Annie's got her gun...

For the past few weeks, I've really been struggling with myself. Struggling in a way that is unusual for me.

Normally, when I struggle with myself, it's a battle against anxiety or self-defeating thoughts. Or it's the recurring problem of trying to create a life worthy of an Eternal Return and being disappointed in myself when I don't do so.

But this most recent bit of struggling is odd. I seem to have less control over my mouth than I normally do. It would be so much better for everyone else, including myself, if I was just jabbering, suffering a fit of logorrhea or singing songs from the musical Hair!. But the things that are coming out of it are not pleasant. In fact, I might as well be quoting Bible scriptures, it is *that* ugly.

Yesterday, for example, I started pestering XGF about why she would make a commitment to some guy she's only known for 6 months when she wouldn't make one to me in the six years we were together. She said something about finding her soulmate. Instead of telling her I was happy for her, I started reading her the riot act about whatever is going on with her rather significant identity shift. You're not coming out, I told her. You're *going in.*

All nice and snarky like in tone, at that.

A few days ago, I said some hurtful things to S2, not the least of which was saying she didn't have the heart of a compulsive helper. I was talking in the context of behavior on the level of a disorder, but it was nevertheless a bad light to cast upon a woman who has blessed my life with an abundance of help over the past year and a half. (Such as when she came to care for me and walk my dog when I was ill. Or how she has comforted me in some moments of intense despair.)

And it wasn't just a matter of saying such a thing. I'm sure the head-shaking flatness of my delivery, not even bothering to dispense false humor in the process, was among the rudest things I've done in some time.

I think I might have talked about lesbian sex in front of Bubba's mom.

There was that whole cussing streak in my Play Therapy class.

And there's the persistent trouble I'm having in tolerating the sheer weenie affect of a socially feeble classmate who reminds me of JAWS I as a young adolescent. (And if you're wondeing if that description of the person in question isn't a bit harsh, suffice to to say I'm editing myself.)

Interestingly, when I play the role of counselor, I don't suffer from this problem. I can bite my tongue throughout a long discussion with a narcissistic client at work, and I can be kind and empathetic with my practicum client.

But when I step out of that role, it seems lately to have become a wild and unpredictable ride.

In the vein of Psychodynamic, I'm recognizing it as an old part of me that's outlived its usefulness. And in the vein of Narrative Therapy, I'm also externalizing this old part as a little demon that's trying to wrest control of me. I see her as an "unpleasant" intermingling of the late journalist Molly Ivans, the late and former governor of Texas Ann Richards and Wild West sharpshooter Annie Oakley. (They're all women I admire, but think how dangerous their collective Love Child could be. That's how I feel lately.)

Perhaps I am not that bad. It's not like people are complaining left and right. S2 stands up for herself. But many other people are less inclined to do so and feel more comfortable with giving me disapproving looks or ratting me out to the teacher. Or like XGF, they simply look at me with hurt in their eyes. Still others may not even notice anything.

I do not care for this situation.

It's my responsibility to change it, I know. But as someone who is *very* aware of her cognitive processing, I cannot help but note that some of this behavior is being generated from an unconscious source.

For example, I am not aware of any thoughts of jealousy around XGF's new relationship. I feel concerned about her for reasons I stated, but it has not been a part of my conscious thought process -- in other words, nothing I've been brooding over or even feeling concerned about -- to question her sense of commitment to me retroactively. I mean, seriously, *WHAT-ever.* I know that relationship we had was real. It's still there, just different. But having recognized the problems we had, we each moved on. When it comes to her life and her choices, I truly am not jealous.

Not in my conscious realm, anyway. Apparently, some part of my unconscious feels differently, and it managed to surface at lunch yesterday.

So yeah, there's shit like that, flowing from some hidden places inside of me and flying outward toward the world.

Meanwhile, another more rational part of me is observing all of this and asking the Whole of Me: What the fuck, dude?

There was an article I read back in my Couples Therapy class in which the author spoke of the multiplicity of selves we have within us and how they rear their heads at predictable and unpredictable times. What's more, they interact with any countless multiplicity of selves that exist within the person to whom we're relating.

