The Heart of the Matter
By Jesse B. Donahue 2023 ©
Hidden deep, and I mean buried at the core of my human soul, lies my “internal being,” repressed, shrunken, having been shattered by chronic trauma. How many years, how many moments of a wasted life have I endured and not within my control? My path in life has been an urgent and unavoidable mission, yet so often led astray off the path of self-discovery; it could not be helped; it was and is my process. Being diverted from looking within and seeking the center of a neurotic engine, the condition of neurosis itself is a battleground laden with minefields, confusing signs showing erroneous directions to take, false images of oneself, and unclear answers. It is an inner wasteland of delusions and desert-like mirages, all working against humanity, shielding me from what I seek. It protects that terrorized and traumatized core, so desperately needing healing. It screams DON’T TOUCH ME! as it hides, desperate for survival.
The truth is that I’m struggling to get to the bottom of things. What is wrong with me, and how did I come to be this way? My struggle is certainly not the way of being that I see in others around me. Of course, I can’t look into their inner workings and see their feelings and experiences from the outside. Perhaps, in the same way, I struggle to make the battle inside, hidden from those around me, to look normal, to fit in, to be accepted, to BELONG. God knows I don’t need any more experiences of not being accepted as I am. A child’s crisis of shock coming from caretakers is enough, don’t you think? Ah, but now and always, there is the reality of bullying threatening. It just never ends.
Speaking of neurosis, there are all kinds of flavors of maladies the human animal experiences and must contend with. Some survive life with mild and unnoticeable symptoms and issues. Those are the lucky ones. Others of us must contend with depression, phobias, anxieties, poor self-esteem, and an endless assault, whoops, I mean an array of symptoms from inner glitches from… something. Some quirks, no doubt, are inherited from a gene pool one is related to, but other origins are imposed by culture, man-made. A culture of a small family unit, or the larger culture in which we were raised.
I have spoken of trauma within myself; Let’s get to it! A child needs love, a feeling of belonging, respect, dignity, praise, to be needed, understanding, and, for God’s sake, welcoming. This all forms a bond that lives within one’s soul; it is to the heart of the matter. It is bonding. If one is so blessed to have been raised and treated in a fashion that your basic needs of being comforted and authentically loved are met in infancy and childhood, then one probably has little baggage to contend with throughout your life. This core comforting is now an internalized part of you. You own it, and it can function as a shield to lessen the blows that come from others. Perhaps, those who have not been as lucky as you. You have developed and been gifted with self-esteem by having been held up in high esteem by those who loved you. They held you in high esteem and you internalized that, giving you self-esteem. Off you go in life, like a wind-up spiritual robot, and with a smile on your face. How utterly wonderful, and I mean that sincerely.
Psychology is just somewhat beginning to come to terms with and gain an understanding of the effects of trauma on a growing child. We have all heard of PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) a sudden explosive experience, or event, that registers such a state of shock that it radiates its impact in an ongoing, pulsing remembrance of the terrible event. It tends to live on until it is minimized or managed by expressing to others, and the self, the terror it left within you. Now imagine a young child, especially an infant, being hit, screamed at, and sexually assaulted, all repeated chronically over time, a long time. Talk about PTSD! This reality of ongoing multiple experiences of trauma and abuse has come to be termed Complex-Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (C-PTSD). What some might see as normal disciplining behavior may, in far too many circumstances, be a condition of repeated Traumatic Stress to a child.
At the core of all my lifelong problems, it seems to me now, in my quest for self-understanding, and sadly, late in my life, is C-PTSD – a trauma disorder. I have been traumatized so completely and so systematically that the subconscious intentions of the perpetrator were achieved. I have become an obedient stallion broken of its free will. A vast cauldron of mixed messages coming at me, enforced by belt whippings and rage. I conceded to all of them, and not by choice; Obedience Demanded! Indeed, there was no conscious decision made, no choice given to me; to survive, I spiritually abandoned my sense of being, or sense of self, and became the “yes boy” that was demanded of me. I had to become non-threatening to my caregiver. Just being me was threatening, in that world of rage. Within me? No doubt, I was always filled with anxiety, which is basically one’s inner rage turned inward, unable to be expressed. No, I mean the rage, the teeth-grinding fury bestowed upon me if I was displeasing to her, or not obedient to her whims. Obedient to her desire for power over me.
Anger, rage, venomous fury, why? Why? What the hell did I do? As an infant, a vulnerable child, what in God’s name did I do that was deserving of such cruelty? What? There are no answers; it wasn’t what I did, and I see that now. This is the only avenue I can find to start a path of forgiveness. To see that it had nothing to do with me. And I was not alone or unique in the fact that someone had been abused in childhood. Clearly, she too must have been horribly traumatized in her childhood and, obviously, still carrying the unresolved and unspoken rage at what had been done to her, her secret, repressed rage turned outward, externalized, on me. Where is her rage at life expressed?
