...it has always been my sanctuary.

Listen to this song ... you'll love this version.

It's a mixture of everything...of life.

Amy

Re: the soul-sucker

> That was what I got,day in and day out from the FOO,this being nothing

and nobody.I nourished my soul alot on natural beauty,like sunsets,taking

comfort from beauty,drawing a feeling of hope from that.So when other people

don't appreciate the soul nourishing qualities of beautiful events like sunsets

and I am the only one who seems to notice,I get triggered back into feeling like

I am utterly alone; the only one who *needs* the comfort of natural beauty,like

my mood and my perception mean nothing because they are only meaningful to me

and I also remember how that happened and that hurts.I actually don't think that

I've ever told this to anyone--what I do is never mention it at all and turn my

attention back to the other person or people like everything is fine.I have

never been able to explain this " utterly alone " feeling so I try to deal with it

on my own.The second part of this particular Complex PTSD symptom is also

feeling as if nobody else would ev er understand! And,lol,I just don't expect

anyone to.

sending retroactive (((((little ))))) hugs - I'm with Annie -

that story about you choking in front of your grandmother and her not even

noticing or caring, my God. I think that plumber was an angel of sorts. I bet

it broke his heart to leave that day knowing the world you lived in. It really

is a miracle you survived.

I have a similar relationship with nature. My comfort was the trees, the

stars, the animals, the sky...I always felt my perceptions of them deeply,

sometimes it was the only thing that could nourish me. I've even occasionally

kept an occasional pet spider or fly (ok that was rare) just to feel connected

to another living thing. It amazes me too how many people are oblivious to the

natural beauty and life around them - and you are right, they have the luxury to

be because they feel deeply and automatically connected to the human life

surrounding them. But they also are missing out on something very special. I

remember feeling " separate " from the flow of connected humanity particularly

starting around age six. I remember this one oak tree particularly well and

also a little girl who said she didn't like me and feeling crushed by it.

Should that be crushing? Probably not, but when your sense of self is already

squashed the rough and tumble of ordinary ki d interactions is quite difficult.

Ahhhh, just rambling now. But I say thank to the moon and stars and sun, thanks

to the cats and grasshoppers and caterpillars, thanks to the tall grasses and

trees and wild places.

[Guest guest]

Awwww...that's delightful, thanks Amy!

>

> > That was what I got,day in and day out from the FOO,this being

nothing and nobody.I nourished my soul alot on natural beauty,like

sunsets,taking comfort from beauty,drawing a feeling of hope from that.So when

other people don't appreciate the soul nourishing qualities of beautiful events

like sunsets and I am the only one who seems to notice,I get triggered back into

feeling like I am utterly alone; the only one who *needs* the comfort of natural

beauty,like my mood and my perception mean nothing because they are only

meaningful to me and I also remember how that happened and that hurts.I actually

don't think that I've ever told this to anyone--what I do is never mention it at

all and turn my attention back to the other person or people like everything is

fine.I have never been able to explain this " utterly alone " feeling so I try to

deal with it on my own.The second part of this particular Complex PTSD symptom

is also feeling as if nobody else would ev er understand! And,lol,I just don't

expect anyone to.

>

> sending retroactive (((((little ))))) hugs - I'm with Annie

- that story about you choking in front of your grandmother and her not even

noticing or caring, my God. I think that plumber was an angel of sorts. I bet

it broke his heart to leave that day knowing the world you lived in. It really

is a miracle you survived.

>

> I have a similar relationship with nature. My comfort was the trees, the

stars, the animals, the sky...I always felt my perceptions of them deeply,

sometimes it was the only thing that could nourish me. I've even occasionally

kept an occasional pet spider or fly (ok that was rare) just to feel connected

to another living thing. It amazes me too how many people are oblivious to the

natural beauty and life around them - and you are right, they have the luxury to

be because they feel deeply and automatically connected to the human life

surrounding them. But they also are missing out on something very special. I

remember feeling " separate " from the flow of connected humanity particularly

starting around age six. I remember this one oak tree particularly well and

also a little girl who said she didn't like me and feeling crushed by it.

Should that be crushing? Probably not, but when your sense of self is already

squashed the rough and tumble of ordinary ki d interactions is quite difficult.

>

> Ahhhh, just rambling now. But I say thank to the moon and stars and sun,

thanks to the cats and grasshoppers and caterpillars, thanks to the tall grasses

and trees and wild places.

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

[Guest guest]

Speechless.

I had to sit here a minute and just process before I could even respond. That

plumber obviously feared for your safety if he told you about dialing 0 for

help. And what a blessing to the world and to us that he was provisionally

there at that moment most likely to save your life! I cannot imagine the depth

of abuse in your growing up environment. Mine was more of the back and forth

with plenty of good sprinkled in. I had divorced parents, which afforded me

many contacts, so there were lots of places to get affirmation. And my music

was a lifesaver; mom wanted to use that to the fullest extent. " Look how

talented MY daughter is. " I felt like the performing monkey banging those

little cymbals together sometimes. But it got her to take me places to hang out

with musicians and learn to play more instruments. That was a Godsend.

Literally.

You are obviously a very intelligent woman with depth and character. I think

your noticing and reveling in natural beauty is lovely. People who operate on a

more shallow level don't always relate to this, but they love you for it. Trust

me. I have been repeatedly amazed at how many people have remarked on just this

artistic tendency in my personality IN A GOOD WAY. It is this difference in you

that makes you special.

