#(b) to start to heal from his first trauma (being abandoned by his birth mother). airplane cant allow that in pidw!! its not edgy enough!!!

[warpweighted]

I have so many feelings about luo bingge hes supposed to be the ultimate power fantasy clearly to the extent that even he does not recognize how fundamentally empty his life has become. he was very open-hearted until Shen Qingqiu pushed him into the Abyss, at which point he reforged his fundamental worldview into the same one Shen Qingqiu ascribes to, which is: there are two types of people in the world, those who get hurt and those who do the hurting (optional type 3: women and children who are mostly innocent of either, by virtue of having someone do and/or receive the hurt on their behalf), and the only way to move from the first category is to place yourself firmly in the second. he does, I think, try to make himself better than SQQ, by maintaining his position only by hurting people who have already done harm (for whatever his threshold of "harm" is), but he definitely does not reject the worldview. because that would require him to be vulnerable! and look where that fucking got him the last time he tried it! it got him in the Abyss is where it got him!

which does not leave room for things like "love" or "care", but does ensure that he is extremely secure in his position (power fantasy) and that he will always have people to do whatever he wants (power fantasy) and that he will have every single one of his physical needs taken care of (power fantasy) and that because he is the most powerful person in the entire world, he will never be hurt again (power fantasyyyyyyy). which, given the entirety of his childhood and young adulthood, is understandable! I dont think he's ever been able to dream something more for himself than "I'm warm and I have enough to eat and no one hurts me." I doubt he thinks there is anything more than that. from all possible angles he has more than achieved his wildest dreams. what could there possibly be to be unhappy about? If he's discontent, that's just because he's gone too long without a conquest (a conquest of what type? take your pick).

But he is never satisfied with what he has, and he has no one who will treat him as a person to be loved rather than a lord to be appeased. which is by design! someone who treats him like a person is someone who is close enough to hurt him, and as long as there is some new power to be grabbed there is some avenue by which he is not yet all powerful, and therefore some way in which he can still be hurt.

which means that meeting SY!SQQ shakes the very foundations of his worldview, because here is a Shizun who cared for him. Hurt him, yes - in most of the ways that his own SQQ hurt him - but cared for him nonetheless, and is currently trying his best to care for him entirely and hurt him not at all, and who expects the same of Luo Bingge Binghe. This world's SQQ rejected the premise that avoiding harm necessitates harming others, and this world's (weak! vulnerable!) LBH also rejected this premise and somehow managed to live by it? symbolized very blatantly by having somehow managed to hold on to his mother's guanyin pendant. and this LBH is satisfied, he's happy despite having almost nothing at all, only one spouse and not even a quarter of the treasures LBG has and he fucking shattered Xin Mo, he hasnt taken out hardly any powerful enemies and there are still people in the world who can hurt him and somehow he's the one who got the genuine security and the loving relationship even though he's done nothing at all to deserve it -

And confronting all of that is going to require he internalizes that he did not deserve what SQQ did to him, and that the relations of power he thinks of as an immutable foundation to the world are not only not inherent but are actually wrong, and that all the security and safety he has acquired over his lifetime will not be what actually makes him happy, and actually being happy requires taking on the risk that he will be hurt again. which has got to be terrifying to him, but theres no way he can un-pop that bubble and go back to not remembering how it feels to receive a loving touch.

[drlindamurraytenacity-blog]

Every journey into the past is complicated by delusions, false memories and false naming of real events . . .Adrian Richt . . sp

In the Beginning----I started life in a small place called 'Bridge of Allan' in Scotland June 20th  1956. My parents were Margaret Joy Latimer (suicide at 27) and Derek Andrew James M. Apparently, my birth was very difficult and my father told me, much later in life, that they did not think I was going to make it. My mother suffered from some form of toxaemia possibly due to Rh difficulties which were also going to also impact me. This information is sketchy since my father was the only source of this information and he wasn't talking. My father told me much later in life that it was touch-and-go for a while for both of us. I wasn't named until it was clear that I was going to survive. My mother was apparently warned about having other children. Yet, she gave birth to Desmond Thomas in September 15th 1957 (committed suicide when 20) and another boy Kevin on June 20th  1960 (attempted suicide at 23). When they came home with the baby, Kevin Derek my mother handed me the baby and told me that since he was born on my birthday, “he was my birthday present and my responsibility.” I remember this scene so clearly, I actually remember where I was standing in the home and where my father was standing to my mother’s left and to my right. I took my responsibility very seriously. I could, and did, warm bottles, changed nappies [diapers], and washed dishes by the time I was five years old. It was like at five years old I became my brother’s keeper and a mother all in one. Desmond at this time was three years old. My mother was sad a lot and cried all the time. It was the beginning of the 1960s. But, then there was very little they could do for serious depressive mood disorders.

