A crucial point in life
Trying to track down, when the misery, which I call my life, happened to begin, well, it must have been exactly that: The beginning. That is conception.
Are you confused about this statement? Maybe you ask, what could possibly go wrong with a conception? Is it not either or? Implying that there are only two possible outcomes of the sexual interaction: Either you are born subsequently, or you are not!
Of course, with that premise, you are right. From a simplified physical point of view, you either have a body or you have not. That is the difference between living and not living. And furthermore, if you have no body, there is little you can do about it. Unlike if you have one, although it is faulty, at least you can do something, you have something to work with.
Now, what went wrong back then, when my person was conceived? To understand that, I will invite you on a little journey back in the previous millennium, back in the days, when a girl was expected to follow the advice of her parents. When the parents would find a worthy husband for their daughter, and the young woman would obey her parents; and her husband of course. He on the other hand would promise to make her happy for a lifetime; nothing less.
My grandfather was the ruling tyrant of a family of 8 children. He was the lion type and followed strict rules in life. As one of the main ones, he demanded the biblical yes or no from any and everybody at any time: “But let your communication be, Yea, yea; Nay, nay: for whatsoever is more than these cometh of evil.”1
My mother was very unlike him. She was a lively, delicate build, very intelligent and intuitive child, creative in most ways. She saw everything very much in the shades of the rainbow, rather than the black and white of her father. She even had a tendency to prefer shades, which made things go her way; tricky indeed!
Of course my grandfather could not stand it. His fist thundered in the heavy table plate as he quivered and cried from anger: “You are lying!”
As she grew up, he came to pursue this tendency of hers to a degree, where my mother felt hated by him. As an otherwise good girl she desperately needed and wanted to be loved. Whilst he thought, his method of upbringing was blessed by God, and that it would ultimately help her to become an angel and an honour to his fatherhood, she more and more searched for and found ways to avoid his anger and get out of his way.
In order to take control over her own life, that is get out of her fathers range of control, she had to get married, she thought. By someone outside of his circles, that is! But there was an obstacle. There was only one way for her to get her fathers consent: Pregnancy!
If she one day would come home with the message: “I am pregnant!”, she knew, he would only have one way to respond. He would cry in agony:
Who is the father?
and then demand without hesitation:
You have to marry him!
Although the concerns, discontent, indignation and anger would rain down over the poor girl like a lesser Armageddon, this was her plan. And oh my, it worked!
She practiced at a soldiers home back then. One day her eyes fell upon a young, innocent fellow, who looked like an easy pray. It surely only took some few tempting words and deceptive glances, and he was caught by the beautiful and inspiring young lady. Shortly after, well there it was, the fateful conception of mine happened to unfold.
So, what can go wrong with a conception? Let me explain. We come to earth with a desire to live a wonderful life in joy and love. Few of us dare to be born otherwise.
A wonderful life in joy and love implies some things and excludes some other. It implies to be expected, to be wanted, to be wholly embraced and loved. To the coming child this is expected to be the most blissful moment of all times, the ultimate joy!
In no way does the coming child comprehend the possibility to experience anything but that. Not the slightest deviation!
Oh, by the way, what could a slight deviation look like? Well, maybe something like a tiny moment, when the parents to become are not wholly coherent in their conscious approach and invitation to the child.
Copulating in order to become pregnant, in order to marry, in order to get out of the spheres of the parents control, well, that is not perceived as a slight deviation. That is nothing but a breach of contract! To the point, where the coming child has to consider: Is this how is should be? And one step further: Is it worth it? And ultimately: Is it even manageable?
Almost half of all fertilized eggs become miscarriages from all sorts of reasons2. One reason, which is seldom mentioned anywhere is the one described above.
On the other hand, those of us who decide to live with it, do have a hard time coping with the dire consequences. Conception actually is by far the point in life, that leaves us with the most and the biggest traumas.
It is understandable, when you thing about it: Conception is a point in time; it has no extension. Hence, when the conception is over, this point is all there was in life. This point in time was the entire life! If it was a bad experience, well then the whole life up until then was bad!
Object instead of subject
The genuine human way of interaction is human to human, subject to subject. One person broadcasts a message, a feeling or a facial expression, and the other person receives, open minded, not judgmental, emphatic. Then the broadcaster stops – otherwise it would be a one-way speech – and the two switches roles. Now the previous broadcaster becomes silent and receives emphatically, while the previous receiver broadcasts. In this way both parties can feel safe and embraced.
The opposite attitude is subject to object. This happens, when a subject perceives his surroundings as means to his needs. Everything around him are objects, which he may exploit if and when need be. Every expression from the object is important only so far, as it changes the validity for the subject. This boils down to three options, each time such a subject – person – meets an object: Can it be eaten? Is it dangerous? Or meaningless? Can I benefit from it or will it suck? Or should I simply walk indifferently along?
Thus I grew up as an object. As a cogwheel in my mothers ongoing struggle to get closer to her father, to become worthy of his love. For me, as an object, the feelings I grew up with were:
I do not deserve to live, I am not worthy of love
and what have you.
In a way, I inherited this from my mother, the longing for love. But not just any love, my mothers love. I did anything to get it, whilst my mother did all she could to serve her own needs. And my grandfather; did he ever feel the limitless, all caring love from his parents? Hardly.
My mother developed different chronic illnesses and had her kidneys partially removed during several surgeons. The last fifteen years of her life she lived more or less on coffee, tobacco and morphine. Already as a young teenager I put the syringe with morphine in her scar covered body. Her dream was, that I become a doctor in order to save her.
Once, in a merry moment in our living room – maybe I was twelve years of age – I put my hands on her back. After a short while we were both stunned. She felt the warmth and well being radiate from my hands. Like famished she demanded and begged for more.
This was a turning point for me. I felt abused. From there on I lived in the school, with the boy scouts, on the street. I came late home and left early in the morning.
In a way I had given up on my mother. She was a sinking ship, dying. Growing up my search for love was turned outward and projected onto other women. I was looking for the love, I did not get from my mother, in every woman´s face, I happened to meet on my way.
My mother died at the age of 47 with rising fever until the point, where her circulation system collapsed. Just days before, she happened to talk to her father, and something important was exchanged between them, it seems. At least after this time my grandfather – who lived to his 99th year by the way – became more sociable. When visited at the nursing home years later, he was emphatic and even playful with his grand grand children. So in a way they both broke the circle.
My mother also called me three days before she passed – and I declined. Man, do I regret!
Acknowledging the condition
It was about this time I consciously understood, that something was wrong with me. The time when I still got offended, when somebody spoke of psychopathy. But at least I started my path towards healing by reaching out for professional help.
I remember, I also managed to visit a psychiatrist on my way. He was a good listener, and I felt taken care of in our first and only conversation. It was not until he tried to sum it up, when he came to a conclusion, that I got stunned: He recommended medication! He could not have gotten rid of his customer quicker, had he hit me with a red glowing hot iron rod! I saw the devil on the wall and ran for life! I never ever again turned to look back at the dark lords of chemistry, who sort of took my mothers life at a far too early age!
Through years of treatment, growing consciousness and catastrophic breakdowns financially, socially and psychically I slowly gained control and responsibility. What ever my mother did, what my grandfather did, or his parents before him; they were no longer in charge. They were not to be blamed any more. I was grown up and had to deal with my life on my own. Death or survival, simple as that!
1New Testament: Matthew5/37
2The Johns Hopkins Manual of Gynecology and Obstetrics (4 ed.). Lippincott Williams & Wilkins. 2012. pp. 438–439. ISBN 9781451148015. Archived from the original on September 10, 2017.