By the way, I tried letting my husband in the room while I wrote music. It was

really hard and I had to put away a lot of BPD-type reactions. But he actually

ended up helping me write. I have been working feverishly on this BPD music

project and was stuck on a couple of songs. I told him sometimes I feel like an

alien writing music for humans that they don't understand. I want to make sure

the lyrics are relatable, to some extent, to the general public. Also, it's fun

writing for KOs because I feel like we speak the same " alien " language. I've

got one with actual references to BPD terms. It's pretty funny; well, I enjoy

it anyway and my husband laughs when I play it. (It was neat because I started

to explain the terms to him and he said, " I get it. " He is an adult child of an

alcoholic, so we relate well.)

Anyway, I am finding that I can let people into " my world " more and more. Take

care with whom you try this, though. As your lovely, fragile spirit can so

easily be crushed. My kids like to get into Mommy's little music world and we

share a love of bugs and animals. In a childlike way, we like to explore the

world and look closely at small, fascinating things like a shiny rock. p.s.

Their favorite song is entitled, " Mean old Mommy blues " . They don't feel sad

about it, though, because I'm not mean, so they think it's funny when I sing it.

I put in parts that talk about how much I love them even when I'm tired or

whatever. I think they like that affirmation.

One time I wrote a song off the cuff for my oldest after the new baby was born.

He was having some trouble with it, so I sang a song I called, " The First Son " .

He wasn't too critical at age 5, so I didn't have to work out rhyme schemes or

anything. I just sang in a sweet voice about how much the mommmy loved her

first son. And how he was like a fun little angel in her life. Then I sang

that she loved the first son even more after the baby was born because her heart

grew bigger to hold more love and that she liked the way the first son treated

the baby so nice. It ended with statements like, " And she will always love her

first son, her gift from heaven. " stuff like that He just sat there and cried

and cried. Then I hugged him for a long time. He is a sweet and sensitive

soul.

+Coal Miner's Daughter

[Guest guest]

Your post made me cry in a good way! I find it so moving that you write songs

for your kids that are so cute and so caring of their feelings. You sensed that

your oldest child needed reassuring that he was still loved, that the new baby

hadn't replaced him, and you wrote that sweet song for him, and it touched his

heart. What an awesome mom you are!

-Annie

>

> Speechless.

>

> I had to sit here a minute and just process before I could even respond. That

plumber obviously feared for your safety if he told you about dialing 0 for

help. And what a blessing to the world and to us that he was provisionally

there at that moment most likely to save your life! I cannot imagine the depth

of abuse in your growing up environment. Mine was more of the back and forth

with plenty of good sprinkled in. I had divorced parents, which afforded me

many contacts, so there were lots of places to get affirmation. And my music

was a lifesaver; mom wanted to use that to the fullest extent. " Look how

talented MY daughter is. " I felt like the performing monkey banging those

little cymbals together sometimes. But it got her to take me places to hang out

with musicians and learn to play more instruments. That was a Godsend.

Literally.

>

> You are obviously a very intelligent woman with depth and character. I think

your noticing and reveling in natural beauty is lovely. People who operate on a

more shallow level don't always relate to this, but they love you for it. Trust

me. I have been repeatedly amazed at how many people have remarked on just this

artistic tendency in my personality IN A GOOD WAY. It is this difference in you

that makes you special.

>

> By the way, I tried letting my husband in the room while I wrote music. It

was really hard and I had to put away a lot of BPD-type reactions. But he

actually ended up helping me write. I have been working feverishly on this BPD

music project and was stuck on a couple of songs. I told him sometimes I feel

like an alien writing music for humans that they don't understand. I want to

make sure the lyrics are relatable, to some extent, to the general public.

Also, it's fun writing for KOs because I feel like we speak the same " alien "

language. I've got one with actual references to BPD terms. It's pretty funny;

well, I enjoy it anyway and my husband laughs when I play it. (It was neat

because I started to explain the terms to him and he said, " I get it. " He is an

adult child of an alcoholic, so we relate well.)

>

> Anyway, I am finding that I can let people into " my world " more and more.

Take care with whom you try this, though. As your lovely, fragile spirit can so

easily be crushed. My kids like to get into Mommy's little music world and we

share a love of bugs and animals. In a childlike way, we like to explore the

world and look closely at small, fascinating things like a shiny rock. p.s.

Their favorite song is entitled, " Mean old Mommy blues " . They don't feel sad

about it, though, because I'm not mean, so they think it's funny when I sing it.

I put in parts that talk about how much I love them even when I'm tired or

whatever. I think they like that affirmation.

>

> One time I wrote a song off the cuff for my oldest after the new baby was

born. He was having some trouble with it, so I sang a song I called, " The First

Son " . He wasn't too critical at age 5, so I didn't have to work out rhyme

schemes or anything. I just sang in a sweet voice about how much the mommmy

loved her first son. And how he was like a fun little angel in her life. Then

I sang that she loved the first son even more after the baby was born because

her heart grew bigger to hold more love and that she liked the way the first son

treated the baby so nice. It ended with statements like, " And she will always

love her first son, her gift from heaven. " stuff like that He just sat there

and cried and cried. Then I hugged him for a long time. He is a sweet and

sensitive soul.

>

> +Coal Miner's Daughter

>

[Guest guest]

Hi Coal Miner's Daughter,

Thank you so much for your kind words.My best friend has said that

something she cherishes about me is that I " taught " her " how to look at the

moon " ...

