The National Treasury of Me

Because of the snow I was unable to get in to his office to talk to him so we had our session over the phone. We talked about the movie The Tie That Binds and how I was uncertain which part of the little girl’s behavior was real and which part was Hollywood made. The little girl talked to her dolls and confided in them. Dr. D said little kids do that with their toys. That made me sad because I never did that, it never crossed my mind to. I mean, I didn’t have dolls but I wonder if I had them if I’d have talked to them or slept beside them. Would I have named them? Who knows.

We talked about how children identify themselves as children because they’re under the authority of adults. That’s not the only reason but that’s one of them. I commented that maybe the reason I never saw myself as a child was because my authority figure was a bit different. I didn’t have a set bedtime. I missed school whenever she felt like picking up and going somewhere just because she wanted to that day. I didn’t do a load of laundry, a sink of dishes or many household chores until my sophomore year in High School. Past the 2^nd grade I wasn’t required to clean my room. I didn’t have the regular limitations or guidelines other people my age had. What I had was a regimen of “vitamins”, “trauma training” and incest. I didn’t learn to cross the street on my own until my sophomore year which is the year I went to live with my English teacher. What an awakening that was.

Dr. D commented that my mother robbed me of my childhood. I told him I understand why he said that but it sort of minimizes the extent of damage when wrapped up in an overused phrase like that. What my mother did was rob me of my identity. Instead of seeing myself as a child I knew I was her object. Instead of learning the basics that other kids were learning I was busy talking her down from a suicidal rage or talking her out of beating my sister. When other kids giggled about their first kiss I’d been sleeping with my mother for years. The woman robbed me of natural curiosity. In her unquenchable thirst for doling out pain she robbed me of my natural ability to trust, love or feel attached to another human being. Because I was nothing but an object to her I didn’t see animals or other humans as anything more than myself, an object. She robbed me of autonomy to the point that when I finally left home I wasn’t sure I’d continue to exist. It is no exaggeration when I say I wasn’t sure if my lungs would stop breathing or if my heart would stop beating simply because she wasn’t around to keep them going. She never said it but in my eyes she was God. To say she robbed me of my childhood is like saying someone strolled into the National Treasury and pocketed a few dollars. No, she went in with full force and did her best to clean the place out.

I suppose the good thing is she wasn’t able to carry everything out. She made several trips but didn’t get everything. She left behind a few pennies which turned out to be valuable, more than the gold and silver which is so easily frittered away.

Phone Session The National Treasury of Me – Wednesday, February 10, 2010 – 4:01PM EST