Unfortunately, it is in the belt in her hand. But that does not let her off the hook. It is the mission of all human beings, to at least “make a damn effort” to try and heal oneself in this life, because, you have no right whatsoever to inflict trauma upon an innocent, vulnerable child, or any person. The buck stops with you. Though you are a victim, and life is most certainly unfair, brutally so, no one is responsible for you and your behavior, other than you. You are now God with the authority over the vulnerable child in front of you and you must learn how to stop yourself. Go seek help! Stop victimizing your children for the sins of “your” abusers! Put an end to passing the buck (trauma) onto the generations to come. Stop abusing. My God, a wonderful bumper sticker. Stop abusing! Become – AWARE.
My point in writing this essay was to expose the knowledge and understanding I have gained about my core issue. That issue is abuse from intolerance, dominating control, rejection of the real self, anger, whipping, and most especially from a numbed-out caretaker whose emotions were shut down and dysregulated. The anger, the spankings, the verbal raging, the lack of feeling affection, it was too much. It broke me, and yes, just like that stallion. Over time, I stepped out of that suit of me and abandoned the self. I became another and lived as someone else in another world, my fantasy self. If I were able to see, if I had God’s eyes, I would be witness to my abandoned self, rocking in a fetal position in the corner of my mind. It was that traumatic to the vulnerable and “sensitive” child that I was. He is still in me and I’m trying to rescue him, but the trauma laid me down for the count. I am alive, yet purgatory seems to be a fit title to the world as I grew up, and the wasteland I wandered through in my life. My attempt in therapy is to come in from the cold and rejoin the human society I have lived in. Life was on the outside looking in, disconnected.
Life was on the outside looking in, disconnected.
A troubling issue we traumatized folks must deal with is distrust and being severed from the umbilical cord of human connectedness. I feel detached. I do not belong or fit in with a community. Anxiety, separation, inadequate or “trauma bonding,” attachment issues, just the unspeakable state of despair and alienation. It shall remain that way until we “make a choice” and speak to a “safe” someone, an understanding soul. The ugly, awful experiences that shattered us, that story must be told openly and authentically. To heal yourself is to take responsibility for what has been done to you by acknowledging your suffering, shame, and terror of being exposed. It is frightening reaching out and asking for help, sharing with someone what has been a secret, horrifically lonely state of agony that makes you feel broken and isolated in this world; I know. It can be terrifying at first, but it is better than suffering silently throughout your entire life. It is better for you and better for those around you. One should want to present to the world with the best and the truest you that you can be for everyone’s social and mental health, and that can only be done by rediscovering and rescuing your hidden, abandoned self, your wounded inner child.
So, within me, many aspects of what is considered normal and traditionally viewed as a given human trait have been warped by hiding from the angry rage. It is once again the anger, the RAGE, creating the internalized trauma within myself. If someone gets angry at me, I sometimes become that child rocking himself in the corner (flashback symptoms of Complex-PTSD). I re-experience the emotional terror, the feeling experience, the abandonment I knew as a child in the painful moments of being abused. If I express myself for one thing or another, usually, I just don’t or haven’t expressed myself in the past. I have been avoidant. I sat silently in human interactions and hid my authentic self, wants, wishes, and desires while trying to figure out what the other person wanted from me. I want to avoid the anger they might show and their disapproval (rejection). It is that potential rejection, lurking behind everything, that holds me back. To be raged at, or in my case, to be in a relationship and have anger thrown at me, again, back to the child rocking himself in the corner. It is intolerable, as my anger and being free-spirited was intolerable to my caregiver. Being obedient in showing no anger is a pathetically sad expectation. Don’t be masculine was an issue for my caregiver, her hypervigilance toward sex in general, don’t own your sexuality, or don’t be an expressive man that threatens me. The depths I had to go to, to avoid the anger, disapproval, and rejection, were truly unbelievable. It is a miracle I survived. I did, but certainly not in one piece. Note to self: put the pieces back together in therapy.
Stepping out of one’s suit (skin), the spiritual self is like a floating spirit aimlessly seeking an identity. I cannot be me, so what do I put back in this empty suit to present to the world? One’s imagination can be strikingly creative around adopting a “false self.” Another condition of trauma is becoming codependent or enmeshed in the gooey expectations of an abuser. If you can’t escape, and a child can’t, “becoming like them” does not seem so far-fetched a solution or consideration. Might one even take on, or adopt the characteristics of one’s caretaker, to make one feel safe? It is the disapproval, fear of the rageful rejection, what wouldn’t one do to be safe from it… as a powerless, vulnerable child?