Your BPD songs project sounds really interesting! I hope you're

going to share on here when you've got it finished?

And your " Mean Old Mommy Blues " song sounds really cool,too.I'll

bet your kids love it--I think kids like most of all songs (or stories) that are

both emotionally honest *and* affirming.With just the right touch of silliness

and this song sounds like it has all of that.Have you thought of taking it to a

wider audience or have you? It sounds like you have a talent for writing good

children's songs,too *Good* children's songs aren't easy to write and

although I am very far from being any kind of an expert of the genre I'll bet

there is a market out there for songs like " Mean Old Mommy Blues " .Really.

The song you wrote for your son when he was five is also really

sweet--and he sounds like a special little boy (and artistically inclined like

his mom?) That's beautiful that you soothed him and reassured him by singing a

song you created just for him...

>

> Speechless.

>

> I had to sit here a minute and just process before I could even respond. That

plumber obviously feared for your safety if he told you about dialing 0 for

help. And what a blessing to the world and to us that he was provisionally

there at that moment most likely to save your life! I cannot imagine the depth

of abuse in your growing up environment. Mine was more of the back and forth

with plenty of good sprinkled in. I had divorced parents, which afforded me

many contacts, so there were lots of places to get affirmation. And my music

was a lifesaver; mom wanted to use that to the fullest extent. " Look how

talented MY daughter is. " I felt like the performing monkey banging those

little cymbals together sometimes. But it got her to take me places to hang out

with musicians and learn to play more instruments. That was a Godsend.

Literally.

>

> You are obviously a very intelligent woman with depth and character. I think

your noticing and reveling in natural beauty is lovely. People who operate on a

more shallow level don't always relate to this, but they love you for it. Trust

me. I have been repeatedly amazed at how many people have remarked on just this

artistic tendency in my personality IN A GOOD WAY. It is this difference in you

that makes you special.

>

> By the way, I tried letting my husband in the room while I wrote music. It

was really hard and I had to put away a lot of BPD-type reactions. But he

actually ended up helping me write. I have been working feverishly on this BPD

music project and was stuck on a couple of songs. I told him sometimes I feel

like an alien writing music for humans that they don't understand. I want to

make sure the lyrics are relatable, to some extent, to the general public.

Also, it's fun writing for KOs because I feel like we speak the same " alien "

language. I've got one with actual references to BPD terms. It's pretty funny;

well, I enjoy it anyway and my husband laughs when I play it. (It was neat

because I started to explain the terms to him and he said, " I get it. " He is an

adult child of an alcoholic, so we relate well.)

>

> Anyway, I am finding that I can let people into " my world " more and more.

Take care with whom you try this, though. As your lovely, fragile spirit can so

easily be crushed. My kids like to get into Mommy's little music world and we

share a love of bugs and animals. In a childlike way, we like to explore the

world and look closely at small, fascinating things like a shiny rock. p.s.

Their favorite song is entitled, " Mean old Mommy blues " . They don't feel sad

about it, though, because I'm not mean, so they think it's funny when I sing it.

I put in parts that talk about how much I love them even when I'm tired or

whatever. I think they like that affirmation.

>

> One time I wrote a song off the cuff for my oldest after the new baby was

born. He was having some trouble with it, so I sang a song I called, " The First

Son " . He wasn't too critical at age 5, so I didn't have to work out rhyme

schemes or anything. I just sang in a sweet voice about how much the mommmy

loved her first son. And how he was like a fun little angel in her life. Then

I sang that she loved the first son even more after the baby was born because

her heart grew bigger to hold more love and that she liked the way the first son

treated the baby so nice. It ended with statements like, " And she will always

love her first son, her gift from heaven. " stuff like that He just sat there

and cried and cried. Then I hugged him for a long time. He is a sweet and

sensitive soul.

>

> +Coal Miner's Daughter

>

[Guest guest]

Hi Coal Miner's Daughter,

Thank you so much for your kind words.My best friend has said that

something she cherishes about me is that I " taught " her " how to look at the

moon " ...

Your BPD songs project sounds really interesting! I hope you're

going to share on here when you've got it finished?

And your " Mean Old Mommy Blues " song sounds really cool,too.I'll

bet your kids love it--I think kids like most of all songs (or stories) that are

both emotionally honest *and* affirming.With just the right touch of silliness

and this song sounds like it has all of that.Have you thought of taking it to a

wider audience or have you? It sounds like you have a talent for writing good

children's songs,too *Good* children's songs aren't easy to write and

although I am very far from being any kind of an expert of the genre I'll bet

there is a market out there for songs like " Mean Old Mommy Blues " .Really.

The song you wrote for your son when he was five is also really

sweet--and he sounds like a special little boy (and artistically inclined like

his mom?) That's beautiful that you soothed him and reassured him by singing a

song you created just for him...

>

> Speechless.

>

> I had to sit here a minute and just process before I could even respond. That

plumber obviously feared for your safety if he told you about dialing 0 for

help. And what a blessing to the world and to us that he was provisionally

there at that moment most likely to save your life! I cannot imagine the depth

of abuse in your growing up environment. Mine was more of the back and forth

with plenty of good sprinkled in. I had divorced parents, which afforded me

many contacts, so there were lots of places to get affirmation. And my music

was a lifesaver; mom wanted to use that to the fullest extent. " Look how

talented MY daughter is. " I felt like the performing monkey banging those

little cymbals together sometimes. But it got her to take me places to hang out

with musicians and learn to play more instruments. That was a Godsend.

