I wish I never…

but wishing is a useless thing, something children do.

Did you ever see a photo that was so beautiful it made you feel sad and feel sick to the stomach? I did today. And I want to cry.

One step forward twenty steps back. You think you’re getting somewhere, you think you are really moving forward, then one small tiny little thing can send you right back to the middle of it.

I’ve been thinking a lot the last week about fear of abandonment, and self-hatred.

I have an intense fear of abandonment thanks to my childhood. For me, this fear creates a self-fulfilling prophesy. I go out of my way to make it happen anyway, subconsciously, of course.  I do it all to myself, and then hate myself even more because of it. And then I hurt even more because, yes, I am ‘abandoned’ (ie, I have pushed people away), and I mourn, hurt and heap recriminations upon myself. I wear an invisible hair shirt 24/7.

Most people don’t like something about themselves, but for me it is deep, it IS self-hatred. I’m always beating myself up about it. Again … childhood issues. And add to that a secret I never told anyone until just over a week ago. A secret I’ve kept since I was 7 or 8, about sexual abuse a neighbourhood boy perpetrated on me. I still remember the intense shame. I still remember the feeling of ‘dirtiness’, of being ‘very bad’. It even makes me a little sick with anxiety thinking about it.

The self hatred’s stem is deep, so deep the roots are hard to find, let alone pull out. At one stage, more than two years ago, maybe, I was beginning to like myself very much indeed. I tried to be kind to myself once I was diagnosed with cancer and faced the depths of existential questioning that I don’t want to visit again, that I had a lot of physical issues which dented my self-esteem enormously, but there was something else added to the mix, and the anxiety, and the fear, ah God, the fear. But there was something else added to the mix which really stirred the self-hatred pot up.

In the past year and a half, Mr Music had not had one nice or positive thing to say about me to me. Mostly, he was being cruel about my mental health (uh … the majority of people dealing with cancer and treatment DO have mental health issues, it’s a given), telling me my childhood issues and my fear of abandonment etc were nothing but psychological illusions, labelling me all the nasty things under the sun, telling me I was unfit for heterosexual relationships, and that I could never keep a man, let alone get him to come around. All of this while I was going through the most hideous time of my life (and am still recovering from, mind you). My therapist kept asking me”would a friend talk to you like that, knowing what you are going through?”.    …

The constant belittlemen was deliberate, and MEANT to hurt, and when questioned about it, he always said I was playing victim, and that he felt he was JUSTIFIED. Never once an apology either. Not once. The stuff he said was meant to hurt, and eventually, I realise, it has. He aimed his arrows right where he knew they would hurt most. Perhaps it was even unconscious with him, but he did it, nonetheless, and I’m aware enough to know why he did it. Simply to wound. Would somebody who really does care about you do that? Thinking about it makes me sick to the stomach. He knew my issues, and he fed into them. I don’t want to answer these questions, but I DO know the answers. Although I know what he was saying, every single time, was only to hurt me (“ONLY” to hurt me??? wtf?), the words still wormed themselves into my negative beliefs about myself.

I can’t remember who said it. Maybe Nietzsche. Maybe not. But the brightest lights have the darkest shadows, and contemplating Mr Music in that context hurts my chest. I don’t like his shadow, it is very deep shadow and not very pleasant at all, but oh his light.

So the nastiness can make me feel sick to the stomach, but so can the beauty.

I’ve also been pondering impermanence a lot. When you meditate on it, and realise that everything, EVERYTHING, and most importantly, everybody, and every second, is impermanent, you can’t help but feel compassion for your fellow beings. The subject of impermanence is never far from my mind, or from anyone who has had cancer, I guess. Oh we KNOW we are impermanent, life is so very fragile. I have another surgeon’s visit at the end of this month, for a check up. I’ll never get used to it, I guess, this anxiety beforehand, this wondering if the other shoe is going to drop this time. My breast has been aching in spots, my nipple tingling and ‘zinging’ weirdly this morning, and I’ve felt some lumpy spots. So yeah, I’m worried; trying not to.

And on the heels of this, a thought floating by on a leaf: “I wish  he cared. And I wish I DIDN’T”. And of course, I hate myself for it.

This just after a party I had this afternoon (and I had one last week too), which was very enjoyable. Liam is home on school holidays, and I’m loving having him around. And I’m loving my piano.

I’m not loving missing.