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Family of Origin
Hey, Cedar, or anyone interested in FOO (Family of Origin) issues. Cedar, WHY NOW???
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<blockquote data-quote="Copabanana" data-source="post: 661163" data-attributes="member: 18958"><p>In my case, the self-condemnation is wordless.</p><p></p><p>For me, it just is.</p><p></p><p>This week or last I came to the decision that I would ask for psychotropic medications.</p><p></p><p>I had not found a way to get out of bed and stay out. Each time my son seemed vulnerable again, any steps I had taken, any functioning I had achieved was again wiped away. This has happened dozens of times. Dozens of times I had taken steps to change. Doing this or that I had felt I was beyond the worst. Only to go right back to bed. To start over.</p><p></p><p>I had begun to believe that only a biological intervention could help me.</p><p></p><p>I first went to bed 2.5 years ago when my mother started screaming. I got up to take care of my mother as she died and went to bed again when she did. How many times has it been that I have gone back to bed? Dozens. This is almost 5 percent of my life.</p><p></p><p>I started looking at myself as if my condition was so intrinsic to me as to be biochemical. Even starting to think of an atypical depression akin to that experienced by those with bipolar illness, in their depressive episodes.</p><p></p><p>What I think now is this. I may be regressing to a state that is pre-verbal, at least to a time I had few words.</p><p></p><p>It seems Cedar that you do have words, that you actually speak to yourself cruelly as part of your punishment. I do not.</p><p></p><p>When I feel as I do at the low points, there are no words there, and words do not help me or motivate me to get out of it. </p><p></p><p>I am absolutely felled and subdued by this punishing feeling.</p><p></p><p>And the only thing that stops it is a Sleeping Beauty kiss.</p><p></p><p>Instantly I can become almost happy <em>if I hear my son's </em>voice <em>and it is not mean, and he sounds OK.</em></p><p></p><p>Cedar, what I think you are saying is that the punishment feels what they call ego-syntonic. It meshes just exactly with who we think we are, at that moment. Perfectly fitting, just exactly right. It unlocks a place in us that is ready and waiting. For punishment. Cruel punishment.</p><p></p><p>As if there are receptors waiting in our brain that are shaped and formed exactly to receive self-condemnation and self-abuse.</p><p></p><p>Because sometimes there is no resistance in us at all to the judgment and sentence. No dispute. No conversation. We just lie down and pull down our own pants, to be whipped.</p><p></p><p>In my case I as if die to myself. I like voluntarily climb onto the gurney to receive my fatal injection.</p><p></p><p>I think you are right that this happens in such a beautifully synchronized manner because of our identifications with our mothers. There was a time when the only way we knew who we were and what we were about was through identification with our mothers. We did things like she did, and we were who she told us we were. A time when there was as if a direct affective link between her feelings and our own.</p><p></p><p>Like little scenes learned by tiny actors, we put these scripts away somewhere inside us, at a time when we lacked the skills or capacities to understand, evaluate or reject them. These brutal, tragic scenes or speeches or reenactments, we store away as part of ourselves.</p><p></p><p>These are basic components of who we have come to be and are. In times that are normal, these internal prototypes function as self-talk by which we regulate our behavior and selves. They may feel slightly noxious and unpleasant because we feel shame or guilt or self-disgust or fleeting self-hate. As you describe, they shape our sense of ourselves, what becomes important to us, sometimes the only thing that can be important.The only things we allow ourselves to want.</p><p></p><p>In times of crisis, it seems in my case, they have come to run the show a cruel master of ceremonies in a circus, with a whip. They no longer help me function, or to achieve, they have killed me off, to want or have anything at all. They have become a death sentence. It seems I do not deserve to live for failing my mother and my child.</p><p></p><p>This is all mind-spinning, that something so powerful could operate in my mind, our minds.It seems almost as if we have touched some third rail, gotten in touch with a power, heretofore unknown. There is a scariness about knowing. A vulnerability. Like knowing this, in itself deserves punishment.</p><p>Here are my thoughts on this. We have to assume that your sister's psyche has elements that correspond to yours and to your mother's. Except in her case, you were there first, so her psyche is shaped by interactions with both your mother and with you.</p><p></p><p>There was a time when she existed only in space, in crevices, where you did not. She existed only in the not-Cedar space. She was an energetic and smart little girl who craved to be seen, to be heard, to be correct. She craved to fill the not-Cedar space. To win some of the little approval and kindness your mother had to give, if she had any at all. She craved what SWOT calls a win. The goes for the gold, in relation to you Cedar. She always has, she always win. She wants to know better, know more, be more. If we look at the little girl she once was, this is only a craving to be somebody and to feel good.</p><p></p><p>It only got ugly because this quality was taken over and manipulated and twisted by your mother. And because your sister, it seems, never moved on, in feeling and believing that she exists only in the not-Cedar spaces. And never moved much beyond this.