So many things are locked away, shut down, protecting myself from disapproval and rejection. I can’t own my sexuality for fear of ridicule and condemnation. I cannot dance for fear of ridicule, hypervigilant self-consciousness monitoring of me, judging me, and verbally enforcing the judgment. I can’t exit a relationship with another for fear of emotion-backed disapproval. That trauma drama of experiencing anger from another, or most especially hurting their feelings, that is strictly forbidden, verboten! Everything must be nice and tidy, safe, gentle, jovial, agreeable, PLEASING – FAKED! It can’t be contradictory, antagonistic, or disagreeable. It must be “pleasant” to avoid the risk of unleashing the secret, lurking, emotions of fury, hidden behind – the closed front door. That core of self that is paralyzed from even seeing the truth of what I just wrote; THAT is where I need to look in therapy. That is my mission’s new course. It is all blocked and repressed, numbed out by the INTERNALIZED fear of anger and REJECTION. At my core it is all about the inability to bond, to feel connected, and to feel loved. Why is my emotional affect shut down, stoically frozen in public? Fear of ridicule, and a rageful, contemptuous judgment. Why is my sexuality hidden even from myself most of the time, numbed out (asexual)? Fear of judgment, scorn, and shaming. What are most of my issues based on? “Internalized FEAR!” of rage, disapproval, and rejection. Attachment problems, feeling so different from others, “unlovable,” and it must be something about me that is “different, and unacceptable (toxic shame) created by internalized TRAUMA.”
What are my goals in therapy and life? Getting to that core of reclaiming my traumatized, abandoned self. Self-love recovery and repair, the journey, step by baby step, learning to risk being expression-full, calming myself, and trying to free my blocked and frozen emotions. State what I authentically mean, believe, and want. BE PRESENT and speak up. Be expressive of my sexuality, learn to own it, and to reclaim it; learn to fight back and stand up for myself. Rethink the learned trauma, associated with being the cause of another’s anger, upset, rage, (their hurt). Let them be themselves with their own emotions, separate from mine. Reclaim and recognize “the truth,” reality: I am not the cause of others’ emotions. Stop owning others’ emotions. I am not them; I am me, and I am reclaiming that little boy in the corner who needs my love and support (SELF LOVE!). This is my intention. He is never going away again, and he never should have. My mission is to help that little boy stand up on his own two feet, come back to me, and allow me to reclaim him. I have not been who I am; he is who I am, and I see he has had enough punishment for a lifetime.
Now that is getting to The Heart of the Matter.
Photo by Gabriel Mihalcea on Unsplash
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** Copyright notice. All of my writings are copyrighted and registered with the Library of Congress.
- My name is Jesse Donahue. In 2015, at the age of 58, I took up writing, and since then I’ve written two novels, poems, and essays about my journey struggling with CPTSD. The essays, 70+, were an adjunct to journaling in therapy to amplify my learning and self-understanding.
My writings, which include therapy notes, poems, novels, and essays, are all a part of my ongoing personal therapy. Many of my essays are in a stream-of-consciousness style, unleashing, sharing, and delving into energies that continuously process in my subconscious. My writings, initially, geared for me and my therapist’s eyes only, began with my exposing my thoughts, fears, and feelings (or the lack of) onto paper… a journal of therapy notes. Then, with fear overcome and via a personal decision of choice, I shared them here with the readers. My essays, most all, originate from my weekly therapy notes. My intent and desire is to encourage readers to recognize traits in themselves and find a therapist if they are willing and able to do so. If you are in therapy, ask your therapist to read them and discuss what pertains to you. For some, it can be a long and difficult process over extensive periods to awaken to the unconscious issues that have us acting out in life. Our behavior can seem like dancing to a buried, invisible energy that we are not able to directly see or confront. It is my sincere hope that my insights will assist the reader in the process toward reaching a deeper self-understanding. Bringing the unconscious out into the light of self-awareness, understanding, and acceptance fosters self-love and the process of change.
My published writings with the CPTSD foundation: The Hidden Bugaboo (*recommended). The Beganning. Twelve Days Without Coffee. Learned Helplessness. Cast Out of Eden by Toxic Shame. The Crumbs and The Banquet. What an Outside Appearance may Not Show. Obedience to the Light – Bombs or Love. Stepping Into the Shoes of Who You Are. Personal Honor, Integrity, Dignity, Honesty. Inspirational Tugging – Teachers. Codependency – Overriding the Monster of Self Hate. Surfing the Light Through the Darkness. We are but Storytellers. A Writer’s Brain – The Gift. The Highway of Worries. The Emptiness of Yesterday. The Man Who Lives Under the Bridge. Living in the Dis-World. SPECTRUM. Designer Identity.
