Another Afterburn Moment

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

I had what I suppose could be called a productive therapy session this evening.  My therapist chose to lead me through a process in which I interacted with younger versions of myself.  The particular ages of these younger versions of myself corresponded to periods of time in which I can vividly recall feeling a high level of anxiety, fear, sadness, dread or a similar affective state.  There were a number of younger selves I engaged with.  They were aged three, nine, fourteen, twenty-five and thirty.

I suppose the age of three stands out because that was the time when I suppose my little mind first began experiencing the distinct impression that my parents’ marriage was riven with conflict…and would not ultimately last.  Can a three year old come to such a sharp and nuanced conclusion regarding the quality of his parents’ relationship?  I suppose it is possible because I consistently identify that age as one among a number that was distressing for me.

The age of nine stands out in my mind precisely because it doesn’t really stand out in my mind…at all.  As I have recounted previously in my blog my father was nearly taken from me in the summer of 1982 only a few months before I ultimately turned nine years old.  Between my ninth and tenth birthdays lies a vast chasm of pristine blankness.  If I were to look through photos from that year of my life I might find myself recalling particular moments more distinctly.  But I can recall the overarching ‘thematic’ feeling that characterized that year of my life.  It was a quiet form of anticipatory dread.  I didn’t expect to live to my adulthood.  I’ll return to this topic later.

Fourteen was a difficult year because I was entering my adolescence.  And yet I wasn’t given the quality attention I needed as I began this important time of transformation.  My most basic survival needs were fulfilled on a consistent basis but I nonetheless felt emotionally adrift.  My father and stepmother were riveting much of their attention on my newly born half-brother.  And so I made the difficult journey into the life of a high school student feeling unsure of myself and insufficiently attended to at home.

At the age of twenty-five I embarked on a new adventure when I moved to San Francisco.  I recall I wanted to have the “Big Gay Adventure” by living in one of the gayest places on Earth.  It was an immense leap of faith that informed my decision to relocate to ‘Gay-Land’.

At the age of thirty I embarked on more formal education.  I came under the direction of a person who would become a dear friend and mentor.  The future course of my life decisively changed in that year.

Now another birthday is upon me.  And I am giving myself the challenge of listening to these varied earlier versions of me in a truly intensive way.  It feels a bit overwhelming when I contemplate what I am ultimately doing.

I spoke earlier about how I thought I would die before I reached adulthood.  The grief I still carry within me derives in part from a truncated childhood that too often felt a bit like living in a war zone.  When I left therapy this evening I had this strange feeling as I walked to the bus stop.  I felt as if I was falling even though the Earth was firmly beneath me.  I felt a bit disoriented during my short walk.  I wondered if I was having something of an out-of-body experience.  Or was I instead having a very ‘in my body’ experience?  It seemed as if that nine year old I once was had a loudspeaker and was drowning out the voices of my other younger versions of myself.  I could resoundingly hear him exclaiming how terrified he was to be growing up with a man who effectively came back from the dead…but did not change.  It was as if I grew up with zombies.  And hanging around zombies too long has a way of turning you into one as well.

It’s no wonder I have felt immense sadness in my life.  And it’s no wonder I have felt genuinely stuck in immense sadness on occasion.  Who emerges from a childhood such as the one I had without finding it challenging to not be permanently infected with an incurable strain of cynicism?

As the Metro Transit green line carries me on my last trip of the day I can’t help but feel a bit dizzy.  Therapy is designed to shake up your life and heal that which has too long burdened us.  I still am waking up to the fact of how long I felt burdened…and how good I had become at dissociating from my pain.