It’s around 8 a.m. on Saturday morning, and the only sounds I hear right now are birds chirping.
Nice.
My husband and little girl are both still sleeping, which is a good thing, because they appear to be sharing a nasty cold. Mr. Rounded has a fever, chills, sniffles and sneezes, while the superheroprincess doesn’t seem to have a fever, just sneezes and sniffles. I feel like my own getting a cold is inevitable, in spite of extra vitamin C and hand washing, there are just too many germs around for me not to run into them.
But I don’t have a cold yet. So, I’m happy about that.
What I want to write about, however briefly, is my mental health. Which, all things considered, isn’t too bad. It’s just that I feel… damaged. It’s like there’s a superfund site in my brain requiring massive, long-term clean up, and I don’t even know what type of hazmat suit to wear when cleaning it up. Plus, there’s only one of me, so it’s going to take a long time. And, where do I put the toxic waste?
The toxic waste is what my therapist, PhD Coachy, thinks needs to see the light of day. And it’s hard, since part of my coping has been to bury it far underground. Sure, the radioactive gunk causes all sorts of problems when it’s buried underground, instead of treated, but I’m invested in covering it up.
I had this very clear realization yesterday after my therapy session, while scheduling my next appointments and writing my co-pay check, I don’t like to be looked at because I’m afraid there’s something about the way I look that makes people want to hurt me.
Anyone around here ever feel that way?
It’s a terrible conundrum for an extrovert like me. Hey, look at me! See what I can do! Come be my friend! vs. stay the fuck away because somehow, there’s something about me that makes people want to hurt me. I’m this very interesting mix of open and closed, vulnerable and protected. My openness and ability to see beauty around me is something I really love about myself. And yet my protective defenses keep me locked down tight inside around some things. It’s getting in the way, and I want to keep working on it. There’s no good reason why the openness, perception of beauty, and love can only be outward facing.
So, blogging, and dancing, and therapy, and deep breathing, and taking risks at work, and having friends, and having a long-term relationship (not the first) and staying connected to my family, as difficult as that can be at times, all of these things are really good for the extroverted me. And also can be really scary.
It’s no wonder I have some pretty nasty protective barriers inside. All this barbed wire and electrified fencing around the toxic waste that I’ve contained, the hurt I’ve tried to manage by burying deep.
The problem is, it’s leaking. I’m having a hard time getting where I want to go. Reality sometimes can’t get through all of those barriers.
Example: I have some health stuff going on that being a bit smaller would help with. There are other options, but getting just a bit smaller feels like the least invasive treatment for what I’m dealing with. But I do feel attached to not losing weight, and really resistant to doing anything close to dieting. It’s a pain in the butt to be in this position. So I say to PhD Coachy, “If I tell you I’ve lost weight, I want you to say ‘awwwwwww,’ instead of ‘you look fantastic,’ or ‘congratulations.’ ” And he says, “First off, you already look fantastic.” And I can’t hear anything after that because I’ve gone into lock down mode, and inside, I’m hearing “Can’t be true” “He’s lying” “Don’t trust him” “It’s a trap” “Don’t believe it.” I can’t maintain eye contact. Earlier, PhD Coachy is encouraging me to talk about some of the peer abuse stuff, to relay some messages, and I really can’t access anything other than a few mixed memories, not the worst stuff. I mostly remember how it felt, more than things that happened. I remember feeling, on the playground in particular, things are never going to get better.
Now I’m sleepy.
I hope you have a great weekend.
Angry Gray Rainbows 
I too have these old messages in my head that keep me from living the life I want and I too can still recoil from a compliment on my physical attractiveness. I remember meeting a spiritual advisor and her talking to me about my life and she does a little list, something like “you’re smart, you’re attractive, you’re int..”
I stop there because I can’t remember what else she said. Why did this thin middle aged woman just call me attractive? There’s another part of me, the part that’s healing that says yes, you’re attractive. But, the disbelief is hard to overcome.
My entire childhood was spent as the fattest of the fat girls and a lot of the time I think I’m past that…but then…
Jackie
I’m afraid there’s something about the way I look that makes people want to hurt me.
Anyone around here ever feel that way?
Holy Cow, YES.
I still find myself planning against possible (if not probable) attack. I often suspect that there’s a ‘safe target’ sign marked in asshat-detectable ink on my forehead. Or possibly my rear end.
As for defense mechanisms, you ever see the MacGyver episode where he stopped a nuclear reactor meltdown by sticking chocolate bars in the cracks?
On bad days, that would pretty much be my go-to metaphor, right there. . .
However, I am getting better about hearing the good stuff from people who love me, and also better about dismissing the bad stuff from those pathetic people who are just looking to spread the pain. It’s slow, but it’s cumulative!
Wow, this post got to me, because I have a very similiar problem, perhaps even the same one.
I suffered–maybe still suffer–from very acute and specific social phobia: a fear of men.
All through my teens and early twenties. I would get severe panic attacks at the mere idea of going anywhere where I would come under the attention of boys or men. Even the sly suggestion froma friend that someone “likes” me would set me off, running to the bathroom to vomit. It took me until I was 24 to realize the root of that fear: I was so certain of my unattractiveness and worthlessness, that any attention from a guy meant he only wanted to hurt me.
Even to this day I still struggle with the occasional appreciate glance, certain I must have imagined it, or that the dude in question is obviously a creep, and I still must repress a desire to run.