“When truth is buried, it grows, it chokes, it gathers such an explosive force, that on the day it bursts out, it blows out everything with it”....... Neil Zola....(sp)

“Education makes people easy to lead, but difficult to drive, easy to govern, but impossible to enslave.” . . . Henry Peter Brougham

The Slap-----I am not sure exactly when this event occurred but it was before I turned five years old and while my mother was alive. We were sitting in her and dad's bedroom facing the mirrored chest of drawers opposite the bedroom door. My mother was crying, but I can’t remember why. My father came into the room and they were arguing. I don't know about what. He slapped her on the face and I charged at him. He picked me up and threw me down on the bed. He later denied ever hitting her or throwing me on the bed. But if his version is the truth, why are my memories, even now, are so clear and vivid? I remember after he left that we both sat on the edge of the bed crying, me on her left side. I was on her right when he hit her. We sat and cried together. My mother cried a lot. I was very upset and to help me feel better she pulled out a small ivory-covered jewellery music box and she opened it up, up popped a small ballerina who turned to the music. Both of us sat there and cried for a long time and she had her arm around my shoulder. I have chosen to believe my version of the events that day. Part of the reason for this was my father, when I was 15, offered me a choice of two jewellery boxes, a larger wooden one and a small ivory-covered  one. I picked the ivory music box and I told him at the time that I knew it had belonged to my mother, the other was his mothers. I asked what had happened to the ballerina in the white tutu. The box was still lined with the blue velvet I had remembered.

My Father’s Father----Apparently my father’s father was a lingerie sales man. I thought that he was some form of a carpenter for the longest time. I know nothing of my father’s family or his history. I believe he told me once that he was a child born late in his parents’ lives and when they died he was cared for by a much older spinster sister. To this day I know nothing of my father’s side or the mental health history that may have also been clear on his side. I do know he said he was raised by his much older sister and that his parents were not in this picture. The difficulty with trying to find out where mental illness originated in genes is often compounded by secrecy and missing relatives. In our family, it was clear that there was mental illness on my mother’s side from my mother and maternal grandfather. But this does not explain why ALL three of us siblings were mentally ill. To have this high a prevalence rate in three related siblings clearly indicated a dominant gene or recessive gene combination problem of some sort.  Given this, I’m almost certain, that there was at least one-person who was not well on my father’s side of the family and could have been the source of the genetic ‘double whammy’. But I’m only guessing, however by now, it is a very well educated guess at this point. Having a hundred percent prevalence rate and, as of the date of this writing, a fifty percent mortality rate, it is clear that there must have been something wrong on both sides of the family. The risk should been, according to published medical information in 1995, less than % 30. The only logical explanation I have arrived at is mental illness in both sides of the genetic pools.

“Nothing fixes a thing so intensely as you wish to forget it”-----Michele DeMontagn . . .sp

The Cat in The Hat------Another memory of my mother while she was alive, was her teaching me how to read a Dr. Seuss book called “The Cat in The Hat” and sing Frere Jacques. You start grade one in Scotland when you are five years old. By that time I could read this book almost from memory. I have never had the chance to thank her for my love of reading or anything else for that matter. I read a lot now and always have, mostly text books and journal articles and anything else I get my hands on. Unfortunately, I was not able to gain as much understanding of what I was reading by every one else. I needed to read something about 4 times to get out of it a good reader who only required one reading, My reading helped me escape from life when I was a child. I still use it to help me through the rough times. I don't know what happened to the original copy of the book. It was probably thrown out like everything else was when we moved to Canada when I was eight and a half. In my 59th year I  purchased a new copy to keep as a reminder keepsake. It is not the original but that is not the important part of the memory.

