I've been coming to learn, or more accurately re-learn, a few things about myself lately. Recently, I've been feeling pretty desperate for connection with other men. Granted, I've been talking and reaching out more than normal. I've even told a number of my friends about me, just in case they weren't following this blog. The desperation still wasn't being alleviated. There's a few simple facts that seem to contribute to this.
First off, my primary love language is touch (If you are unfamiliar with what a 'love language' is, see The 5 Love Languages site, it's also a book). Because of that, my primary way of feeling and expressing love toward other people is through touch, and this very much focused around men, with very few exceptions for women, most of whom are in my family. Most of the time, the expression has very little to do with lust or sexual desire. Sometimes it's a simple expression that I like the person or value them as a friend. Nothing more and nothing less.
This gets obviously frustrated by some aspects of American culture. In my perception, we're not a very touchy-feely sort of people, at least out in public. The same seems to be true when I visit church. In my home ward (by home I mean parent's ward), the people are very good at shaking hands. The last singles ward I was in, and this current ward don't seem to be very good at that, and I'm far too shy to even initiate that kind of contact.
Anyways, I was starting to feel desperate for some kind of physical contact with a man. I can look back now and see how crazy I was, because I have a whole group of friends that are willing to give appropriate, safe, and bonding touch with me. I told myself all sorts of lies to keep myself from asking them. It led me to seeking the safe, appropriate sort of touch in a very dangerous environment.
As an interesting aside, I notice a pattern that emerges when I feel like my touch need isn't getting met. I start to get the crazy notion that people will start spontaneously offering the kind of touch that I need or want. I start to drop into a childlike state, where I expect the people around me to know what my needs are. I basically tend to regress. When my need isn't met (which happens very often because I'm not asking for help to get them met), I start to slip into a state of defensive detachment. I get angry, and I feel lonely. In an attempt to escape the pain of not having the need met, I seek out 'numbing agents' of sorts. I turn to video games generally. The sort of lull and trance they put me in provides a false sense of peace and comfort, yet always lead me to a sense of emptiness and loneliness. When that isn't enough, I turn to stronger 'numbing agents': masturbation and pornography. Like video games, they leave with a more profound feeling of emptiness and numbness. In this state of numbness, I'm even less likely to ask for what I need. It's a vicious downward spiral.
At my support group this week, I managed to touch both the pain and the feeling of emptiness and detachment. It's amazing how familiar both of them feel. I'm often not even conscious of it. The detachment feels warm, familiar, old, and oddly peaceful. Yet it also feels like I'm all alone in a dark room with no one else there. The room is empty and vast.
As I discussed this at my support group, I realized that detachment and numbness is a choice I make. It's a choice that leads me down a road that ends up with me curled up in a ball trying to shut everything else out. It leads me to somewhere dark, lonely, yet safe. As I talked, I also realized there were other paths. There are other choices. There are many different people to ask for help from. All of the roads were covered in fog. I couldn't determine their outcome. The path to numbness, however, was quite clear. I know where it would lead me. I've taken it so many times, that the outcome is sure.
That aside, at support group I also recalled the last time I felt like I wanted some touch, specifically, I wanted to be held. It was when I was having a talk with my dad about this blog post. Forgive me other blog readers, but I'd like to address my dad personally. Feel free to read as well!
Dad, I think you may remember the last time we got together and chatted about a blog post I had made, one about some past shameful lies I'd been believing for years. Wow, this is hard, tears are already in my eyes. I remember as we talked that I one point, I simply wanted you to reach out your arms and cradle me, and comfort me. When I realized that, I almost immediately started to belittle/demean/talk down to myself about it. 'Why would an adult want to be held? I should be independent. I shouldn't need this. I shouldn't want this.' Despite what I said, the desire was still there. The pain was still there. I wanted to connect. I wanted to connect like a child would connect with his father. I wanted to be held by you. Yet, like a child, I found myself powerless to ask for what I wanted. I found myself incapable of expressing the words. Maybe because I was starting to feel, live, and act from a very young state, perhaps before I could even talk. I've always wondered why I've struggled to connect with you. I know I've been defensively detached from both you and Mom. I'm starting to wonder if the problem and solution lie somewhere in the desire to be held by you, dad. I somehow want to go back to where the defensive detachment started, attach, instead of detaching, and start unraveling years of me detaching myself from you. Honestly, I feel afraid to ask for what I want. I honestly don't know how you would take it, or even if you know how to hold me. I don't even know how long it would take, or even if it would take more than one time of it happening. There are many, many years of detachment. Many years of me isolating myself from you. I still think we can bridge the gap and heal this. Honestly, the path is laden with fog. All I know for now is there is a desire for me to be held by you.
