Discovering how abnormal you are is both a relief and and a frustration. For years, I assumed I was normal enough, and by some definitions I guess I was and am. I seem to be able to put on clothes and walk around and groom myself and participate in meaningful conversations with other humans. I had quirks, but everyone has quirks.
Eventually, and this is a realization I'm not done having, I realized that I'm actually pretty messed up, it's just that I'm an operative messed up. Like a secret alcoholic, I suspect everyone around me knew something was off. But I was good enough at concealment, and the off-ness was subtle enough, and people were polite enough to avoid embarrassing me. So it didn't come up much.
A signal that I'm messed up is the still-dawning realization that I don't like my family. My family is the same operative crazy that I am. I resisted this notion at first, assuming that I was the problem, or that other people were the problem.
Then I dedicated myself to changing relationships by visiting my family more, trying to communicate, trying to become an active problem-solver. In the last couple of years, I've given up. Because no one else seemed to want to work on the problem, and this is not the sort of thing you can fix solo.
My basic assumption, which I think is solid, is that fundamentally well people like being around their families... or at least have no problem with it. Your relationships don't need to be perfect, but you want to basically like your family. Family behavior sets your assumptions for life, and these relationships are templates for all your other relationships. If you don't have ok family, you start life in a deep hole. While people around you are ascending heights, you 're clawing your way to sea level.
My templates oscillated awfully between needy and aloof. Angry and disinterested. They were not aware of this, but those are primary readings on the dashboard of my childhood. That is a horrible, toxic way to teach new humans what is important and how to behave. The fact that my brother and I are operative nonetheless is a testament to civilizing principles and divine grace.
I haven't spoken to my parents in over two years, and I think I'm supposed to feel bad about that, but mostly I feel relieved. A week ago my mother broke radio silence to tell me she's going to have open-heart surgery soon, and I didn't know what to do about that. I hear that she's pulled through ok, but mainly I'd rather not have to deal with it.
I think that might make me monstrous. But if I can find some peace and rest, I'll need to ask if monstrosity is an acceptable price.
Eventually, and this is a realization I'm not done having, I realized that I'm actually pretty messed up, it's just that I'm an operative messed up. Like a secret alcoholic, I suspect everyone around me knew something was off. But I was good enough at concealment, and the off-ness was subtle enough, and people were polite enough to avoid embarrassing me. So it didn't come up much.
A signal that I'm messed up is the still-dawning realization that I don't like my family. My family is the same operative crazy that I am. I resisted this notion at first, assuming that I was the problem, or that other people were the problem.
Then I dedicated myself to changing relationships by visiting my family more, trying to communicate, trying to become an active problem-solver. In the last couple of years, I've given up. Because no one else seemed to want to work on the problem, and this is not the sort of thing you can fix solo.
My basic assumption, which I think is solid, is that fundamentally well people like being around their families... or at least have no problem with it. Your relationships don't need to be perfect, but you want to basically like your family. Family behavior sets your assumptions for life, and these relationships are templates for all your other relationships. If you don't have ok family, you start life in a deep hole. While people around you are ascending heights, you 're clawing your way to sea level.
My templates oscillated awfully between needy and aloof. Angry and disinterested. They were not aware of this, but those are primary readings on the dashboard of my childhood. That is a horrible, toxic way to teach new humans what is important and how to behave. The fact that my brother and I are operative nonetheless is a testament to civilizing principles and divine grace.
I haven't spoken to my parents in over two years, and I think I'm supposed to feel bad about that, but mostly I feel relieved. A week ago my mother broke radio silence to tell me she's going to have open-heart surgery soon, and I didn't know what to do about that. I hear that she's pulled through ok, but mainly I'd rather not have to deal with it.
I think that might make me monstrous. But if I can find some peace and rest, I'll need to ask if monstrosity is an acceptable price.
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