I've been thinking a lot about why I stay this way, and have realized a big element is unresolved anger at my mother. I'm trying to fight against her by showing how miserable I am. I know there are people on this board in the same situation, although they my not realize it yet.
It goes back to old, old times when I was little and my mother would yell at me a lot. I couldn't get over it. I'd go into the world (meaning school) thinking that I don't deserve to assert any kind of desire around other people. I could have business-like dealings with others, but I was too ashamed to show any kind of self-centered desire or emotion, like just sitting next to someone and talking, or asking to go to lunch together. I'd think about her yelling and wanted to shrink into the background. And the anger may have started then and been an element. I was defenseless so the only way I had to fight back was to show how unhappy she was making me. But I'm not saying that's the complete story of what made me.
My brother took it even worse than I did, yet he never had these problems. He would fight back right there, yell, storm out, forget about it and go live his life. He's not shy at all about asserting his wants, always has lots of friends, and goes from girlfriend-to-girlfriend with almost no interruption. It might come down to brain chemistry and personality, with my mother's yelling playing into my natural inclinations. And the reinforcement is still there. My relationship with my other isn't the complete picture of my problems; we can maybe call it the frame.
Even in the depths of my unbearable misery, I get some sort of pleasure out of telling my mother how unhappy I am, and I don't let myself change since that would spoil the revenge. Rationally it doesn't make any sense. I'm not even angry at my mother, who did the best she could as a single parent with a lot of stresses and problems of her own. There were some tantrums (and I feel some anger rising as I remember, she was using her children to blow off steam), but I'm the one who latched onto them and won't let go. I just realized this yesterday night, and it was quite an experience. I had been talking with her over the phone, being miserable, she was trying to help, I was resisting, she was getting frustrated and I felt bad for making her feel bad. But I wouldn't stop it. Hmmm, I thought about what I felt, what was going on in my mind at the lowest level while on the phone with her, and about an hour later while getting some soup out of the microwave it hit me. I was angry. I can't stop my unhappiness until I give up the anger. Suddenly a lot (maybe not everything) made sense. I'm not yet sure what I'll do with this new understanding, but at least things are clearer now.
I think a lot of people reading this may need to come to the same realization.
It goes back to old, old times when I was little and my mother would yell at me a lot. I couldn't get over it. I'd go into the world (meaning school) thinking that I don't deserve to assert any kind of desire around other people. I could have business-like dealings with others, but I was too ashamed to show any kind of self-centered desire or emotion, like just sitting next to someone and talking, or asking to go to lunch together. I'd think about her yelling and wanted to shrink into the background. And the anger may have started then and been an element. I was defenseless so the only way I had to fight back was to show how unhappy she was making me. But I'm not saying that's the complete story of what made me.
My brother took it even worse than I did, yet he never had these problems. He would fight back right there, yell, storm out, forget about it and go live his life. He's not shy at all about asserting his wants, always has lots of friends, and goes from girlfriend-to-girlfriend with almost no interruption. It might come down to brain chemistry and personality, with my mother's yelling playing into my natural inclinations. And the reinforcement is still there. My relationship with my other isn't the complete picture of my problems; we can maybe call it the frame.
Even in the depths of my unbearable misery, I get some sort of pleasure out of telling my mother how unhappy I am, and I don't let myself change since that would spoil the revenge. Rationally it doesn't make any sense. I'm not even angry at my mother, who did the best she could as a single parent with a lot of stresses and problems of her own. There were some tantrums (and I feel some anger rising as I remember, she was using her children to blow off steam), but I'm the one who latched onto them and won't let go. I just realized this yesterday night, and it was quite an experience. I had been talking with her over the phone, being miserable, she was trying to help, I was resisting, she was getting frustrated and I felt bad for making her feel bad. But I wouldn't stop it. Hmmm, I thought about what I felt, what was going on in my mind at the lowest level while on the phone with her, and about an hour later while getting some soup out of the microwave it hit me. I was angry. I can't stop my unhappiness until I give up the anger. Suddenly a lot (maybe not everything) made sense. I'm not yet sure what I'll do with this new understanding, but at least things are clearer now.
I think a lot of people reading this may need to come to the same realization.
