Prisons we choose to live inside
There is this amazing book, by Doris Lessing, called Prisons we choose to live inside. I read it when I was in my early twenties, and it changed my life. The book itself focuses on the world at large, but I took the knowledge I'd gained from it and focused it on my own life.
Or tried to.
Relatively unsuccessfully, as it turns out.
I've always known that I have a very strong tendency to create boundaries for myself, to create these rigid structures that provide me with a reassuring sense of being held in, being held back. When I was young, it was provided for me, in the form of a religion that did not let me be myself in any way, shape, or form. When I left that religion, I had a year of pure freedom. And then I created a prison for myself in the form of a relationship that I didn't want to be in. I grew to love J very much, but in the beginning, I was a swirling morass of "HOLY SHIT, WHAT AM I DOING??!". And I stayed in that relationship far, far longer than I should have. Because he was a heavy tether to this world. And he prevented me from even having to think about flying. Not because he was a bad person! J is a pretty awesome human being. We just... we were each others anchors, long after we should have hoisted the ropes and set sail.
After Jake, I had another year of pure freedom. And it scared me. I started to sense the looming potential again.
So, I asked T to come out. This one is complicated. Initially, it was just supposed to be for a short period of time, till he got himself on his feet and got his own place.
And, we had very clearly established that we were just going to be friends with benefits. But there was a little voice screaming inside me the whole time I was thinking about this, because it knew me. It knew I didn't have it in me to do temporary. It knew I was going to just go with the flow, and the flow in this case would lead to heavy comfort and down filled cell bars.
With T, I had (have) the illusion of freedom. I could do whatever I wanted, with whoever I wanted. I wasn't tied down by any frighteningly concrete barriers like love and need.
I was, however, tethered with lust and compassion.
We are genuinely friends. I love T, in the same way I love my family. Unquestioningly, uncompromisingly.
And, like my family, I have allowed myself to create a prison out of him.
It came to a head recently. For the past 5 months or so, I have been dealing with increasingly intense anxiety. Easily overwhelmed, easily depressed, I started turning to the old standbys, alcohol and sex. Except those were making things worse. And I recognized that right away. But the only thing that recognition did for me was make me more anxious. Now I had nothing reassuring and fun to hide my thoughts under.
But during those 5 months, I've been chafing more and more at my self imposed prison. Recognizing more and more the exact same patterns within my relationship with T that have swirled through out my entire life. Patterns I'd thought I'd avoided through the lack of traditional boundaries in my relationship with him.
With T, those patterns have manifested themselves in his anger. In my fear of that anger. I found myself willing to do anything to avoid his judgment, his anger, his fear. I changed myself, without being asked, to better accommodate his needs, his growth. I crafted myself into this person who could be a bulwark for him, make him comfortable, make him less angry.
Jesus H. Christ. These patterns. I can look inside right now and see 12 year old me, hating the fear, hating the tears, and hating the insecurity created by a father with intense anger management issues and a mother with no will of her own.
So, 30 year old me actively sought out almost the exact same situation, just not as scary. T is an incredibly strong man, in a lot of ways. He's completely true to himself, he's got this rock hard core of sheer, stubborn iron. He is not remotely similar to my father (oh, common creepiness). Well, ok. He is a little bit like him.
Gah. Anyways. Prisons.
Things came to a head the other night. I had a dream the night before, where I spelled myself. I stood over my sauce pan, adding clove and cinnamon, love and lust, strength and will, and stirring. Looked up at myself, and said "You have to be strong. You have to be stronger than this, Sarah."
My poor sub-conscience, reaching out through the ether and smacking me upside the head, sick of being unhappy, wanting so much more.
I thought about that dream all day. I remembered camping in the desert of Eastern Washington, waking up at dawn and walking down to the sub alpine lake in the dry, soft heat. Dipping my toes in the lake, and crying in fear and shame. Not understanding why I wasn't free inside myself, free to sink into the beauty of this moment. I was alone, and terrified. Ridiculous. There was nothing of me in that moment. I am not that person. I know I'm not. But I somehow NEEDED to be that person for a period of time. I don't know why. I don't know why I craft these weak personas, these avatars of myself that don't have to be morally strong, mentally strong.