Literally.

>

> You are obviously a very intelligent woman with depth and character. I think

your noticing and reveling in natural beauty is lovely. People who operate on a

more shallow level don't always relate to this, but they love you for it. Trust

me. I have been repeatedly amazed at how many people have remarked on just this

artistic tendency in my personality IN A GOOD WAY. It is this difference in you

that makes you special.

>

> By the way, I tried letting my husband in the room while I wrote music. It

was really hard and I had to put away a lot of BPD-type reactions. But he

actually ended up helping me write. I have been working feverishly on this BPD

music project and was stuck on a couple of songs. I told him sometimes I feel

like an alien writing music for humans that they don't understand. I want to

make sure the lyrics are relatable, to some extent, to the general public.

Also, it's fun writing for KOs because I feel like we speak the same " alien "

language. I've got one with actual references to BPD terms. It's pretty funny;

well, I enjoy it anyway and my husband laughs when I play it. (It was neat

because I started to explain the terms to him and he said, " I get it. " He is an

adult child of an alcoholic, so we relate well.)

>

> Anyway, I am finding that I can let people into " my world " more and more.

Take care with whom you try this, though. As your lovely, fragile spirit can so

easily be crushed. My kids like to get into Mommy's little music world and we

share a love of bugs and animals. In a childlike way, we like to explore the

world and look closely at small, fascinating things like a shiny rock. p.s.

Their favorite song is entitled, " Mean old Mommy blues " . They don't feel sad

about it, though, because I'm not mean, so they think it's funny when I sing it.

I put in parts that talk about how much I love them even when I'm tired or

whatever. I think they like that affirmation.

>

> One time I wrote a song off the cuff for my oldest after the new baby was

born. He was having some trouble with it, so I sang a song I called, " The First

Son " . He wasn't too critical at age 5, so I didn't have to work out rhyme

schemes or anything. I just sang in a sweet voice about how much the mommmy

loved her first son. And how he was like a fun little angel in her life. Then

I sang that she loved the first son even more after the baby was born because

her heart grew bigger to hold more love and that she liked the way the first son

treated the baby so nice. It ended with statements like, " And she will always

love her first son, her gift from heaven. " stuff like that He just sat there

and cried and cried. Then I hugged him for a long time. He is a sweet and

sensitive soul.

>

> +Coal Miner's Daughter

>

[Guest guest]

Hi Coal Miner's Daughter,

Thank you so much for your kind words.My best friend has said that

something she cherishes about me is that I " taught " her " how to look at the

moon " ...

Your BPD songs project sounds really interesting! I hope you're

going to share on here when you've got it finished?

And your " Mean Old Mommy Blues " song sounds really cool,too.I'll

bet your kids love it--I think kids like most of all songs (or stories) that are

both emotionally honest *and* affirming.With just the right touch of silliness

and this song sounds like it has all of that.Have you thought of taking it to a

wider audience or have you? It sounds like you have a talent for writing good

children's songs,too *Good* children's songs aren't easy to write and

although I am very far from being any kind of an expert of the genre I'll bet

there is a market out there for songs like " Mean Old Mommy Blues " .Really.

The song you wrote for your son when he was five is also really

sweet--and he sounds like a special little boy (and artistically inclined like

his mom?) That's beautiful that you soothed him and reassured him by singing a

song you created just for him...

>

> Speechless.

>

> I had to sit here a minute and just process before I could even respond. That

plumber obviously feared for your safety if he told you about dialing 0 for

help. And what a blessing to the world and to us that he was provisionally

there at that moment most likely to save your life! I cannot imagine the depth

of abuse in your growing up environment. Mine was more of the back and forth

with plenty of good sprinkled in. I had divorced parents, which afforded me

many contacts, so there were lots of places to get affirmation. And my music

was a lifesaver; mom wanted to use that to the fullest extent. " Look how

talented MY daughter is. " I felt like the performing monkey banging those

little cymbals together sometimes. But it got her to take me places to hang out

with musicians and learn to play more instruments. That was a Godsend.

Literally.

>

> You are obviously a very intelligent woman with depth and character. I think

your noticing and reveling in natural beauty is lovely. People who operate on a

more shallow level don't always relate to this, but they love you for it. Trust

me. I have been repeatedly amazed at how many people have remarked on just this

artistic tendency in my personality IN A GOOD WAY. It is this difference in you

that makes you special.

>

> By the way, I tried letting my husband in the room while I wrote music. It

was really hard and I had to put away a lot of BPD-type reactions. But he

actually ended up helping me write. I have been working feverishly on this BPD

music project and was stuck on a couple of songs. I told him sometimes I feel

like an alien writing music for humans that they don't understand. I want to

make sure the lyrics are relatable, to some extent, to the general public.

Also, it's fun writing for KOs because I feel like we speak the same " alien "

language. I've got one with actual references to BPD terms. It's pretty funny;

well, I enjoy it anyway and my husband laughs when I play it. (It was neat

because I started to explain the terms to him and he said, " I get it. " He is an

adult child of an alcoholic, so we relate well.)

>

> Anyway, I am finding that I can let people into " my world " more and more.

Take care with whom you try this, though. As your lovely, fragile spirit can so

easily be crushed. My kids like to get into Mommy's little music world and we

share a love of bugs and animals. In a childlike way, we like to explore the

world and look closely at small, fascinating things like a shiny rock. p.s.

