Self Awareness*

I'm a primarily outgoing person. I'm talkative and personable, and I try to be nice whenever possible to everyone from the check out guy at the grocery store to the bank manager (except for when they piss me off, then look out). But lately I've become aware of a certain level of emotional disconnect that I experience in my interactions with the world at large. It's difficult to put into words. It's like I'm emotionally detached from most of the people I come into contact with. This includes friends, relatives, and strangers. I'm present in interactions with these people intellectually but very rarely am I present emotionally. It's like the thinking part of my brain is present but the feeling part is floating over a field somewhere nearby, uninterested and preoccupied, unwilling to be engaged.

I think this is a fairly recent phenomenon. Well, my realization is recent, I'm not sure if the phenomenon is. I'm not good at frank discussion of emotions. I guess that's one of the biggest immediate attractions I experienced to my husband. He's really good at emotional discussion, and made me comfortable opening up to him, really sharing my feelings and being present and honest with both him and myself about what I'm feeling/experiencing/desiring.

I had a miniature epiphany tonight as to the roots of this emotional detachment. I guess, had I really thought about it, I would have come up with the answer fairly easily. It's kind of a no-brainer. My dad was never one to discuss emotion. As a matter of fact, he's the guy whose backside you're most likely to see should the subject of his own emotion come up while I'm in the room. Sure, he'll say the words, "I love you very much" but that's as far as it goes. I can't ever recall "I feel" statements being emitted from his mouth. Besides loving me, I don't know what else the man feels.

But my dad is only a minor player in this epiphany. Tonight, after I angrily told my mother never to defend my step-father to me, EVER; several pieces of the "why I am a train wreck" puzzle fell into place.

Here's the deal; My step-father (a term that is purely technical because the man is not in any way someone I think of as a father) was an abusive Nazi. Not 'Nazi' in the literal sense but in the metaphorical. His 'running' of the household primarily consisted of fear tactics. I spent the better part of my childhood walking on eggshells for fear of angering him and suffering his wrath. He was generally drunk within half an hour of arriving home from work and my mother generally joined him in his drunken exploits. She also clearly feared him and literally jumped out of his way as he passed through a room. He was a tyrant. We couldn't walk too heavily. We couldn't talk on the phone for more than 10 minutes at a time or we'd lose phone privileges for a week. We needed to run and get into bed when we heard him coming to bed or we'd get into trouble for staying up too late (regardless of the time). When my sister and I were little, we had to be upstairs in our rooms whenever he was home. Whenever I had to venture downstairs to use the only bathroom, I was accused of being 'nosy' despite the fact that I had held it for as long as I could, knowing I would be accused of such. We were never permitted to join in when his kids came to visit. Instead we were banished to our rooms and if they were so inclined, his kids could come upstairs to our bedrooms to say hello, but that was the extend of our communing.

The abuse is not a matter I will articulate upon with regards to specifics. It's not a pleasant topic. You don't want the details and I don't want to share them. Suffice it to say that it was very damaging for me. The thing is, I was cursed at an early age with intelligence. I'm not bragging. What I mean is that I knew, even as I suffered his abuses, that were I to tell anyone about it, life as I knew it would cease to exist. My home would have been ripped apart and my mother (a legally blind woman with no higher education) would be left to fend for herself with no means to do so. I guess that's when the emotional disconnect began. The rest, as they say, is history.

So, this evening, when I referred to my mother's husband as an 'asshole' while speaking with her, and she chose to defend her husband, I realized that my anger towards him has dissipated. I have in fact, forgiven him. He has not had an easy life. He is paying for his sins. In fact, I think he's paying for the sins of others as well.

My mother, on the other hand, has not been granted my forgiveness. I am realizing that I still have anger towards her; the woman who made me her sacrificial lamb, who didn't protect me, and who, to this day, defends that man. It is she who I must find the strength to forgive. It is she who is going to force me to finally admit that maybe, just maybe, I need to see a therapist. Christ. What a thought.

* I should mention that I've had a glass of wine (or 3) prior to and/or while writing this post. Therefore, my spelling and gramar may be suspect. However, thanks to the wine, I don't care.