So, with these memories swirling through my head, I drove T and I home from downtown at 11:30 at night. We'd had a beer, and he was feeling mellow and happy. We'd have a flareup the morning before, were he scared me with his rage again. Nothing huge, just a quick, angry reaction to a small stimuli. But it affected me for the entire day after that. My own instant flare of rage in reaction, and then hours of comedown and reactionary emotion.
So, I brought it up. I asked him about it, and then I told him about how I reacted to it. And then I told him that he had to get a handle on his anger. That he absolutely had to take advantage of the resources made available to him through the VA to get some counselling, because I couldn't live with it anymore.
He got really quiet. And he said "So, basically, it's either counselling or move out. So, I'll start looking for storage spaces and a studio somewhere."
I was kind of shocked. Though that was exactly what I had been saying, I think I expected to have to work my way into it, to finesse it so he understood it without being hurt by it.
Instead, he brought it up himself.
And it made me realize that I'm not the only one who creates prisons. We all do. I think T has been recognizing the bullshit we've been wading through for a long time, and in his own way wanted to be free. He chose the path of freedom instead of the path of change. Interesting.
We talked for a bit more after that, and I reiterated that I wasn't kicking him out, that we could see what happened. But he has been distancing himself from me since then. He hasn't touched me, hasn't treated me the way he's gotten used to treating me. Like a hybrid girlfriend/wife/buddy.
I can respect the distancing, even appreciate it. There's a part of me that hates it, because we have awesome physical chemistry and I want that right now. I want the comfort of our sex, and the comfort of our touching.
I recognize how ridiculously selfish that is, though. If he needs to thin the bars through distance, that's his right. It's probably good for me to.
I hate the fact that I let things get to this point. Again. I hate the fact that I didn't have the strength to either walk away when I should have, or truly crafted this relationship into something healthy for both of us. I know it's not just me, I know that it was just as much his responsibility as mine, that he creates his own happiness. But knowing and KNOWING are 2 very different things.
God, I want to KNOW this shit, finally. I want to be able to use all this knowledge, instead of just owning it. I am so self aware. I really am. There's a little arm chair psychologist sitting inside me, analyzing every single thing I'm doing, and not letting me lie to myself. But there's a severe breakdown in communication between that smart little fucker and the control center of my brain. My actions aren't affected enough by my knowledge.
Or tried to.
Relatively unsuccessfully, as it turns out.
I've always known that I have a very strong tendency to create boundaries for myself, to create these rigid structures that provide me with a reassuring sense of being held in, being held back. When I was young, it was provided for me, in the form of a religion that did not let me be myself in any way, shape, or form. When I left that religion, I had a year of pure freedom. And then I created a prison for myself in the form of a relationship that I didn't want to be in. I grew to love J very much, but in the beginning, I was a swirling morass of "HOLY SHIT, WHAT AM I DOING??!". And I stayed in that relationship far, far longer than I should have. Because he was a heavy tether to this world. And he prevented me from even having to think about flying. Not because he was a bad person! J is a pretty awesome human being. We just... we were each others anchors, long after we should have hoisted the ropes and set sail.
After Jake, I had another year of pure freedom. And it scared me. I started to sense the looming potential again.
So, I asked T to come out. This one is complicated. Initially, it was just supposed to be for a short period of time, till he got himself on his feet and got his own place.
And, we had very clearly established that we were just going to be friends with benefits. But there was a little voice screaming inside me the whole time I was thinking about this, because it knew me. It knew I didn't have it in me to do temporary. It knew I was going to just go with the flow, and the flow in this case would lead to heavy comfort and down filled cell bars.
With T, I had (have) the illusion of freedom. I could do whatever I wanted, with whoever I wanted. I wasn't tied down by any frighteningly concrete barriers like love and need.
I was, however, tethered with lust and compassion.
We are genuinely friends. I love T, in the same way I love my family. Unquestioningly, uncompromisingly.
And, like my family, I have allowed myself to create a prison out of him.
It came to a head recently. For the past 5 months or so, I have been dealing with increasingly intense anxiety. Easily overwhelmed, easily depressed, I started turning to the old standbys, alcohol and sex. Except those were making things worse. And I recognized that right away. But the only thing that recognition did for me was make me more anxious. Now I had nothing reassuring and fun to hide my thoughts under.