Their favorite song is entitled, " Mean old Mommy blues " . They don't feel sad

about it, though, because I'm not mean, so they think it's funny when I sing it.

I put in parts that talk about how much I love them even when I'm tired or

whatever. I think they like that affirmation.

>

> One time I wrote a song off the cuff for my oldest after the new baby was

born. He was having some trouble with it, so I sang a song I called, " The First

Son " . He wasn't too critical at age 5, so I didn't have to work out rhyme

schemes or anything. I just sang in a sweet voice about how much the mommmy

loved her first son. And how he was like a fun little angel in her life. Then

I sang that she loved the first son even more after the baby was born because

her heart grew bigger to hold more love and that she liked the way the first son

treated the baby so nice. It ended with statements like, " And she will always

love her first son, her gift from heaven. " stuff like that He just sat there

and cried and cried. Then I hugged him for a long time. He is a sweet and

sensitive soul.

>

> +Coal Miner's Daughter

>

[Guest guest]

I just remebered an incident the other day - this was before Id known about BPD

and I just thought it was another of Mums silly behaviours - now it makes a lot

more sense.

When my sister had her first child, my nada flew over to stay with her. I took

her into the hospital to visit when the cesarian was done. The baby had been

born 4 hours previously, and was asleep. My nada was fidgetty. I asked what was

wrong, and she said she was concerned that the kid wasnt awake to get fed while

she was there. I said the poor kid was only born 4 hours ago, he probably isnt

hungry yet. She complained that he was sleeping too much, and that he needed to

be woken up and fed regardless.

She was irritated and annoyed that the baby wasnt doing what she wanted. She

wanted to play with him, and have the opportunity to tell my sister how to

breastfeed properly, and his sleeping was inconveniencing her. I shook my head

at her at the time, and told her not to be rediculous - its only because we were

in public that she didnt start a yelling fit over that.

>

> Yes, good example of that insane trait where nada expects her child or her pet

or her husband to just instantly obey almost to the point of being able to read

nada's mind, and it doesn't matter if the child or the pet is asleep, or in

another part of the house, or the child is doing homework, etc. The other

person is merely an object to nada, an " it " , and does not have needs or feelings

of " it's " own.

>

> And if " it's " annoying nada by crying or begging to be walked, or has a fever

and needs nursing, then put " it " in the back room and shut the door.

>

> -Annie

[Guest guest]

Hi ,

Thank you for the hugs and the sympathy

I don't know if that plumber was an angel but I did think about him

afterward and it helped me alot to remember that there really are good,decent

people in the world.Somewhere.

I'm with you in expressing thankfulness for all those bountiful

manifestations of Life that you mentioned,grasshoppers and caterpillars too! Or

maybe they were crickets in my case but many evenings I was soothed to sleep

listening to them.And inspired by whatever species of caterpillar it was that

spun a coccoon on the mulberry tree branches by the lake near my house.I did

watch for them to emerge as butterflies but always missed the big event!

Although when I noticed the empty coccoons I knew that they had flown free and

reminded myself that if caterpillars can do it,I can too.

I think it's understandable that you felt crushed when another kid

said she didn't like you.As children we're unable to say to ourselves: Oh

well,people act like jerks sometimes...Oh well,children can be thoughtless and

cruel...we don't have the life experience to put other people's crap into

perspective...and it sounds like she was just being petty and mean--I'm sure you

were a likeable person! I relate to having that squashed sense of self--I can

recall feeling crushed by the pettiness and meanness of other people as a

kid--for me the " rough and tumble " of human society in general was too much to

take at times.I think it's even harder when you have a brain and a heart,which

you do,and even when you're a kid and another kid says something nasty to

you,you have enough intellect and enough feeling to intuit the simple wrongful

pettiness of it but having a nada on top of that whittling away your self

esteem,comments like that cut more deeply.Because then you can't just shrug it

off.I took piano lessons the year I was ten and the older lady in the

neighborhood who was giving me these lessons always sat me down to practice

scales while she went to the kitchen to cook dinner--which " made " me think: She

doesn't like me.If she liked me,she'd sit here with me and really give me a

piano lesson and I'll bet when she gives lessons to the " other kids " she does

sit here with them and try to teach them something,but me,she just goes off to

the kitchen to make dinner.Because I am not important to anybody,not even to

her.It *felt* like she was saying: I don't like you...and if she actually had

said that,you'd better believe I would have been crushed! Of course if I had had

a mother instead of a nada,my reaction to her ignoring me when she was

*supposed* to be teaching me to play the piano would have been,I think: Hey,this

piano teacher sucks! at least to some degree short of feeling rejected.

It truly is a terrible shame that what we get as KOs is crushed rather

than having the self esteem that can say: Screw you then if you don't like

me,*I* like me!

I'm sorry that girl said that to you,thoughtless little snot lol

>

> > That was what I got,day in and day out from the FOO,this being

nothing and nobody.I nourished my soul alot on natural beauty,like

sunsets,taking comfort from beauty,drawing a feeling of hope from that.So when

other people don't appreciate the soul nourishing qualities of beautiful events

like sunsets and I am the only one who seems to notice,I get triggered back into

feeling like I am utterly alone; the only one who *needs* the comfort of natural

beauty,like my mood and my perception mean nothing because they are only

meaningful to me and I also remember how that happened and that hurts.I actually

don't think that I've ever told this to anyone--what I do is never mention it at

all and turn my attention back to the other person or people like everything is

fine.I have never been able to explain this " utterly alone " feeling so I try to

deal with it on my own.The second part of this particular Complex PTSD symptom

is also feeling as if nobody else would ever understand! And,lol,I just don't

expect anyone to.

