Transferrence
Despite intensive therapy on the subject, I believe there is still some transferrence going on my part of the current crisis. I accept the sucking black hole I created in 1977 with the therapy rituals which officiated the start of my "emotional orphanhood," but. . . Like an amputee who still feels sensations in the missing limb, I still crave the amputated family. Yes, in-laws would be a natural channel for that craving, but. . . Don't much feel like telling that body of stories just now.
Fast forward a few decades and uncounted hours of therapy and I find myself dealing with envy for the RN who calls Mister Surname, "Daddy" and whom he, in turn, refers to as, "My daughter." His older daughter, of course. She even drives Missus Surnames prized Caddilac and runs a business Mister Surname has invested heavily in. DOD (Daughter of Delusion) even runs the family holidays. There have even been questions of whether they have ". . .officially tied the knot yet." DOD's obese spandex and acryllic wig style are an interesting contrast to Missus Surname's high end fashion. They both have the same taste in cars. She had to hire immigrants to do the actual care of Missus Surname. Missus Surname hated her to her last breath. The immigrant woman who was hired to actually care for Missus Surname is his second daughter.
Both of Mister Surname's daughters of delusion are candidates for exploitation charges. In addition to their sizeable salaries, they have pumped him for business capital, citizenship lawyers and who knows what else.
But none of that is any of my business and I don't much want it to be. I am an environmentalist who likes her pockets clean enough to put her hands in. I am okay with the daughters of delusions getting all of Mister Surname's oil fortune. I am okay letting them handle the Karma of profitting by it.
The nugget I am working through here, in my own side of the messy business is that, yes, I am feeling the psychosis of transferrence. My heart wants family enough to do stupid things for it. I am craving parental approval with no logical hope of the expectation ever being met.
Processing from the safety of my own side of the silver platter. . .
Replies
hummm...that's a lot of stuff to deal with, dear hubby with Rn, and 2 DOD sisters? Hope he has a brother somewhere in that mix of sick hormones. Family, an old saying, you are stuck with your family, you can choose your friends. My family, toxic to the bone. My life of co-dependency began with jumping through hoops to get approval or to feel appreciated. I was known as "the wicked or stupid little girl". The alcohol was the poison of choice...I hand my first drinks around 4/5 sipping out of unfinished scotch and soda...trying to be a grown up...ha ha. There was not one, but Many elephants in the living room, felt by all, never acknowledged. And the life long consequence, probably until death took my family was to fix, make peace, and be the caretaker. Funny though, what I wouldn't give for another insane dinner, alcoholic rant or just another put down. I did manage through years of therapy forgive, and accept they were doing the best they could at the time. I didn't quite get that until I had my son, who made me more nuts than the bipolar...continues today, however I've detached with love for him, letting go of the need to control his behavior or have him do what "I" think he should do...no matter what he'll do what he wants. Sometimes I wish/hope for a real man to come into my life. Wonder what that would be like...haven't been on a date for 16yrs...last relationship was when John was four. Trying to love myself today to replace what outside complicated sources might bring? Kind of scary! Take care, ML
The bees on the back porch are hostile today. Hostile enough that I am typing this on the front porch instead of my usual perch on the back porch. Their distress has been building while J has been busy dealing with the sale of another real estate asset, etc., to keep Mister Surname's needs financed a short while longer. After the detached spousely exchange over today's part of the transaction(s), I asked if he had noticed the bees. He had. He told me his plan for it and I listened politely until he asked if I had thoughts. I haven't had the courage to have many bee biz opines since the bee mobbing during the farm sale. The bees now feel like HIS business. I am not sure I did too well at containing my emotional response to the question. Seemed to me like it was asked in the Mister Surname family spirit. Dangle the question then shoot down whatever response is given.
Seemed. . . I am not holding too steady through all of this, either. Officially none of my business, but. . . The heart goes where it goes, whatever the officials that get thrown at it.
Our shared bee magic is gone. I miss it. Back to business as usual. Mister here, Missus there. . .
I am having fantasies of solo wilderness treks. . . I ain't housebroken enough for this crap. Not sure I am even trainable.
Only two DOD's. The RN is the head "daughter."
I understand the craving for family, ML. Been lonesome enough to check in on my estranged clan more than once since the "Therapy Funeral" in 1977. Sigh. . .
Not everybody was meant to have family.
Agree!
Of your challenges, glad to read the 'funeral' for contact was in 1977.
Cross patch, close the latch, sit by the fire and spin
when understanding has been reached,
open the door and let the friends come in....
For me, bumble bees are wonderful at creating pollination that helps everything grow and blossom. In your case, I'd call the bees 'carpenter bees' they destroy by drilling holes into wood until it rots. Sincerely hope your porch is built from cedar, the carpenter bees can not drill through them!
All the best to you and yours during this Very Challenging time and events. ML