Thank you for indulging me readers. I feel nearly overcome inside with the sadness and the pain. When I was a child, I didn't know what I needed. I obviously felt a need to be safe, so I started to withdraw from my parents. I honestly have no idea where it started. All I know is that it worked at the time, and now, it isn't working as an adult. To be withdrawn and detached from the people around me, means I can continue to be safe, but also broken, hurt, lonely, and ultimately, empty. It also means that I defend myself from others attempts to truly love me. It also extends to and disrupts my relationship with God.
The future paths are laden with fog. I could continue to take the one familiar path, that leads me to loneliness. I think it's time to start taking one of the fog laden ones and push through to see what's on the other side of the fog.
Oh, and a personal request. If you know me, in person, I would definitely appreciate more hugs! However that looks for you.
Thank you for reading.
Showing posts with label Father. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Father. Show all posts
Friday, January 20, 2012
Friday, December 23, 2011
Toxic Shame, Deep-set Lies
This will be a difficult post to write for me. Not difficult because I'm afraid to share it. Difficult because of the pain I know that it's going to touch on. Once more, into the breach.
In my support group this week, I did something where I looked into events where I had felt shamed. Sometime soon, I'll have to start up a series of posts called 'From the Memory Vault' where I share things from my past that I'm able to remember. I actually have a draft for one, but I'm too afraid to share it. I'm frankly worried about how I could explain it without the event becoming too pornographic. Here's a list of some of the shameful memories that I was able to remember this week:
I delved a bit deeper into that first memory I shared. At one point, I came to the realization that my teacher didn't care about me. No one seemed to care about me growing up. I was just another warm body. I was an object in the room. And deep down, all I wanted as a kid was to feel special, loved, noticed, cared for, delighted in.
I also got some good insight into one of my 'flavors' of attraction. I generally feel attracted to men bigger than me, to men that I judge are stronger than me. I also feel afraid around them, intimidated by them. It's an interesting internal conflict. I think it goes back to feeling shamed by various adults in my life. I wanted to feel loved by them, and instead I felt shamed by them. To this day, I find myself seeking that love and approval from the 'big men', from the 'adults'. I still want and crave that acceptance, affection, affirmation, ...love from them. That flavor of attraction is one of the hardest to 'shake off'. It's one of the hardest to resolve for me, probably because it's very deeply set.
Last night, I went to hang out with some friends. As soon as I showed up, they said 'hi', but then went back to talking with each other. I felt that same story come up. 'They don't care. They've never cared. You're just another person to them'. I tried to compensate by smiling and making jokes. On the way home, I felt lonely. As I was driving, I was looking at the world around me, admiring Heavenly Father's handiwork. A thought came to me: yes, this is a manifestation of His love. But, it's a manifestation of His love to everyone. It's a blanket statement. It's sent out generally to everyone. I do acknowledge there have been a few times when I have seen tender mercies in my life, when I have felt that I was specifically cared for. Somehow...I'm just not feeling it right now.
This morning, it finally hit me. The same idea 'You don't care' shows up in my relationship with my Heavenly Father. When I pray, I tell myself that I'm just another warm body to Him. No wonder the heaven's have felt so closed. No wonder I feel like I've slipped through the cracks and have fallen of His radar. I keep telling myself the same lie.
The same lie that has been lodged deep in my psyche.
I've even tried telling myself positive stories. Sure, they help for awhile, but the same old lie creeps up and slowly strangles my attempts at changing how I think. The poison is set deep.
Now I sit here, feeling empty, with the beginnings of tears in my eyes. I don't even know if I can see the depth of this wound that was dealt to me. I feel angry that I've continued to tell myself the same lie. I'm angry that I made the choice to feel ashamed and to detach while I was young. I feel like I've screwed up my life by making the choices I did. "It's all my fault". I chose to react the way I did. I chose to detach. It's my choice, I have to live with the consequences.
Perhaps I'm not heeding the saying that I came up with while talking with a friend a few weeks ago. The saying is 'You're supposed to carry your cross, not nail yourself to it!' I need to find a way to carry the burden this lie has created without it paralyzing me. And ultimately, I need to find out how to heal it and how to surrender it. There is a way. I believe that there is healing through Christ's Atonement. There is strength there, and there is grace. There is forgiveness and love. My heart feels too afraid to trust. It's been hurt so many times before. I keep hurting it by feeding it the same lie, and yet I keep sheltering it from any outside attempt to heal it.
Sounds like madness to me.