But during those 5 months, I've been chafing more and more at my self imposed prison. Recognizing more and more the exact same patterns within my relationship with T that have swirled through out my entire life. Patterns I'd thought I'd avoided through the lack of traditional boundaries in my relationship with him.
With T, those patterns have manifested themselves in his anger. In my fear of that anger. I found myself willing to do anything to avoid his judgment, his anger, his fear. I changed myself, without being asked, to better accommodate his needs, his growth. I crafted myself into this person who could be a bulwark for him, make him comfortable, make him less angry.
Jesus H. Christ. These patterns. I can look inside right now and see 12 year old me, hating the fear, hating the tears, and hating the insecurity created by a father with intense anger management issues and a mother with no will of her own.
So, 30 year old me actively sought out almost the exact same situation, just not as scary. T is an incredibly strong man, in a lot of ways. He's completely true to himself, he's got this rock hard core of sheer, stubborn iron. He is not remotely similar to my father (oh, common creepiness). Well, ok. He is a little bit like him.
Gah. Anyways. Prisons.
Things came to a head the other night. I had a dream the night before, where I spelled myself. I stood over my sauce pan, adding clove and cinnamon, love and lust, strength and will, and stirring. Looked up at myself, and said "You have to be strong. You have to be stronger than this, Sarah."
My poor sub-conscience, reaching out through the ether and smacking me upside the head, sick of being unhappy, wanting so much more.
I thought about that dream all day. I remembered camping in the desert of Eastern Washington, waking up at dawn and walking down to the sub alpine lake in the dry, soft heat. Dipping my toes in the lake, and crying in fear and shame. Not understanding why I wasn't free inside myself, free to sink into the beauty of this moment. I was alone, and terrified. Ridiculous. There was nothing of me in that moment. I am not that person. I know I'm not. But I somehow NEEDED to be that person for a period of time. I don't know why. I don't know why I craft these weak personas, these avatars of myself that don't have to be morally strong, mentally strong.
So, with these memories swirling through my head, I drove T and I home from downtown at 11:30 at night. We'd had a beer, and he was feeling mellow and happy. We'd have a flareup the morning before, were he scared me with his rage again. Nothing huge, just a quick, angry reaction to a small stimuli. But it affected me for the entire day after that. My own instant flare of rage in reaction, and then hours of comedown and reactionary emotion.
So, I brought it up. I asked him about it, and then I told him about how I reacted to it. And then I told him that he had to get a handle on his anger. That he absolutely had to take advantage of the resources made available to him through the VA to get some counselling, because I couldn't live with it anymore.
He got really quiet. And he said "So, basically, it's either counselling or move out. So, I'll start looking for storage spaces and a studio somewhere."
I was kind of shocked. Though that was exactly what I had been saying, I think I expected to have to work my way into it, to finesse it so he understood it without being hurt by it.
Instead, he brought it up himself.
And it made me realize that I'm not the only one who creates prisons. We all do. I think T has been recognizing the bullshit we've been wading through for a long time, and in his own way wanted to be free. He chose the path of freedom instead of the path of change. Interesting.
We talked for a bit more after that, and I reiterated that I wasn't kicking him out, that we could see what happened. But he has been distancing himself from me since then. He hasn't touched me, hasn't treated me the way he's gotten used to treating me. Like a hybrid girlfriend/wife/buddy.
I can respect the distancing, even appreciate it. There's a part of me that hates it, because we have awesome physical chemistry and I want that right now. I want the comfort of our sex, and the comfort of our touching.
I recognize how ridiculously selfish that is, though. If he needs to thin the bars through distance, that's his right. It's probably good for me to.
I hate the fact that I let things get to this point. Again. I hate the fact that I didn't have the strength to either walk away when I should have, or truly crafted this relationship into something healthy for both of us. I know it's not just me, I know that it was just as much his responsibility as mine, that he creates his own happiness. But knowing and KNOWING are 2 very different things.
God, I want to KNOW this shit, finally. I want to be able to use all this knowledge, instead of just owning it. I am so self aware. I really am. There's a little arm chair psychologist sitting inside me, analyzing every single thing I'm doing, and not letting me lie to myself. But there's a severe breakdown in communication between that smart little fucker and the control center of my brain. My actions aren't affected enough by my knowledge.
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