DIFFERENT DEGREES OF MENTAL BLOCKS

 Several days have past since this next series of posts were penned and forgotten in drafts.  As each post constitutes a natural stream of consciousness, they’ll all be related but not published in any particular order.  So okay, here we go—

All quotes appearing in this post were copied from the novel I’m currently reading:  Any Day Now by Robyn Carr

“He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.

—Friedrich Nietzsche”

During my earliest years of childhood, mental blocks became myway to bear personal  experiences concerning death that proved so terrifying as to overwhelm my three year old inability to process, absorb and remember whatever had overwhelmed my emotional sense of safety—to differing degrees, meaning that my defense system had blocked certain traumatizing experiences as completely as happens with victims of amnesia while other experiences were foggily remembered though the emotion I’d felt at the time remained completely anesthetized.

“Sexual assault came up a lot in rehab.” She shook her head sadly. “I never would have imagined how hard it is, how much shame is involved in rape.”

“He knows about a lot of my checkered past, but I didn’t have the nerve to tell him this one.”

“Why?” Maggie asked.

Sierra lifted her chin. “I get that it’s not my fault but it’s very hard not to feel dirty. It’s like he stained me and I can’t get the stain off.”

“I ran the gamut. Depression, anxiety, insomnia, you name it. It’s the rare person who doesn’t flirt with all the disorders.”

“You don’t have to go through this alone.”

But I did have go through traumatizing experiences (inclusive of sexual assaults) alone being that at the age of three my defense system had begun to favor the defense mechanism of mental blocks, which erected an impenetrable wall, separating my memory into two completely isolated compartments (as if a combo refrigerator/freezer bad stored flash frozen memories of terrifying experiences on several subconscious shelves in real time, leaving the fresh produce of the conscious portion of my brain literally in the dark about the dangers associated with leaving a well-loved little girl (that would be me) in the care of an adult who’d won my trust as well as the trust of my extended family as a whole.

“He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.

—Friedrich Nietzsche”

(That excerpt From Any Day Now by Robyn Carr. Was worth repeating.)

And now I know why I’d felt need to write the post that led us, day by day, to today’s reveal—though I know I’ve been living through a terrifying experience, over these past three years—I can not yet FEEL the suppressed emotion associated with metastatic cancer, which will one day be openly expressed once my defense system no longer feels need to protectively (proactively) stuff my naturally fearful reactions into my subconscious, thus protecting my spirit’s capacity to awaken feeling grateful for every passing day left for me to cheerfully enjoy with my precious family and treasured friends. 

Over these past three years, I’ve been living in a self protective bubble where lovically, my state of emotional denial cannot feel the despairing depressive pain associated with leaving everyone I love in the depths of grief when I die.  Need I say that I just referenced my loved one grief—not my own.

If I had 20 additional years (as did my mother) or even ten (as did my father) I’d not feel myself leaving so much undone with my grandchildren since it’s clear to me that I have developed the insight driven intuitive powers that enable the young to develop self control by following the role modeling, calming grace of well practiced lessons that children need to garner from loving adults, who feel deeply invested in their raising.

I was a deeply loved child by several very good people.  However, temper tantrums on the parts of adults with adults terrified me into submission in hopes that those terribly loud voices and vein popping facial expression would not turn their furious attention toward me …

Despite those early developmental experiences, I in no way seened like a fearful child.  On the other hand as all does not prove to be what is seemingly seen on the surface of one’s life, my inner life must have been deeply considered by those well trained in healing PTSD via EMDR therapy.

Annie