It is a virus that infects everything I do. How precisely does one heal that? It's been years, and I've only gotten so far as facing it. The way forward is riskier. How do I handle this self-directed exposure therapy without burning myself? It is an intricate dance, but the only way to get rid of this inherited, unwanted Narcissistic defense is to be as ashamed as I feel.
Authentically ashamed.
Friday, September 12, 2003 4:49 AM
The World Over Tells Me: I shouldn't be this happy.
I'm alone, broke, and fat. I don't even have good skin.
So, what sort of twisted biology prevails, that I've managed to sneak into the world of self-satisfaction, just like that?
My choice.
I joked with a friend of mine a night ago that despite all of the above negative traits, I still manage to collect guys. That's not good for my ego, and it's certainly not good to reinforce aspects of myself that need to be changed -- muchless reinforce my social laziness.
Back when I was younger, and I first let people get to know me..... I had guys falling in love with me all the time. Doesn't that sound absurdly egotistical? Well, it's not to me. I'm quite detached from the whole proceedings, and I know exactly why they did. Well, I think I do.
I was a counselor. I was both a counselor and a friend. A friend and a mentor. A mentor and a superstar with words and emotions. So humble, so humble. ;-)
These were all young guys. Young in heart, young in experience. The poetic youth. And my body was good enough, apparently, to satisfy the rest of what my brilliant heart seemed to promise them.
The trouble is -- I was all of those things. A counselor, a mentor, a friend. Detached. And just as young. Just as poetic. Just as innocent.
It does amuse me that I have friends who long for companionship, and I'm the one that meets people. It bothers me, and maybe sometimes them, that nothing really has ever caught my eye long enough to poke me out of my predetermined social reclusion. What a waste of attention, no?
It's like I don't even know the rules, muchless respect them.
The more ugly I get, the more beautiful I apparently am.
I have been desperate to make my outside match my inside -- neglected, masculine, lonely -- and terrified that if I did not have this ugliness to cling to, the world would seal me in this narcissistic tomb built by my Parents. I was right. I am always more right than I am willing to accept.
Psychotherapist Number 1 chose to focus on the Narcissistic Defense. Psychotherapist Number 2 on the Vulnerability beneath it. But neither came anywhere near the shame. I had no words for it then: that paralysing pain.
I was, and still am, afraid others would reject me as much as I do.
Joseph Burgo is a shrink. He writes a blog that deals with 'primal shame' - by which he roughly means being ashamed of who we are in ourselves rather than what we do.
ReplyDeleteHe is one of the few people I know who talks about this stuff.
Thanks, Evan. I read his blog a while ago (gosh probably longer ago than I realise) and it is nice to be reminded of it at this point in my journey. I really needed to hear someone else so confidently assert the concept of primal shame. That he does it from a psychoanalytical perspective makes it especially accessible to me. I, too, see people as unique individuals who rely on a spectrum of defenses to cope with our environments.
DeleteWouldn't it be nice if more people talked about this stuff?