Psychic Vampires


Today was Harry day. I really wish Harry would read this Blog. It would be ever so helpful because one hour a weak just ain’t cutting it. There is too damn much going on in my life. I’ve got the shit that fgoes on here at the Three Threes that gets intertwined in my mother shit and I have to talk about that.

I mean how much of a coincidence can it be that I’d meet Gus (names changed to protect the guilty) Gus is someone I really like. He’s smart and funny and he wears berets. How cool is that?

Well, one day Gus and I get to talking and it turns out that Gus and I were raised in the same damn obscure little religious sect. The fundamentalist fundamentalists. Not only that but out of the blue one lovely spring day Gus tells me of his own abusive home life.
WTF, do I have “confess your worst possible horror story here” written on my forehead? I have never indicated I came from such a background. I am known as Ms Sunshine around here to most people. A happy person. I am very careful about who I tell what. I do not want to become a one woman support group because in the past, that is the way my life has gone.

I made up my mind when I moved here that I was not going to let that happen. I was not going to invite unhealthy people into my inner circle. That’s why I avoid most of the women here. They aren’t healthy. They have too many problems they aren’t dealing with. They are Psychic vampires. I’m very careful about who I spend time with.

And here Gus was pouring his heart out to me about his ISSUES. I listened because I thought men were different. They told you what the deal was and then they got on with other things. But nooooo, that’s all Gus wanted to talk about, the church and the abuse. Eventually I did share because I finally told him I thought he needed professional help. He declined and continued to use me as his sounding board. Then I got firm. I told him I was not a therapist and I didn’t want to be. I thought he was going to cry that night.

Larry said that men told women their issues because that was a way to get close to them. Sort of here is my weakest most vulnerable self, now you will feel sorry for me and hug me and then fuck me. UGH… To that kind of come on I say “I am not a therapist and I don’t want to be even if you think I would be a good one and solve all your problems and give you great sex in the bargain.”

He didn’t talk to me for a long time. Fine with me. He’s a Psychic Vampire. Then he started talking to me again. Saying hello at least. Then one day we had a conversation that lasted awhile. Gus is lonely. It got around to the church. I can joke about the church. I think they are funny.

Gus said “You know what gripes me about you? You aren’t bitter enough. You don’t hold a grudge against the church and I don’t understand that. You are too damn happy with your Earth Mother persona. Why are you happy?”

I told him I chose to be. I told him I fought for my happiness and it was hard won through therapy. I told him I thought he was depressed and medication might help. I offered to give him the name of an agency. Once again he spurned that advice.

This was after I swerved away from talking about the abuse. Mine and his. My question is how do I tell a man who has been so damaged by people who were jsut as warped by religion as my mother was that I will not be his personal therapist without being a bitch and feeling guilty. Harry said to do it just like I did it last time and refuse to feel guilty. Right.

I’m fine all the way up to guilt. I was programmed to feel guilty about almost everything.

This week someone told me not to worry about the gossip that I was a nice person and it didn’t matter what the gossips said about me. What gossip? What the hell have I done now that everyone is buzzing about? I don’t have a clue but instant guilt. Add water and I will obsess and be a basket case.

Of course I will behave as if I don’t give a damn because if I sit and analyze everything, rationally, I don’t give a damn and I am not going to let emotions that were drilled into me by crazy people rule my life. Furthermore I am not going to let the Gossip Mavens in this place decide how I am going to live my life.  I told the person who was trying to start this trouble (why else say this shit to me) that I did not worry about the gossip in this crazy building because the way I look at it the people who are gossipping don’t have a life except for the gossip and I do so I am doing them a service by giving them something to gossip about.

I am a rational person. I take pride in operating from my rational mind rather than getting hooked into my emotional childhood and staying there.  That just leads to getting emotional in the here and now about things I can’t do anything about.  If only those hooks could be surgically removed.  But they can’t so I will always wonder what in hell the Gossip Mavens were gossiping about (IF they were and the person who wanted to gossip about the Gossip Mavesn wasn’t full of it and just trying to start trouble) but mostly I ain’t going to let it stop me from being me.  right?  right.
I hope Gus doesn’t try to dump on me anytime soon. I am going to have to practice saying I am not a therapist and I don’t want to be in my head every time I see him until I don’t feel guilty. And to say it sweetly with a loving smile so I don’t have any worries about coming off as a bitch. Oh yeah, and have Harry’s card ready. <heh>

B

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After my father died in 1979 my mother began playing a game with me I eventually named “Blame Bill and Iola.” It actually began before that but it began in earnest in 1979 when she filed for divorce and my Father had the audacity to up and die on her six weeks later before she could get him into court and air all the dirty linen.

This may or may not have been linked to the fact that I had ended up on the psych ward and was being treated for depression in 1978 and had partially confessed the family dirty linen to “The Pink Shrink” (everyone who is anyone will remember HER. She always wore pink and she was our circuit rider counselor affectionately referred to as the pink shrink. I wonder if she knew that?) I think it was.

She really upped the ante after I had moved to Wisconsin and been living there for a couple of years and started digging around in my psyche with a little more enthusiasm and with more experienced therapists in the early 80s. Plus I had written a term paper about incest that I had given her to read that talked about the complicity of the mothers. Every time I went to Nebraska to visit we spent most of our alone time talking about how miserably my father had treated her and abused me and how Iola was to blame for the fact that my Mother did not respond appropriately when I disclosed the incest.

All the misery in the world was Bill and Iola’s fault. oh sigh… what can we do? woe and sorrow…

I finally told her I did not want to play that game anymore. She said it wasn’t a game. I said whatever, I didn’t want to do it anymore, that I had worked through my shit with my father and that if she was still needing to work through stuff she needed to go back to therapy. She was miffed and she did try to play the game but I was firm.

So what has that got to do with sparing the rod? Well, in the course of blaming my father for everything my mother told me this anecdote:

I got my first spanking when I was six weeks old. The reason? I would not quit crying in church so my father took me out and bared my little bottom and spanked me.

SIX WEEKS OLD. I weighed 8lbs and 2oz when I was born so probably weighed right around 9 pounds. My father was a big man. 6’2″ probably over 200lbs even then and certainly strong because he lifted weights when he was in the service.

If this wasn’t a testimony to his insanity and the fact that he should have never been left alone with a child again, I do NOT know what was. But did my mother take me and leave? Did she even consider it? No she did not.

She was upset but it never occurred to her that she should protect her child and get the hell out of dodge. In fact, she went on to have three more children with this maniac.

She married a man, a boy really, that her mother disapproved of who came from a family she herself disapproved of who had recently been discharged from the military because of mental health problems. By this time she had no doubt been the victim of his temper herself on more than one occasion. In fact, I’m sure of it. She told me so. And he beat her only child in public when that child was six weeks old.

What kept her from running home to Mama who would have been more than happy to help her and had the means? Want my opinion? Of course you do. PRIDE. Insufferable pride.