Introspection
I'm not sure where I'm going with this, so who knows where I might end up.
I've been thinking about something my counsellor said to me a couple of years ago. At the time, my ex and I were on the verge of breaking up. I'd asked him to go to counselling for a couple of years, but he always said I was the one with the problem, not him. When I said I was leaving, he agreed to go. By then, I knew counselling would just affirm my need to leave. It made him want to work harder to stay together. We went for 4 months before I finally left. After 7 years, I was tired. But that's moot now.
I went to some sessions by myself. There isn't a lot I remember from my childhood. Just bits and pieces. I don't remember anything about one of the houses we lived in. Only that it had a carport out the front on the right hand side that was against the neighbours fence and there was a vine that grew all over it. I remember a long, dark hall that lead to what I think was the kitchen at the back of the house. Of the inside, all I can picture is that hall, and I see it as black. (As as aside, this reminds me of Cori's post about how she used to climb the wall of her rental and stay there. My brother and I used to do that in the hall of my dad's house....climb all the way to the ceiling and stay there.) The house was on a corner at the top of a very steep hill and the road was split down the middle. I remember getting that rollercoaster sensation in my stomach when we drove down that road and up the other side.
I think that's the house we were living in when my mum met her boyfriend. Bits and pieces come to mind when I think of the house we spent most of our school days in. I don't recall ever being happy. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I remember my mum calling me a filthy slut. I don't know why she did, but it's one thing that's always stuck out in my mind. Ironic in that I didn't even know what sex was till my mid teens and I only discovered that by force. But that's not something I wanna talk about right now.
From that house, I remember mum's boyfriend putting a bar stool through the ceiling, endless screaming fights where my mum would end up crying and physically hurt in some way, I remember a scene with a large knife, but it's vague. I remember my brother and I sitting on the back steps of the house waiting for one of our sisters to come pick us up at all hours of the night while the fighting went on inside. I remember mum's boyfriend would come up from the pub at the end of our street, drunk, chain smoking and obnoxious. I remember the day my brother and I were standing on the footpath and a blue car drove past with a blonde woman driving. He said, "that's Glenn's girlfriend". I just stared.
I moved out at 16. I had two options. Stay, and go to the conservatorium of music and study opera, or follow my boyfriend to Sydney. I chose Sydney and moved down there just after I finished school. I just needed to be as far away as I could, as soon as I could. Not going to the Con is my one regret, but it's part of what shaped me, so it wasn't a mistake.
So, I was in counselling and I hadn't even told the counsellor half this stuff - which is just the tip of the iceberg. I did her a drawing of the house with the dark hallway as best I could. I told her I didn't feel grown up, that I didn't feel like an adult. At the time, I was 29 and had had a live-in boyfriend (3 consecutive) since age 17, so I'd always had an older person's guidance and protection.
She told me that I felt like that because I hadn't had a childhood. I grew up too fast, experienced too much, too young and had an 'old' mind before my time. True, I never really related to anyone my own age. Never did much of the high school kid stuff. I was way more serious and involved with the bigger picture than I ought to have been. I couldn't take a joke if it in any way made someone feel bad, no matter how seemingly funny. In my head I'd be screaming thoughts of compassion for each other, understanding, love and empathy. Making fun of someone, of anything, just wasn't funny to me.
She also said that perhaps my mild narcolepsy and the constant feeling of tiredness and wanting to sleep could be related to the feeling of just wanting to block out and not deal with things. Sleep and hopefully it'll all be better when you wake.
My brother (who's 31 and also moved down here) and I have lived pretty successful, self sufficient lives, without anybody's help. For all that we went through, it's surprising we're not seriously screwed up.
But I'm 32 now and I can't get my head around it that I'm grown up. I feel like it's all pretend sometimes. That I'm going through the motions and I'm in some crazy limbo where I'm not 'young' anymore in that I have a respectable job and responsibilities and I support myself and don't do crazy shit anymore, so I don't relate to younger people as well as I could. Yet, I'm not 'old' either and I don't relate to mortgages, marriage, kids and corporate desk jobs (although I've had one).
So I feel like I'm at a point where I'm too old to hang with the young ones, but too young to relate to the older ones. I'm talking men and women. And I feel like the young ones picture me as too old, but the older ones picture me as too young.
Looking young, but feeling old, despite not feeling grown up. Limbo.
...I'm out of stuff to say for now...
I've been thinking about something my counsellor said to me a couple of years ago. At the time, my ex and I were on the verge of breaking up. I'd asked him to go to counselling for a couple of years, but he always said I was the one with the problem, not him. When I said I was leaving, he agreed to go. By then, I knew counselling would just affirm my need to leave. It made him want to work harder to stay together. We went for 4 months before I finally left. After 7 years, I was tired. But that's moot now.