In my support group this week, I did something where I looked into events where I had felt shamed. Sometime soon, I'll have to start up a series of posts called 'From the Memory Vault' where I share things from my past that I'm able to remember. I actually have a draft for one, but I'm too afraid to share it. I'm frankly worried about how I could explain it without the event becoming too pornographic. Here's a list of some of the shameful memories that I was able to remember this week:
- In kindergarten, I colored a hand purple. The teacher had me re-color it because it was the 'wrong color'.
- In kindergarten, my teacher found my lunch, raised it up, asked who's it was. I raised my hand and she didn't see me, and it caused trouble later.
- I was forced to recount in front of the whole primary a time when I didn't come when my mother called
- At 8, I was told 'He shouldn't have gone in there!' by a man at the front desk of a military locker room, after I had gone in with my dad
- My dad telling me, at 8-9 years old, "If you were older, you would have needed to talk to a bishop"
- Various events with yelling and throwing of toys
- Me getting caught playing the Legend of Zelda early in the morning...Sunday morning
- Me getting in trouble for spitting on a girl
- I don't belong here
- I'm not valued
- I don't belong with men
- I don't matter
- I do everything wrong
- I'm always in trouble
- You don't care.
I delved a bit deeper into that first memory I shared. At one point, I came to the realization that my teacher didn't care about me. No one seemed to care about me growing up. I was just another warm body. I was an object in the room. And deep down, all I wanted as a kid was to feel special, loved, noticed, cared for, delighted in.
I also got some good insight into one of my 'flavors' of attraction. I generally feel attracted to men bigger than me, to men that I judge are stronger than me. I also feel afraid around them, intimidated by them. It's an interesting internal conflict. I think it goes back to feeling shamed by various adults in my life. I wanted to feel loved by them, and instead I felt shamed by them. To this day, I find myself seeking that love and approval from the 'big men', from the 'adults'. I still want and crave that acceptance, affection, affirmation, ...love from them. That flavor of attraction is one of the hardest to 'shake off'. It's one of the hardest to resolve for me, probably because it's very deeply set.
Last night, I went to hang out with some friends. As soon as I showed up, they said 'hi', but then went back to talking with each other. I felt that same story come up. 'They don't care. They've never cared. You're just another person to them'. I tried to compensate by smiling and making jokes. On the way home, I felt lonely. As I was driving, I was looking at the world around me, admiring Heavenly Father's handiwork. A thought came to me: yes, this is a manifestation of His love. But, it's a manifestation of His love to everyone. It's a blanket statement. It's sent out generally to everyone. I do acknowledge there have been a few times when I have seen tender mercies in my life, when I have felt that I was specifically cared for. Somehow...I'm just not feeling it right now.
This morning, it finally hit me. The same idea 'You don't care' shows up in my relationship with my Heavenly Father. When I pray, I tell myself that I'm just another warm body to Him. No wonder the heaven's have felt so closed. No wonder I feel like I've slipped through the cracks and have fallen of His radar. I keep telling myself the same lie.
The same lie that has been lodged deep in my psyche.
I've even tried telling myself positive stories. Sure, they help for awhile, but the same old lie creeps up and slowly strangles my attempts at changing how I think. The poison is set deep.
Now I sit here, feeling empty, with the beginnings of tears in my eyes. I don't even know if I can see the depth of this wound that was dealt to me. I feel angry that I've continued to tell myself the same lie. I'm angry that I made the choice to feel ashamed and to detach while I was young. I feel like I've screwed up my life by making the choices I did. "It's all my fault". I chose to react the way I did. I chose to detach. It's my choice, I have to live with the consequences.
Perhaps I'm not heeding the saying that I came up with while talking with a friend a few weeks ago. The saying is 'You're supposed to carry your cross, not nail yourself to it!' I need to find a way to carry the burden this lie has created without it paralyzing me. And ultimately, I need to find out how to heal it and how to surrender it. There is a way. I believe that there is healing through Christ's Atonement. There is strength there, and there is grace. There is forgiveness and love. My heart feels too afraid to trust. It's been hurt so many times before. I keep hurting it by feeding it the same lie, and yet I keep sheltering it from any outside attempt to heal it.
Sounds like madness to me.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
The Curse Of Oblivion
I took the title of this blog post from a new Magic the Gathering card. "The Curse of Oblivion" slowly eats away at a player's discard pile, removing cards from it two at a time unless there aren't any there to remove. The discard pile represents magics that have been used, or creatures that have been killed. In some ways, it is a memory of things that have gone before. Sometimes I wonder if I've inflicted a similar "curse" on me, or if I've somehow have something like that. I'll have to explain why.
