This situation, however, rubbed some tender value and worth scars open. This type of pain takes me back to early childhood and so, like a child I had a temper tantrum. I don't throw things or lie on the floor pounding my fists and kicking my feet anymore--not like when I was five. But I can throw an impressive pity-party: I gather up the nastiest dark rain clouds for decoration and shake up everything--the soundtrack: the smashing clouds of my angry-hurt thunder.
I think the Universe spanked me for my foolishness--first no check, then a $40 parking ticket, then a dead hard drive ($275!), raised interest rate on a credit card (26%--this should be illegal!), a ripped contact lens--the last one--and I had to drive to work (in the rain) and then work without being able to see very well, Thursday my ATM card was picked up and used by someone (someone who didn't know how to use it, fortunately). Oh yeah--and I've got a bug: sore throat, sinus congestion, and hacking cough. That's not everything--but it's enough to get the idea. It's funny now. And I still don't have that damn check!
My temper tantrum-ming is a regression that takes me deep into my mother's and my grandmother's psychic lives. All went to college. All were brilliant and creative. And no one did a thing with it--none of them could. All married men who weren't giving--men who caused them problems. And, in fact, both grandmothers married men who gambled all their money away. Nothing. They had nothing. When I get into that state of pity it's on behalf of all of us girls--but it's a useless and ugly performance.
I saw Into the Wild this week and finished reading Eat, Prey, Love. I like that Ms. Gilbert and Felipe found one another. During the last nine years on my own, after my own ugly divorce, I've teeter-tottered in my thoughts and feelings about the possibility of having a real loving relationship with a man. I've dated quiet a bit. I've seen some men for long stretches of time, but it's just not happened for me--a loving, mature relationship. I don't know if I hold myself back because I cannot suspend disbelief. I think that takes some of the fun out of the whole thing for the guys. One romance was so romantic and lovely--it was worth all the pain when it ended. I knew when I was in it, though, that it wasn't the makings of a long term relationship--but it was fantastic to feel loved and adored (I was reminded of this reading of Gilbert and Felipe). I seem to find men who have "commitment issues." My therapist says they can't let go of their mothers--or, they feel that their mothers wouldn't want them to let go so they can't move on.
I was told recently it'd be best if I just got over my own childhood. (A quick note: I don't know anyone who didn't have some version of a rough childhood. I suspect we'd all like to have been the only child and to have been doted on all the time by our parents as if we were the only thing going on in their lives. Then they'd let us go without a pang of possessiveness when it's time to leave the nest--still loving us unconditionally and playing the role of our biggest cheerleaders.)
I told my therapist "you can't get over your childhood." All these years talking--and finally a breakthrough. He agreed (but of course you can't get over it!) "you can't get over it, but you can understand it."
A friend says "you have to accept you have a hole that won't get filled."
But today I say, it's not that there are holes that need to be filled. For me it's understanding that current situations don't need a five-year-old's reactive response. Or it's understanding that my gut reactions aren't usually about what's happening now. So understanding my childhood is informative. I'm not standing, hands on my waist, stamping my foot impatiently, for the universe to serve up all my desires RIGHT NOW!
But I still really would like to have that check!
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