>

> sending retroactive (((((little ))))) hugs - I'm with Annie

- that story about you choking in front of your grandmother and her not even

noticing or caring, my God. I think that plumber was an angel of sorts. I bet

it broke his heart to leave that day knowing the world you lived in. It really

is a miracle you survived.

>

> I have a similar relationship with nature. My comfort was the trees, the

stars, the animals, the sky...I always felt my perceptions of them deeply,

sometimes it was the only thing that could nourish me. I've even occasionally

kept an occasional pet spider or fly (ok that was rare) just to feel connected

to another living thing. It amazes me too how many people are oblivious to the

natural beauty and life around them - and you are right, they have the luxury to

be because they feel deeply and automatically connected to the human life

surrounding them. But they also are missing out on something very special. I

remember feeling " separate " from the flow of connected humanity particularly

starting around age six. I remember this one oak tree particularly well and

also a little girl who said she didn't like me and feeling crushed by it.

Should that be crushing? Probably not, but when your sense of self is already

squashed the rough and tumble of ordinary kid interactions is quite difficult.

>

> Ahhhh, just rambling now. But I say thank to the moon and stars and sun,

thanks to the cats and grasshoppers and caterpillars, thanks to the tall grasses

and trees and wild places.

>

>

>

[Guest guest]

Hi , just saw this sorry for the late reply - this group moves fast so

easy to lose track. Thanks for your sympathy about that mean little girl.

Funny the things I remember when I've forgotten massive chunks of my childhood -

but she's crystal clear. About your piano teacher, that must have been so sad

to sit there practicing you scales sessions after session while her actions were

dismissive of you - yet being able to say nothing about it, just internalizing

it and having to play your part. Let her be fired retroactively! It really

shows how strongly affecting it is to not have that foundation of support of a

good mother and also knowing that someone would stand up for you if you needed

it.

A while ago I worked at a company that had an incredibly adversarial stressful

atmosphere. There was an intern there that blew me away because no matter how

much anyone tried to attack him or embarrass him, he was solid, stable,

completely sure in himself - he was only 20. Talking to him it was very clear

that he had been completely " filled " by his parents, he had never been broken in

any fundamental way by life or betrayed by those he trusted and this made him

pretty bullet-proof to the outside world. I still am a bit jealous would

that we all had that.

>

> Hi ,

>

> Thank you for the hugs and the sympathy

>

> I don't know if that plumber was an angel but I did think about him

afterward and it helped me alot to remember that there really are good,decent

people in the world.Somewhere.

>

> I'm with you in expressing thankfulness for all those bountiful

manifestations of Life that you mentioned,grasshoppers and caterpillars too! Or

maybe they were crickets in my case but many evenings I was soothed to sleep

listening to them.And inspired by whatever species of caterpillar it was that

spun a coccoon on the mulberry tree branches by the lake near my house.I did

watch for them to emerge as butterflies but always missed the big event!

Although when I noticed the empty coccoons I knew that they had flown free and

reminded myself that if caterpillars can do it,I can too.

>

> I think it's understandable that you felt crushed when another kid

said she didn't like you.As children we're unable to say to ourselves: Oh

well,people act like jerks sometimes...Oh well,children can be thoughtless and

cruel...we don't have the life experience to put other people's crap into

perspective...and it sounds like she was just being petty and mean--I'm sure you

were a likeable person! I relate to having that squashed sense of self--I can

recall feeling crushed by the pettiness and meanness of other people as a

kid--for me the " rough and tumble " of human society in general was too much to

take at times.I think it's even harder when you have a brain and a heart,which

you do,and even when you're a kid and another kid says something nasty to

you,you have enough intellect and enough feeling to intuit the simple wrongful

pettiness of it but having a nada on top of that whittling away your self

esteem,comments like that cut more deeply.Because then you can't just shrug it

off.I took piano lessons the year I was ten and the older lady in the

neighborhood who was giving me these lessons always sat me down to practice

scales while she went to the kitchen to cook dinner--which " made " me think: She

doesn't like me.If she liked me,she'd sit here with me and really give me a

piano lesson and I'll bet when she gives lessons to the " other kids " she does

sit here with them and try to teach them something,but me,she just goes off to

the kitchen to make dinner.Because I am not important to anybody,not even to

her.It *felt* like she was saying: I don't like you...and if she actually had

said that,you'd better believe I would have been crushed! Of course if I had had

a mother instead of a nada,my reaction to her ignoring me when she was

*supposed* to be teaching me to play the piano would have been,I think: Hey,this

piano teacher sucks! at least to some degree short of feeling rejected.

>

> It truly is a terrible shame that what we get as KOs is crushed rather

than having the self esteem that can say: Screw you then if you don't like

me,*I* like me!

>

> I'm sorry that girl said that to you,thoughtless little snot lol

>

>

>

[Guest guest]

Hi , just saw this sorry for the late reply - this group moves fast so

easy to lose track. Thanks for your sympathy about that mean little girl.

Funny the things I remember when I've forgotten massive chunks of my childhood -

but she's crystal clear. About your piano teacher, that must have been so sad

to sit there practicing you scales sessions after session while her actions were

dismissive of you - yet being able to say nothing about it, just internalizing

it and having to play your part. Let her be fired retroactively! It really

shows how strongly affecting it is to not have that foundation of support of a

good mother and also knowing that someone would stand up for you if you needed

it.