</p><p></p><p>Thank you Cedar. I am glad you are back. Hi SWOT. I will check in with you later.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Copabanana, post: 661163, member: 18958"] In my case, the self-condemnation is wordless. For me, it just is. This week or last I came to the decision that I would ask for psychotropic medications. I had not found a way to get out of bed and stay out. Each time my son seemed vulnerable again, any steps I had taken, any functioning I had achieved was again wiped away. This has happened dozens of times. Dozens of times I had taken steps to change. Doing this or that I had felt I was beyond the worst. Only to go right back to bed. To start over. I had begun to believe that only a biological intervention could help me. I first went to bed 2.5 years ago when my mother started screaming. I got up to take care of my mother as she died and went to bed again when she did. How many times has it been that I have gone back to bed? Dozens. This is almost 5 percent of my life. I started looking at myself as if my condition was so intrinsic to me as to be biochemical. Even starting to think of an atypical depression akin to that experienced by those with bipolar illness, in their depressive episodes. What I think now is this. I may be regressing to a state that is pre-verbal, at least to a time I had few words. It seems Cedar that you do have words, that you actually speak to yourself cruelly as part of your punishment. I do not. When I feel as I do at the low points, there are no words there, and words do not help me or motivate me to get out of it. I am absolutely felled and subdued by this punishing feeling. And the only thing that stops it is a Sleeping Beauty kiss. Instantly I can become almost happy [I]if I hear my son's [/I]voice [I]and it is not mean, and he sounds OK.[/I] Cedar, what I think you are saying is that the punishment feels what they call ego-syntonic. It meshes just exactly with who we think we are, at that moment. Perfectly fitting, just exactly right. It unlocks a place in us that is ready and waiting. For punishment. Cruel punishment. As if there are receptors waiting in our brain that are shaped and formed exactly to receive self-condemnation and self-abuse. Because sometimes there is no resistance in us at all to the judgment and sentence. No dispute. No conversation. We just lie down and pull down our own pants, to be whipped. In my case I as if die to myself. I like voluntarily climb onto the gurney to receive my fatal injection. I think you are right that this happens in such a beautifully synchronized manner because of our identifications with our mothers. There was a time when the only way we knew who we were and what we were about was through identification with our mothers. We did things like she did, and we were who she told us we were. A time when there was as if a direct affective link between her feelings and our own. Like little scenes learned by tiny actors, we put these scripts away somewhere inside us, at a time when we lacked the skills or capacities to understand, evaluate or reject them. These brutal, tragic scenes or speeches or reenactments, we store away as part of ourselves. These are basic components of who we have come to be and are. In times that are normal, these internal prototypes function as self-talk by which we regulate our behavior and selves. They may feel slightly noxious and unpleasant because we feel shame or guilt or self-disgust or fleeting self-hate. As you describe, they shape our sense of ourselves, what becomes important to us, sometimes the only thing that can be important.The only things we allow ourselves to want. In times of crisis, it seems in my case, they have come to run the show a cruel master of ceremonies in a circus, with a whip. They no longer help me function, or to achieve, they have killed me off, to want or have anything at all. They have become a death sentence. It seems I do not deserve to live for failing my mother and my child. This is all mind-spinning, that something so powerful could operate in my mind, our minds.It seems almost as if we have touched some third rail, gotten in touch with a power, heretofore unknown. There is a scariness about knowing. A vulnerability. Like knowing this, in itself deserves punishment. Here are my thoughts on this. We have to assume that your sister's psyche has elements that correspond to yours and to your mother's. Except in her case, you were there first, so her psyche is shaped by interactions with both your mother and with you. There was a time when she existed only in space, in crevices, where you did not. She existed only in the not-Cedar space. She was an energetic and smart little girl who craved to be seen, to be heard, to be correct. She craved to fill the not-Cedar space. To win some of the little approval and kindness your mother had to give, if she had any at all. She craved what SWOT calls a win. The goes for the gold, in relation to you Cedar. She always has, she always win. She wants to know better, know more, be more. If we look at the little girl she once was, this is only a craving to be somebody and to feel good. It only got ugly because this quality was taken over and manipulated and twisted by your mother. And because your sister, it seems, never moved on, in feeling and believing that she exists only in the not-Cedar spaces. And never moved much beyond this. Thank you Cedar. I am glad you are back. Hi SWOT. I will check in with you later. [/QUOTE]
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Hey, Cedar, or anyone interested in FOO (Family of Origin) issues. Cedar, WHY NOW???
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