Whom Do I Hate?
I have spent most of my life hating myself and dealing with crippling shame.
The flip side has been not having a clue as to who I even am.
How can I hate someone I don’t know (even if that mystery person is myself)? How does that work? “I hate you, whoever the heck you are!” Huh?
I am at a point in my psychoanalysis where I am seeing very deeply that my real fury is at my parents, like when they were completely willing to leave me at the hospital after almost killing me. Their lack of concern for my wellbeing is profound. I am on my own and always have been. My brothers and I raised ourselves, with mixed results at best, and total clusterf**k lives at worst. We are older now and the results have not been pretty. We did what we knew. When we knew better, we did better–often dealing with the disapproval of perpetually immature parents. I reached a point where if my parents approved of something I did that I seriously questioned the wisdom of proceeding in that direction.
My basic problem is that I adapted so perfectly as a child to my parents’ expectations, all of which were dysfunctional. They were so amazed at how easy to manage I was. Of course. I tried very hard not be a bother. I succeeded for the most part. I internalized their disapproval of my real self. I hated myself and self-mutilated. I was perfectly adapted to their dysfunction. Greeeeaaaat. I have no family legacy I would ever want to inflict on a next generation.
The best decision I ever made was to not have children. I knew how miserable I was and never wanted to be responsible for creating anyone who felt the way I did. Even in middle school, I thought of myself as the Harry Truman of birth control: the buck stops here. This ends now. I never wanted kids and knew that from the beginning of my reproductive years. Marrying a man with the Huntington gene only solidified my knowing and resolve. People ask me if I ever secretly wanted a baby. Nope. Never. Not for a nanosecond.
Now I am past the half-century mark, still having no clue as to who I am and mysteriously hating this unknown being. I see now the ridiculousness of hating someone I don’t know–even myself.