A while ago I worked at a company that had an incredibly adversarial stressful

atmosphere. There was an intern there that blew me away because no matter how

much anyone tried to attack him or embarrass him, he was solid, stable,

completely sure in himself - he was only 20. Talking to him it was very clear

that he had been completely " filled " by his parents, he had never been broken in

any fundamental way by life or betrayed by those he trusted and this made him

pretty bullet-proof to the outside world. I still am a bit jealous would

that we all had that.

>

> Hi ,

>

> Thank you for the hugs and the sympathy

>

> I don't know if that plumber was an angel but I did think about him

afterward and it helped me alot to remember that there really are good,decent

people in the world.Somewhere.

>

> I'm with you in expressing thankfulness for all those bountiful

manifestations of Life that you mentioned,grasshoppers and caterpillars too! Or

maybe they were crickets in my case but many evenings I was soothed to sleep

listening to them.And inspired by whatever species of caterpillar it was that

spun a coccoon on the mulberry tree branches by the lake near my house.I did

watch for them to emerge as butterflies but always missed the big event!

Although when I noticed the empty coccoons I knew that they had flown free and

reminded myself that if caterpillars can do it,I can too.

>

> I think it's understandable that you felt crushed when another kid

said she didn't like you.As children we're unable to say to ourselves: Oh

well,people act like jerks sometimes...Oh well,children can be thoughtless and

cruel...we don't have the life experience to put other people's crap into

perspective...and it sounds like she was just being petty and mean--I'm sure you

were a likeable person! I relate to having that squashed sense of self--I can

recall feeling crushed by the pettiness and meanness of other people as a

kid--for me the " rough and tumble " of human society in general was too much to

take at times.I think it's even harder when you have a brain and a heart,which

you do,and even when you're a kid and another kid says something nasty to

you,you have enough intellect and enough feeling to intuit the simple wrongful

pettiness of it but having a nada on top of that whittling away your self

esteem,comments like that cut more deeply.Because then you can't just shrug it

off.I took piano lessons the year I was ten and the older lady in the

neighborhood who was giving me these lessons always sat me down to practice

scales while she went to the kitchen to cook dinner--which " made " me think: She

doesn't like me.If she liked me,she'd sit here with me and really give me a

piano lesson and I'll bet when she gives lessons to the " other kids " she does

sit here with them and try to teach them something,but me,she just goes off to

the kitchen to make dinner.Because I am not important to anybody,not even to

her.It *felt* like she was saying: I don't like you...and if she actually had

said that,you'd better believe I would have been crushed! Of course if I had had

a mother instead of a nada,my reaction to her ignoring me when she was

*supposed* to be teaching me to play the piano would have been,I think: Hey,this

piano teacher sucks! at least to some degree short of feeling rejected.

>

> It truly is a terrible shame that what we get as KOs is crushed rather

than having the self esteem that can say: Screw you then if you don't like

me,*I* like me!

>

> I'm sorry that girl said that to you,thoughtless little snot lol

>

>

>

[Guest guest]

Hi , just saw this sorry for the late reply - this group moves fast so

easy to lose track. Thanks for your sympathy about that mean little girl.

Funny the things I remember when I've forgotten massive chunks of my childhood -

but she's crystal clear. About your piano teacher, that must have been so sad

to sit there practicing you scales sessions after session while her actions were

dismissive of you - yet being able to say nothing about it, just internalizing

it and having to play your part. Let her be fired retroactively! It really

shows how strongly affecting it is to not have that foundation of support of a

good mother and also knowing that someone would stand up for you if you needed

it.

A while ago I worked at a company that had an incredibly adversarial stressful

atmosphere. There was an intern there that blew me away because no matter how

much anyone tried to attack him or embarrass him, he was solid, stable,

completely sure in himself - he was only 20. Talking to him it was very clear

that he had been completely " filled " by his parents, he had never been broken in

any fundamental way by life or betrayed by those he trusted and this made him

pretty bullet-proof to the outside world. I still am a bit jealous would

that we all had that.

>

> Hi ,

>

> Thank you for the hugs and the sympathy

>

> I don't know if that plumber was an angel but I did think about him

afterward and it helped me alot to remember that there really are good,decent

people in the world.Somewhere.

>

> I'm with you in expressing thankfulness for all those bountiful

manifestations of Life that you mentioned,grasshoppers and caterpillars too! Or

maybe they were crickets in my case but many evenings I was soothed to sleep

listening to them.And inspired by whatever species of caterpillar it was that

spun a coccoon on the mulberry tree branches by the lake near my house.I did

watch for them to emerge as butterflies but always missed the big event!

Although when I noticed the empty coccoons I knew that they had flown free and

reminded myself that if caterpillars can do it,I can too.

