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IN my life I have learned every possible way to go around an obstacle without getting past it at all. I felt like Sisyphus, pushing that boulder up the tall mountain in hell, for it to only turn around and roll back down again.

I have felt like a vampire, a ghost, a ghoul, a monster, and a dead person at times.

I've questioned also why my conscience must be so sensitive that I feel like a monster simply because I get angry a lot and I argue a lot.

I've questioned my chronic disregard of what other people think in favor of what is good or convenient to me at the time.

I've spent years troubled about why my mother never loved me enough to leave me feeling secure and loved. She loves me, but it's never enough. I feel like a vampire.

I've questioned my own worth as a person when potential friend after potential friend has reacted negatively towards me because of something that I couldn't really accept because it seemed so hateful or bigoted or intolerant. Similarly I could never understand why my friends never treated me like a best friend when I loved them so much.

I've questioned my femininity when I could never manage to attract a good boyfriend who would be loyal to me. I could never understand why loyalty was not a given, in a relationship.

I've questioned my rights to expect fair treatment from my loved ones, when I don't share an equal amount of the work. I've accepted any treatment, without having the ability to leave any situation. I was grateful for what I got, and never was beaten.

I named my blog "My Haunted Mind" because I picture myself as a woman sitting in a chair and she has a haunted mansion for a head. The haunted mansion is my mind, all these years haunted by something I could never define yet was barely perceptible all around me and never suspected within me.
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the books in the hall

Posted 05-07-15 at 10:44 AM by icarusinflames
Updated 05-07-15 at 11:05 AM by icarusinflames
When I was very young, perhaps 6 or 7 and was first realizing my condition and situation in life, I remember enjoying the collection of Science books in the hall outside my bedroom door. One book was about mammals, and there was a picture in the book that really troubled me. It was of the the baby rhesus monkey with his wire frame mother.

I'd be tempted to include the video of this experiment but it's actually too heart breaking. The little baby monkey has a wire frame mother-object with the milk bottle in it, and then next to it is a cloth padded mother-object too. And they scare the baby monkey to see which mother he runs to. Of course, his choice of what to run and cling to is always the cloth padded mother-object that has no milk for him. They call it contact-comfort.

I remember situations where I was scared and in a panic, running home after some situations in the neighborhood that was beyond my ability to negotiate or cope. I ran to the garage and hid! I never ran to my mother.

This is rather sad and troubling to reflect on, what it means exactly. I don't know but I do remember looking at the picture of the wire frame monkey and feeling so terribly bad for it.
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