But I haven’t had a panic attack ever since I realize why I was so afraid. Because now I can combat the evil thoughts with good ones, self-affirming ones. That I am worthy, beautiful, and strong enough to handle a real creep if that ever happens!
So, you see, this realization of yours is a great breakthrough–it can only get better from here, trust me! 🙂
You should be proud!
What I’ve learned in the past, is that in the end, it doesn’t matter how much others want or seem to want to hurt you. The thing that needs changing is you; you are hurting yourself by believing that you are unworthy
or unattractive, or in my case stupid.
Maybe you don’t need to dig up the toxis waste; I know digging up the memories full of hurt never helped much for me. But it helped to learn to be nice to myself, to learn to counter that voice that says: “Can’t be true” “He’s lying” “Don’t trust him”.
That voice is the part of you that’s wrong about a lot of things and it might be interesting to have a dioalogue with that voice. Why don’t you trust others when they give you compliments? Why is it so hard to believe that someone genuinely likes you? Why do you seem intent on hurting yourself?
And the trick is, I think, not to dismiss that voice. But to give it the love attention it so craves for. It is an important part of you, the part that tries to protect you from the evil outside world, and there is much to be thankful for this part of you. But it does need to change, and you can change, with the help of PhD Coachy, I’m sure you’ll get there.
It is so reassuring to hear from other people about this.
It’s also so clear to me when I think about other people that the protectiveness has gone awry.
Nathree, I definitely do intend on having conversations with that part.
Thank you all so much for confirming I’m not alone in this. I feel like I’ve been working on this FOREVER. But it’s essential.
I can relate to the whole toxic waste thing. When I was in counseling, my therapist and I worked on cleaning out all the mental gunk that caused me to be extremely self depricating and have terrible self esteem.
I struggle when a guy is nice to me. When I was younger, I was bullied by a lot of guys, and I have a rough, dysfunctional relationship with my dad, so I have a tendency to be fearful/untrusting of men. Whenever a guy is nice to me, I’m afraid their just faking it and that they’re eventually going to hurt me. Even though I have some great guy friends who care about me a lot, I still feel afraid sometimes. I just have this ingrained belief that because of who I am, including how I look, men want to/are going to hurt me.
Thanks for sharing this; it really made me think through some stuff.
I’m right there with you. Sometimes I feel the same way about how I look and people wanting to hurt me. Sometimes I just feel that there is something intrinsic to me that makes people attack.
Regarding trying to protect yourself and all that… I have a questiony challenge thing for you: What do you fear might happen if you take whatever steps you’re thinking about taking for your well being?
I find that figuring out what those fears are goes a long way to helping me overcome them.
I’ve also observed that the not being able to make eye contact thing is often related to feeling shame. What emotion is linked to your not being able to make eye contact? Is it shame… or is it something else? I know well enough that I’m not always in the ball park with my intuitions about other folks’ feelings. 😀
The questiony challenge is a good one, and I’ve been working on it!
I’ve also been sick since we got back from our short trip — so glad you’ve been so post-y!
I may be back in the posting game soon, depending on how the weekend shapes up. And how busy superhero princess is.
I actually stopped breathing (and reading) right at this point:
“I’m afraid there’s something about the way I look that makes people want to hurt me.”
Because I just want to say, yes.
I have felt that way. For the very, very, very longest time. And it’s one of the worst feelings in the world.
And what’s more, it’s totally not true or right. But I know how totally all-consuming it feels.
Okay, back to reading.
I guess I’ve come to the point where I feel that all the picking on me that happened — as a kid, as an adolescent, even sometimes still as a woman — happened not because it was somehow my fault, but because of my gentleness and compassion. If that doesn’t sound too insanely crazy.
So, yes, I have grown up to have a sometimes gruff exterior. I take after my badass grandma that way. But I also know who I was as a child, naturally, without any training, and who I still essentially am inside that gruff exterior. I’m a person who feels bad for killing cockroaches. I’m a person who lost and sad people feel attracted to. Because I am a safe landing place for all their craziness — whether it comes out as good or bad.
They feel safe befriending me, walking me home, hitting on me, or yelling insane things at me. If it’s about me in any way at all, it’s because of my basic decency and kindness. Not because there’s somethng about the way I look, or a big target on my forehead (though it is sometimes tempting to interpret things that way.)
If anything, it’s kind of a gift, if you can believe it. I’ve had some bad — okay, a lot of bad — experiences, but I’ve also had some wonderful ones that came about the same way. Random bonding moments with strangers in a bus shelter. Sharing my umbrella with someone. Being walked home by someone who I though a moment before that I couldn’t possibly have anything in common with. Singing the national anthem with a fellow immigrant at my citizenship ceremony.
I don’t know. This is already the craziest comment ever — but sometimes it’s tempting to believe that maybe all this stuff is put on me because I can take it. Because I am uniquely suited to take it.
It can be hard as hell, but I’m still standing. So are you. Maybe we were built to weather these particular kinds of storms.
I thought of you as I was writing this — I know you have expressed similar thoughts — but I entirely agree with you that there’s a “gift” element to this kind of “attraction,” too.
I have an openness that as a kid made me a kind of lightening rod, but at age 40, seems to attract kindred spirits. I am also the sort of grown-up that kids mostly feel pretty comfortable with. It’s keeping the openness open, or re-opening it, that is tricky.
Great thoughts, I’m right there with you.