more superego-y ranting

I hardly ever flip back to my old blogs (most likely from avoidance of embarrassment just in case i once upon a time used to be immature and hopeful and lively) and not surprisingly, ended up feeling like "oh did I once upon a time write such shit? " when I revisited.

such shit, however, esp in recent years, are often good sensible superego-y shit. the problem remained that I probably only intellectualised the good stuff and they never emotionally sank in.
well only if they managed to emotionally sink in back then... i would have moved forward and be at a better place by now.

or maybe not... just wishful thinking.

there have been quite a bit in the tabloid news of mothers killing their children lately. one story in particular made me quite shaken. The brief bits and pieces about said woman in the tabloid were diagnostic enough of bpd. and though my own mother may superficially be ordinary low key Asian in many ways, and thank God, never had the privilege of constitutional rights of bearing arms, the desire and determination in crushing my spirits and annihilating me existentially as a person, esp in my uni and intern and residency years, were perhaps much the same.

it has taken me many years to finally come to admittance that my mother is very clearly cluster b,(and had enough intelligence and conservative cultural background and a colluding husband to be able to fly under the radar and justify her actions to many), in the midst of all my guilt about being socially offensive and psychologically external locus of control and spiritually unforgiving and culturally incapable of filial piety and perhaps unfit to be a chinese human being now that i have publicly said really bad things about my parents...

guilt aside... i don't think i have really escaped her slaughterhouse yet, or maybe i will never make it. That very suppressed part of me which still desperately crave the very rare but very genuine moments she would approve and regard me as "my amazing, sweet, kind, beautiful, intelligent girl" (quoting very bpd Mrs Christy Sheats), will hold me there.
 and that is unsettling enough.

Frank Lake's intro in his Clinical Theology is very comforting at such times--

“The thickness of the repressive layer which covers up our threatening inner negativities is diminished by physical, mental, and emotional ill-health, an also by spiritual disobedience in those who have been well garrisoned in heart and mind by the Holy Spirit against the enemy within. But, as Freud showed, the return of the unconscious into consciousness is a function of abundant health as well as of ill-health. The abundantly healthy personality presses up against the barriers and limitations imposed by unconscious fears and expectations of defeat. Encountering resistances, it attacks them and drives them into the open. We must expect that that fullness of the Holy Spirit and the fullness of life within the Body of Christ will force the alien elements of despair, distrust, anxiety, rage, envy, lust and the like, which are each man's deposit from the intolerable passivities of infancy, to declare themselves before they are cast out。”

and i am so thankful, as i revisit the same again and again, of the years of noble and wonderful superegos i have collected over time, which i had leaned on to survive, and mercifully replaced parts of a superego that was merely a cluster b mother's devaluation ---

Masha---
"trust" does not equate "understanding". i personally believe, when I trust someone else, the responsibility entirely rests with me. It is I who wanted to trust you--you carry no responsibility. To me there is no such thing as "being betrayed", because I myself wanted and was willing to trust another person. When one starts to think one understands another, the thoughts of "being betrayed" would often arise. The presumption of "I understand you" is often the most frightening, whether it be between friends, colleagues, bf/gf, or family members...

King Baldwin---

When I was sixteen, I won a great victory. I felt in that moment I would live to be a hundred. Now I know I shall not see thirty. None of us know our end, really, or what hand will guide us there. A king may move a man, a father may claim a son, but that man can also move himself, and only then does that man truly begin his own game. Remember that howsoever you are played or by whom, your soul is in your keeping alone, even though those who presume to play you be kings or men of power. When you stand before God, you cannot say, "But I was told by others to do thus," or that virtue was not convenient at the time. This will not suffice. Remember that.

---and hopefully, hopefully, as time goes by, not mere intellectualisation of words above only.