>

> I think it's understandable that you felt crushed when another kid

said she didn't like you.As children we're unable to say to ourselves: Oh

well,people act like jerks sometimes...Oh well,children can be thoughtless and

cruel...we don't have the life experience to put other people's crap into

perspective...and it sounds like she was just being petty and mean--I'm sure you

were a likeable person! I relate to having that squashed sense of self--I can

recall feeling crushed by the pettiness and meanness of other people as a

kid--for me the " rough and tumble " of human society in general was too much to

take at times.I think it's even harder when you have a brain and a heart,which

you do,and even when you're a kid and another kid says something nasty to

you,you have enough intellect and enough feeling to intuit the simple wrongful

pettiness of it but having a nada on top of that whittling away your self

esteem,comments like that cut more deeply.Because then you can't just shrug it

off.I took piano lessons the year I was ten and the older lady in the

neighborhood who was giving me these lessons always sat me down to practice

scales while she went to the kitchen to cook dinner--which " made " me think: She

doesn't like me.If she liked me,she'd sit here with me and really give me a

piano lesson and I'll bet when she gives lessons to the " other kids " she does

sit here with them and try to teach them something,but me,she just goes off to

the kitchen to make dinner.Because I am not important to anybody,not even to

her.It *felt* like she was saying: I don't like you...and if she actually had

said that,you'd better believe I would have been crushed! Of course if I had had

a mother instead of a nada,my reaction to her ignoring me when she was

*supposed* to be teaching me to play the piano would have been,I think: Hey,this

piano teacher sucks! at least to some degree short of feeling rejected.

>

> It truly is a terrible shame that what we get as KOs is crushed rather

than having the self esteem that can say: Screw you then if you don't like

me,*I* like me!

>

> I'm sorry that girl said that to you,thoughtless little snot lol

>

>

>

[Guest guest]

Hi ,

A couple of things I thought of reading your post...

I actually remember tons of things from my childhood (due to trauma

induced " hypernesia " I believe--the inverse of that being amnesia for huge

blocks of time--because it can go either way when a child has been repeatedly

traumatized) but having said that I do have certain memories that seem like

" nothing much " .On closer examination,though,these " nothing much " memories are

like a symbolic representation of what was really going on in my life in

general.I used to wonder: Why do I recall these stupid things so clearly? Some

of them are painful or seem weird but not terribly traumatic.These memories seem

to me to be " little validations of my reality " that I recorded because they

symbolize what I was having to deal with but these " nothing much " memories are

easier to deal with than the full,awful reality of being in an insane and

abusive environment.

For example I remember very clearly meeting another little girl my age

at an amusement park when I was about nine.We hooked up while waiting in line to

go onto the bumper cars and started playing together and skipping off together

to go on the other rides.But she kept calling me by the name of a character in a

tv show when I had told her my name and when I asked her to call me by my

name,she said I seemed more like this tv character so she wanted to keep calling

me that name.It was freaking me out and she kept doing it and when I told her to

stop,she insisted.So I ended up telling her to leave me alone because she

wouldn't stop.And then she *followed* me around and I felt both bad for

" rejecting " her and freaked out.

Later on whenever I remembered this incident I was like: Why do I even

remember this? And: Oh,well,that poor kid who knows what must have been going on

in her life to make her behave so oddly.Or I used to think: Ha! Even when I was

nine,I was a weirdo magnet.Or: Maybe we were attracted to eachother initially

because we were both abused children.

But I think now that this incident stuck in my mind mostly because it was

so symbolic of how nada/fada treated me: refusing to call me by my name (as

in,for how I truly was,not the figment of their personality disordered

imaginations).And how relentless they were about it.And it's psychologically

" easier " to remember that little girl insisting on calling me something/someone

I was not than to recall nada and fada doing that; it feels much easier for that

little girl's behavior to be crystal clear in my mind but it is also a marker to

the rest of my reality with nada/fada.

About that twenty year old intern at your work...it seems to me that if

only the vast majority of people had parents who " filled " them up that there

would just be alot less suffering in the world--the majority would be " bullet

proof " to the machinations of wrong doers and that would deprive them of their

power to harm.There's alot of cut throat dysfunction where I work and I've

noticed that the ones who have a solid and healthy sense of self esteem are left

alone by the PD types.What would the PDs do if they had nobody to pick on? Would

they be forced to behave themselves? Wishful thinking maybe--as it is,the PDs

dictate the terms of the coat throat atmosphere because they *can*.It just

amazes me lately that these behaviors truly are the " elephant in the living

room " of society--why the denial when PD behavior is everywhere? Just look at

the news.Truly healthy functioning is transcending having to be either the sheep

or the wolf but going about your business practicing harmlessness both to

yourself and to others,not like a little lamb but more like that twenty year old

intern who didn't take any crap but didn't dish any out,either.Would that we all

had that kind of healthy strength from having never been broken or betrayed by

our parents--and to take the wind out of the sails of any and all PD behavior in

the workplace,for example.Imagine how much better the world would be if

dictators and tyrants never got promoted into positions of power because no one

*listened* to them...

>

> Hi , just saw this sorry for the late reply - this group moves fast

so easy to lose track. Thanks for your sympathy about that mean little girl.

Funny the things I remember when I've forgotten massive chunks of my childhood -

but she's crystal clear. About your piano teacher, that must have been so sad

to sit there practicing you scales sessions after session while her actions were

dismissive of you - yet being able to say nothing about it, just internalizing

it and having to play your part. Let her be fired retroactively! It really

shows how strongly affecting it is to not have that foundation of support of a

good mother and also knowing that someone would stand up for you if you needed

it.

>

> A while ago I worked at a company that had an incredibly adversarial stressful

atmosphere. There was an intern there that blew me away because no matter how

much anyone tried to attack him or embarrass him, he was solid, stable,

completely sure in himself - he was only 20. Talking to him it was very clear

that he had been completely " filled " by his parents, he had never been broken in

any fundamental way by life or betrayed by those he trusted and this made him

pretty bullet-proof to the outside world. I still am a bit jealous would

that we all had that.

>

>