When things get ugly

Addiction does terrible things to a family. It penetrates its texture with fear, anger, resentment, hatred, and above all – a poisonous mix of lies, taboos and dark secrets. When addiction enters a family, there are unwritten rules to be followed. It becomes the Lord of Lives and family members turn into obedient subjects. Do not talk about it, ever. It will bring great shame. It will destroy the oh so nice facade. It will unmask the ugly truth.

Family members turn into silent accomplices. Lies draw them close, bind them together. The unspoken gains control over them, it governs their souls. Like every taboo, addiction is socially unacceptable. So let’s pretend everything’s fine. After all, that’s what it comes down to. Addiction is a life of lies and pretense. Slowly, everyone loses touch with his own inner self. Human beings become shallow empty ghosts. Nothing left but broken shells.

It is that dreadful fear and silence, which gives addiction (codependency) power over me. Even writing anonymously, I still feel threatened, I still feel chocked by all the pain which resides inside of me. It threatens to overrule my self-control. It threatens to go off and destroy my well-guarded personality, the face I have chosen to present to the world.

I’m young, well-educated, lil’ miss sunshine. But then again…

I’ve been wondering about the sheer panic, which comes upon me whenever I meditate, sit in silence, practice yoga or bagua. More or less, practice is about relaxation, letting go, reaching to the core. What if the core is overlaid by many tight-spun webs of untruthfulness and ugliness. What if I have first to wade through all of it, before reaching anything substantial, anything soothing, anything real and beautiful? I’ll tell you what. I’m just afraid I won’t make it that far. I’m afraid I’ll break down halfway there. In her post about resistance Gartenfische got me thinking:

What am I resisting? Change? This sounds too psychoanalysis-ish, but I sense some truth in it. Maybe that’s why I don’t want to be there, on that mat, in that room, by myself. Things could get ugly. . .

Things do get ugly, I assure you. As soon as I become silent, motionless, things begin strirring inside. As if the ugliness boils and bubbles waiting to erupt like a volcano and swallow me. My heart starts racing, my body trembles, I quit practice. The pure horror of family interrupted: life with an addict is always there to haunt me. It never went away. I learned pretending not to hear, not to see, not to feel. I learned bringing myself into a state of anaesthesia where it would become bearable. But the world of anaesthesia, as funny, light-headed and friendly it may seem, is fake. That’s why I am the control-freak which I am. All I do most of the time is keeping the lid over a pot of steaming hot boiling ugliness. The problem is, the longer you opress the poisonous mix, the more the pressure rises, the bigger the explosion will be.

I’ll leave you with that, but you are welcome to share… thoughts, feelings. Anything.

How do you overcome resentment and face what is the ugliness of truth?

How do you reach the core underneath the lies?

I’ve been playing around

… with colours and themes lately So don’t be surprised if you find this place looking differently each other day. I can’t seem to chose an outfit and stick with it.

Does this trouble or irritate you? Or do you like it?

It’s become rather gloomy around here, content-wise, so I decided the place needs a nice playful header. I like plain b/w zen style, but it doesn’t appeal to me right now. I’m too messed up. In a good way. I know I’m healing.

I felt some obligation towards yogaguide for being such a faithful reader (and commenter), so I actually got on the mat yesterday. Half an hour, only, but still something. I felt my body tighten immediately and the energy beginning to flow. Thank you, girl. You’re such a good support.

Codependency or “Family interrupted”

You might have noticed that little remark about my absolutely idiotic cousin and my schizophrenic grandmother. Well, he is. But I rarely see him, so I don’t bother. And she is. She believes our baby turtles transform into human beings at night. Like, our very own TMNT. Right. Thank you, Great God of Medicine, for psychopharmaceuticals.

But that’s not what I want to write about. Just in case anyone wondered what happened to my well-behaved-deeply-spiritual Alter ego – it’s temporarily on vacation.

Codependency is hard stuff. I don’t even know where to start. There are zillions of sites and blogs on the Internet, explaining and exploring the changes our psyche suffers, when confronted with trauma and addiction. I use the word “psyche” intentionally, since it’s a more holistic concept to what the dictionary offers – mentality and mind. To me, psychology is all about the holistic concept of mind, spirit and body united.

How did I stumble upon the idea of codependency as an issue, which might concern me?

At the Room of Mama’s Own I met MPJ and I was immediately struck by her honesty and courage to face what is a life full of trauma. I’m not ready to share, but there is more than one point of contact between the two of us. So I felt familiar grounds. (Uh oh, does this sound mysterious. But it shouldn’t. I still haven’t figured out how to protect my loved ones from the eyes of malevolent readers. Information is power to control. Controlling behaviour is a part of the whole codependency thing. On the other hand… no, I’ll leave the secrets and taboos for another post.)

There, at MPJ’s, I met The Junky’s Wife. She’s smart, but even more than that, she’s straightforward.

you [addicts] see something beautiful, and you can’t help but destroy it.
(the junky’s wife)

Where it struck me. I have lived with that behaviour and endured it all my life. I know this person. The person who tortures whom he loves. It’s the burden of a Pluto-Moon-Venus conjunct, all within 2° of each other. It’s Pluto who loves with passion and destroys out of… fear? Venus as in womanhood. Moon as in emotions. Whatever. That’s a whole other post, too.

That’s what addicts do. Love and kill.

I was thinking I had closed that chapter of my life a long time ago. Only to find I haven’t. Why else would I still be obsessively controlling and caretaking, hypervigilant and perfectionist? I just didn’t make the connection. I still don’t understand completely, but I can’t seem to escape. There’s this point I stumble upon once in a while. It’s the control issue:

Control Patterns:

• I believe most other people are incapable of taking care of themselves.

• I attempt to convince others of what they “should” think and how they “truly” feel.

• I become resentful when others will not let me help them.

• I freely offer others advice and directions without being asked.

• I lavish gifts and favors on those I care about.

• I use sex to gain approval and acceptance.

• I have to be “needed” in order to have a relationship with others.

That’s 6/7. Whatever I do, I come upon this. Of course, I have achieved a certain state of self-awareness and therefore it hurts even more to run in circles. My mum (we share the same family after all) acts exactly the same and I am ever so often put off by her behaviour.

Maybe the next step of growing up is giving in to this, accepting it, working with it. Maybe some day I will come to the point, where I can forgive. My darling man suffers a lot. He brings me orange neon markers or the wrong brand of ice cream and although he’s gentle and means to help, all he gets is a minor meltdown. This has been worse in previous years, but despite my attempts to control it on the outside, the tension on the inside is eating me alive.

And every once in a while I stumble over my own grief and resentement and deep inside I know I haven’t forgiven… yet. I’m on the inner side of the circle, still.