Everybody sabotage

Telling someone important to me about my therapy session

I had one of the toughest therapy sessions last Friday.

It is the quintessential question of “am I enough?”

This is the Easter egg story. When I was first in the UK, maybe eight or nine, one of the first presents that my Dad and I went to get (for my mum, it was a reunion type of situation) was a decorated Easter egg. We went to this market in the centre of town, which was called the Covent Garden market, and one of the stalls sold Easter eggs, hand-painted and it was a real egg. I picked it as just the best present for my mum.

So we bring the Easter egg home, and we give it to mum. My Dad is standing there- this is before the divorce and separation (AFTER I had arrived in the UK, being separated from my grandparents already)- and it seemed like a big deal.

My mum took the Easter egg, after I held it up to her and told her you were to stand it on the desk as an ornament. It was a really proud moment for me. She took the egg, smashed it against the wall. It broke to pieces.

My therapist remembers this story for five years. I hardly bring it up. I told another friend the other day that my heart (now) can only really be broken by a woman because I had mum issues.

But what was interesting to me was her insistence, that today, I have to insist on things because in my mind somewhere had I insisted on the fact that the Easter egg should have been on the table, then it would not have been smashed and my heart would not have been broken.

So I need to be in control. I need to make sure things are not broken.

That, and she insists that I think everybody sabotages me.

The Death Instinct

Ed Sheeran

I read about two instincts yesterday, also called Thanatos (brings the Marvel films into mind), its opposite is eros.

Eros is like an energy that can’t be stopped, but it will always have the pull of Thanatos. There has been a lot of Thanatos in my life recently.– I don’t know exactly why, but a lot of the things that used to bring me pleasure has ceased to do so.

I seem to be unsure as to what brings me joy anymore.

Living in the past

On the Bosphorus about ten years ago (really unhappy)

Feel like for the last 34 years I have been living in the past. I guess that is how I was raised, with grandparents as my parents.

Why is there this absorption about living in the past? It’s not something that I totally understand.