Sheets - - I have a very clear memory of playing in a fort made of bed sheets in the back yard. The sheets were yellow or white and they were hanging on the clothesline. But they made a magical place inside the fort. I do not know why this was important. I don’t know why this memory came into the fore front of my memory. I do know I still had my mother and thee safety of the sheets I can remember the feeling but I remember the feeling of safety and warm.

Wanting to Be Dead-----When my mother died I was devastated. I hurt so badly. I wanted the pain to stop. This is the kind of pain that is unbearable. This kind of trauma for anyone is hard. But when you are 5, I don't know if you ever recover. I think that the feeling of abandonment never leaves you. Apparently this is common. The trauma and loss never heals. It hasn't left me. I believe that it may be pushed below the surface but it never leaves. It seems to be just under the surface all the time. There is, I have discovered, a difference in wanting no longer to be in pain and truly wanting to be dead. Many professionals believe that mood disorders erupt in the late teens and early 20s mine clearly started with early symptoms, at least when my mother died. The kind of pain I felt was physical and emotional in the depth of my being. I know crying about it hurt my father so I only cried at night or when I was alone. All three of us kids were in the same room at night so I had to be quiet so I wouldn't wake my brothers. Desmond was in the lower bunk and Kevin was in the crib. My father heard me crying one night and came into the room. He told me that he was sad too but we couldn't be with her anymore. Even as a five-year-old I knew my crying was making things worse for my father. So I had to stop. I learned to hurt in quiet. He said I had to keep quiet or I would wake up my brothers. I was screaming in pain inside. My entire being was in pain and it almost never left me. I tried not to grieve publicly and to keep this pain inside along with the anger. Yes, I was angry too. I think. I wanted to die, but I couldn't. I had responsibilities too. I was responsible for my father’s hurting and my older brother’s sleeping, my younger brothers hurting. Kevin was going to depend on me now. He was my ‘birthday present’ and I would have to stay alive to take care of him. I had promised my mother. Now, when I think of the pain I was in I realize that I was depressed then. I was five, and I truly wanted to be dead.

“Children begin by loving their parents, as they grow older, they judge them. Sometimes they forgive them” . . . Oscar Wild

logic will get you from a to b but imagination takes you everywhere . . . Albert Einstein

Chips and Babies ----A clear memory of my mother was when she fed my baby brother Kevin ‘chips’. Chips are what we now call french fries in Canada. Back then, we made them at home and deep fried them in the ‘chip pot’ using slices of potatoes we cut into ribbons. When she gave them to the baby and us, she would bite the ends off all of them. I asked her once why she did that. She explained that she did it for two reasons. The first was to make sure that all of the sharp points were removed so we would not hurt our throats. The second reason was to make sure that none of them were too hot for us. She told me that it was important to remember not to feed little children like Kevin chips with sharp ends on them. Was this another attempt at preparing me for what was to come? It felt weird at the time and the memory is very vivid I can even remember where I was sitting at the table in the dining area. This memory is also rather interesting. As I write it, I realize that I like the sharp ends. Today whenever I eat chips I pick through the pile to find all of the crispy ones. I have never tied this together before now.

Swinging While We Walked----I have a clear picture of my mother and my Aunt Joan one day. We were going down the sidewalk to a larger department store. We were walking to the left of my gran’s store and I remember going into a large store with big red letters for its name. I think we were getting things ready for my Aunt’s marriage. My mother was on my right side and my aunt was on my left side and they had both of my hands. They would go 1-2-3 than pick me up by my hands or arms and swing me into the air. Every time I see parents do this with their children I see the picture and almost feel the experience. I’ve never forgotten this. It is weird what you remember of a very fragmented past. When I did some searching in Edinburgh on our 2001 visit to Scotland I could only find birth records that did not include my Aunt Joan being born to the Latimer’s. I have to do more research into the missing records

Snow-----I remember the fist time I saw snow. It is so clear. I was sitting in this great big armchair positioned at the picture window in the livingroom. My mother was on my right but I don't remember my brothers being there. She explained that we were so lucky to get snow at Christmas time. I sat there forever watching it all fall and felt warm and loved as she sat with me. Apparently, snow in the lower altitude places in Scotland was rare. I only remember this time and I shared it with my mother. I knew that she loved me but I don’t hear I love you all the time and I did not hear it from my father. It seemed like my grandfather was the only person who said I love YOU to me.