I'm very aware of my weaknesses, where I think I fall short, of which there are many; many which I don't think wise to list, because then this would become a whine like a air raid siren that begins quietly and climbs to a penetrating, deafening wail.
child is full of woe. On the day I was born it also rained, so maybe
I'm not entirely to blame for my default setting. However, I thought
with the passing of time I had mastered my self-criticism; apparently
not. It's just got cleverer: unpicked distraction techniques and
positive affirmations, to slip in through undefended crevices;
fissures so tiny you wouldn't think it was possible for a negative id
to crawl under or squeeze through, because generally speaking they
take up and need a lot of room. More space than the average mind
possesses, and mine has neither the power or the inclination to be
super-brainy, and so these breaches will happen.
each time my security system comes under attack I feign surprise, as
if my bluff will be enough to see off my opponent. Sometimes she
calls it and worms her way in with her insidious voice, sometimes she
realises that the mere threat suffices. My sensitive conscience
pricked and on high alert! Anxiety then dominates for the next
twenty-four to forty-eight hours but when nothing untoward happens,
other than uncovering the usual thorns, this dissipates to a standard
awareness, which at a later date is followed by complacency.
opponent, ever the optimist in spite of her pessimistic remarks,
waits...bides her time until a false state has been declared. Then
when I'm 'up' and there's no need for me to believe a 'down' is
likely, in she seeks to mess about with the circuitry. And that
sudden blip in the wiring, though it may be short-lived, can lead to
a pitiable condition, one where nothing thought or said is
affirmative and the outlook in which I view the world and my place in
it has been severely altered, twisted beyond recognition.
beating up is never physical, but is nonetheless damaging because the
opponent is an verbal invisible self, and it's harder to combat that
which is part of you. Her barbed tone is instantly recognisable as my
own despite the difference in language: her terms are deeply
critical, open old wounds and produce new ones. The old though
they've scabbed many times over reopen easily with a little gentle
prodding to renew their tired aspersions, while the new gush fresh
abuses more relevant to recent situations. You're not this, you're
not that; you're not worthy of such and such; you don't deserve (fill
in the blank); along with other personal put-downs connected to
non-existent looks and abilities.
centre is a hard stone like that of a fruit, a stone that would crack
teeth if it hadn't at some point during the course of the lifetime
been swallowed and furnished with sanctuary. Then when proven mad
moved to an asylum on the peripheries, but find access is still
achievable if the target is overwhelmed or unoccupied. Such
violations are recurring and inevitable once that stone has resided
within; it can never be banished completely, even though the days of
equilibrium might outnumber its exile, because as I said it's sneaky.
And surprisingly good at it.
rather than behaving dysfunctionally, becomes then the main objective
to living or trying to get as close as you can to a semblance of it,
rather than letting that voice of low self-esteem wreak its havoc.
Except you can't always avoid listening, no matter how destructive
you know it is, because to deny is denying that shameful part of you
exists. That she is also you and not the enemy. She is like a bundle
of cells that have gone askew. She may not be nice but she is a
reaction to life and knows no different. To crush is not the way.
victories is the game that must be played so that her undeniable
presence, even when on the peripheries, hovering like a bird eyeing
its prey, becomes less disturbing and more of a fact. She'll always
be there, watching...
Picture credit: Wings of Victory, Erte