I went to some sessions by myself. There isn't a lot I remember from my childhood. Just bits and pieces. I don't remember anything about one of the houses we lived in. Only that it had a carport out the front on the right hand side that was against the neighbours fence and there was a vine that grew all over it. I remember a long, dark hall that lead to what I think was the kitchen at the back of the house. Of the inside, all I can picture is that hall, and I see it as black. (As as aside, this reminds me of Cori's post about how she used to climb the wall of her rental and stay there. My brother and I used to do that in the hall of my dad's house....climb all the way to the ceiling and stay there.) The house was on a corner at the top of a very steep hill and the road was split down the middle. I remember getting that rollercoaster sensation in my stomach when we drove down that road and up the other side.
I think that's the house we were living in when my mum met her boyfriend. Bits and pieces come to mind when I think of the house we spent most of our school days in. I don't recall ever being happy. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I remember my mum calling me a filthy slut. I don't know why she did, but it's one thing that's always stuck out in my mind. Ironic in that I didn't even know what sex was till my mid teens and I only discovered that by force. But that's not something I wanna talk about right now.
From that house, I remember mum's boyfriend putting a bar stool through the ceiling, endless screaming fights where my mum would end up crying and physically hurt in some way, I remember a scene with a large knife, but it's vague. I remember my brother and I sitting on the back steps of the house waiting for one of our sisters to come pick us up at all hours of the night while the fighting went on inside. I remember mum's boyfriend would come up from the pub at the end of our street, drunk, chain smoking and obnoxious. I remember the day my brother and I were standing on the footpath and a blue car drove past with a blonde woman driving. He said, "that's Glenn's girlfriend". I just stared.
I moved out at 16. I had two options. Stay, and go to the conservatorium of music and study opera, or follow my boyfriend to Sydney. I chose Sydney and moved down there just after I finished school. I just needed to be as far away as I could, as soon as I could. Not going to the Con is my one regret, but it's part of what shaped me, so it wasn't a mistake.
So, I was in counselling and I hadn't even told the counsellor half this stuff - which is just the tip of the iceberg. I did her a drawing of the house with the dark hallway as best I could. I told her I didn't feel grown up, that I didn't feel like an adult. At the time, I was 29 and had had a live-in boyfriend (3 consecutive) since age 17, so I'd always had an older person's guidance and protection.
She told me that I felt like that because I hadn't had a childhood. I grew up too fast, experienced too much, too young and had an 'old' mind before my time. True, I never really related to anyone my own age. Never did much of the high school kid stuff. I was way more serious and involved with the bigger picture than I ought to have been. I couldn't take a joke if it in any way made someone feel bad, no matter how seemingly funny. In my head I'd be screaming thoughts of compassion for each other, understanding, love and empathy. Making fun of someone, of anything, just wasn't funny to me.
She also said that perhaps my mild narcolepsy and the constant feeling of tiredness and wanting to sleep could be related to the feeling of just wanting to block out and not deal with things. Sleep and hopefully it'll all be better when you wake.
My brother (who's 31 and also moved down here) and I have lived pretty successful, self sufficient lives, without anybody's help. For all that we went through, it's surprising we're not seriously screwed up.
But I'm 32 now and I can't get my head around it that I'm grown up. I feel like it's all pretend sometimes. That I'm going through the motions and I'm in some crazy limbo where I'm not 'young' anymore in that I have a respectable job and responsibilities and I support myself and don't do crazy shit anymore, so I don't relate to younger people as well as I could. Yet, I'm not 'old' either and I don't relate to mortgages, marriage, kids and corporate desk jobs (although I've had one).
So I feel like I'm at a point where I'm too old to hang with the young ones, but too young to relate to the older ones. I'm talking men and women. And I feel like the young ones picture me as too old, but the older ones picture me as too young.
Looking young, but feeling old, despite not feeling grown up. Limbo.
...I'm out of stuff to say for now...
posted by E in Oz at 3:06 pm
these thoughts escaped my brain at 3:06 pm
4 Comments:
oi... 4 hours of labour???
Breathe. Count. Relax.
Sal.
It's relatively horrible how well I can relate to this. And I'm almost a decade younger than you. But, as Nick Cave pointed out in a lecture on love songs, W.H. Auden pointed out that it is the traumatic experience which seperates the child from the adult. If said experience is somehow averted, then another must come to fill it's place. Perhaps the opposite is also true, if we have too much trauma, then the defining lines seem to blur together. Or perhaps, everyone is really faking at being an adult. :)
-Brad
After reading this, maybe I know why we get along so well. And maybe the blogger-generated random question for your profile is actually an astute one.
Know I'm thinking of you.
hugs,
R
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