So what you are seeing, when you see me suddenly go off, is ... well, what is she?

Let me think about that for a minute.

She's ... the angry teen-ager, strangely hormonal and utterly lacking in awareness of or concern for the people around her. This is a girl who was really tired of getting beaten up. She was 16 and still being strapped with a leather belt on a regular basis, still getting punched and kicked and hair-pulled by her parents. Or 13 and spitting blood from her punched up mouth onto the white terrazo floor and hoping that dramatic color difference would freeze the next blow before it landed.

She was frustrated and angry. I mean, really fucking angry. And as defensive as can be. She's a tough character. Brazen and bold and wanting to yell at everyone -- and sometimes doing so -- THIS IS THE AMITYVILLE HORROR HOUSE! GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! I AM SO *SICK* OF THIS SHIT! YOU CANNOT TREAT ME LIKE THIS! YOU CAN'T!

To which her dad would throw the phone at her head and yell, "Go on and call someone! They'll tell you what the law says. They law says a parent can do *whatever* he wants to his kids!"

She didn't know any better. She believed him because he was always right. (And also because she believed she would be killed if she actually did make the call.)

And then, faced with the choice between running away and staying, she ... stayed. And just kept taking that shit. Kept taking all of it for everyone else, and just biding her time until college would help her get away.

In the midst of this, she didn't have the sense to see that she was also very sad. That beneath all this anger was profound sadness and disappointment of being handed over, by life itself, to this particular collection of crazy parents and their crazy children. She often felt like she and her youngest brother were the only real "humans" in the family. And the two of them probably only "barely human" at that, because you don't grow up in this environment without being made a mutant by all the poison in the environment.

The Notorious M.O.M. once asked her marriage counselor why my father beat me up so much, and the counselor, who knew me during these years, replied, Because she was the strongest one.

Although the curious thing about the unconscious is that we never really know *what* therein is driving our behavior, I'd put money on the idea that *that girl* is the one crawling out of my woodwork.

All the defenses I (rightfully) erected in my early life still exist within me in one form or another today -- some muted, some exaggerated, some dormant. Now the angry, tough-talking, brazen FUCK-YOU-ALL teen-ager has become exaggerated at a time when she is not actually needed.

There is, within me, a deeply loving heart that is trying to emerge from its chrysalis, and my guess is that this teen-ager is frightened by that change. She's striking out capriciously. The fact of her hurting people for whom I care deeply -- and both XGF and S2 fit that bill -- is in my opinion a sign of her desperation. If she can get those people who have done such a remarkable job at seeing my true loving nature beneath all the bluster of my daily presentation... -- if she can get THEM to question and fear and not trust me, she wins.

She wins the security of always being beaten. (Even if she herself is doing it now instead of those who once did.)

She wins the privilege of always getting to be broken. (Such as it is. Something of an excuse, anyway.)

She wins the honor of always pushing away the people closest to her. (That way, they can't actually do any damage.)

She wins the distinction of being "strong." (Good for her...)

I, the more fully developed self, am not interested in seeing that outcome.

Perhaps it's not to my advantage to see that she loses, however. Certainly, she protected me once. Her angry spirit is what kept this body getting up and fighting back, the better to protect it than just lying there and taking that pummel. She might have been beaten less if she'd shut her mouth, but the truth is that no one deserves such violence. Under the circumstances, I think her spirit was remarkable, even if it was a bit ... one-dimensional.

My physical body is three-dimensional, but these days, the totality of my "self" exists in considerably more dimensions than that. I'm complex and nuanced and capable of uttering golden words from a silver tongue. I'm loving and powerful and fairly self-aware. I'm intelligent and, heaven help me, I even seem to be getting wiser.

And yet, I find myself lately being sideswiped by this angry teen, my mouth running amok.

She's a tenacious fighter who is fighting for her life. Truth is, she deserves to keep it. I cannot extinguish that which once saved me from being choked or beaten to death. I may actually need her again someday.

But how do I put her to bed in the meantime? How do I acknowledge and honor what she has done for me while also letting her know her services are currently not needed? How do I kindly ask her to step aside and stop blocking all the light that would come from my heart if she weren't casting such a strong shadow?

This is my struggle.