Today in church, I sat a seat away from a man who held his son on his lap. I typically get pretty envious of little boys who get to sit on their dad's laps. It tends to get more pronounced if I happen to have an attraction toward the father. In this case, it wasn't much of a deal. The dad let him sit on his lap, stand on his lap, or sometimes he just held his son to his chest. He rubbed his son's back; he played with his son's hands. In short, he was showing a lot of physical affection toward his son. I was pretty envious, but I kept a nice, fake smile on my face so that the father wouldn't know what was going on. I guess I was happy to see that some little boys are getting that from their dads.
Did I get something like that from my dad? Honestly, I have a real hard time remembering. I do remember my dad helping me school projects. I remember my dad hugging me a few times. I'm sure he did kiss us good night when we were younger. Other than that, I can't remember. I honestly have a very hard time remembering things from my childhood. I have a few memories from early childhood, sometime around 3-5 years old. Other than that, it's pretty blank. I'm sure, at least from being a teenager, that I started to suppress a lot of memories. Being a teenager was a very pleasant time for me. I wonder if I somehow damaged my memory, because I struggle to remember things that happened on the previous week.
The reason memory came up, is that a man recently shared part of his story with me, about his life growing up, his relationship with his parents, and his struggles with same gender attraction. When it came time to share my story, I hesitated. I'm not even sure if I have all the facts straight. I could speak with some degree of clarity about my time as a teenager. Before that, I'm not entirely sure. My reason for hesistation is a lot more than just not being able to remember. It's a fear that I have my facts wrong. I'm afraid that I'd cast my parents in a bad light. I honestly don't remember having a close relationship with either of my parents. I don't know if that's simply a by product from bad memory, or if it was something that really actually happened.
I wish I could remember. I wish I could remember so that I could know what actually happened. Was my father affectionate at all? Did he hold me on my lap? I want to remember, so that I know the truth. The truth is what will ultimately help me heal.
Today, our Sunday school lesson was on the Final Judgment. It spoke on how our thoughts, words, and actions would come to condemn us. It also spoke on how I would be a record of my own life. It got me to thinking that I may have forgotten some very important events in my life. I may have forgotten something, and that could be influencing my relationship with my parents.
On the other hand, not having early childhood memories makes me sort of un-anchored. It's disheartening to only have a void where I think memory should be. Sometimes it makes me feel listless, and like I don't have a purpose. It almost makes me feel like I'm restarting my life each and every day, with no past to work with.
Today in church, I sat a seat away from a man who held his son on his lap. I typically get pretty envious of little boys who get to sit on their dad's laps. It tends to get more pronounced if I happen to have an attraction toward the father. In this case, it wasn't much of a deal. The dad let him sit on his lap, stand on his lap, or sometimes he just held his son to his chest. He rubbed his son's back; he played with his son's hands. In short, he was showing a lot of physical affection toward his son. I was pretty envious, but I kept a nice, fake smile on my face so that the father wouldn't know what was going on. I guess I was happy to see that some little boys are getting that from their dads.
Did I get something like that from my dad? Honestly, I have a real hard time remembering. I do remember my dad helping me school projects. I remember my dad hugging me a few times. I'm sure he did kiss us good night when we were younger. Other than that, I can't remember. I honestly have a very hard time remembering things from my childhood. I have a few memories from early childhood, sometime around 3-5 years old. Other than that, it's pretty blank. I'm sure, at least from being a teenager, that I started to suppress a lot of memories. Being a teenager was a very pleasant time for me. I wonder if I somehow damaged my memory, because I struggle to remember things that happened on the previous week.
The reason memory came up, is that a man recently shared part of his story with me, about his life growing up, his relationship with his parents, and his struggles with same gender attraction. When it came time to share my story, I hesitated. I'm not even sure if I have all the facts straight. I could speak with some degree of clarity about my time as a teenager. Before that, I'm not entirely sure. My reason for hesistation is a lot more than just not being able to remember. It's a fear that I have my facts wrong. I'm afraid that I'd cast my parents in a bad light. I honestly don't remember having a close relationship with either of my parents. I don't know if that's simply a by product from bad memory, or if it was something that really actually happened.
I wish I could remember. I wish I could remember so that I could know what actually happened. Was my father affectionate at all? Did he hold me on my lap? I want to remember, so that I know the truth. The truth is what will ultimately help me heal.
Today, our Sunday school lesson was on the Final Judgment. It spoke on how our thoughts, words, and actions would come to condemn us. It also spoke on how I would be a record of my own life. It got me to thinking that I may have forgotten some very important events in my life. I may have forgotten something, and that could be influencing my relationship with my parents.
On the other hand, not having early childhood memories makes me sort of un-anchored. It's disheartening to only have a void where I think memory should be. Sometimes it makes me feel listless, and like I don't have a purpose. It almost makes me feel like I'm restarting my life each and every day, with no past to work with.
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