Yesterday I got a session and the session was actually about why it was not possible for me „to have a vision“. Since I do remember, me and having a vision for my future were a non-existent couple.
I loved addressing it that way, because it meant to me on the one side that I can find out why I do not have a vision for my future, it just feels impossible to see myself building my own practice, getting myself out there, and on the other hand I was hoping to additionally find out why my vision was impaired since I was a small child.
I usually get scenes quickly and I can grasp them when they arise, but this time, it was like I had to follow the questions and the scenes evolved slowly, also because they were totally new to me, they were buried deep beneath.
In the first scene I was 4 to 5 years old, sitting in a driving car, looking outside the window counting – I guess I was not that good at counting at that time, so only the first numbers probably repeatedly – and at that moment i remembered yes, this was such a crucial thing in my life for such a long time, compulsively counting, the stairs, the tiles, the road marking, everything that was countable in a sort of rhythmic way. It gave me a good feeling, it gave me a feeling of living in a calculable surrounding, a sense of safety. And while counting I sensed the colours, I sensed so many things visually, that I actually wanted to share them, but my mother told me to shut up, she was convinced that a child should not be heard, so I kept it to myself. I was playing around to blur my vision, to fantasize with the sensation of the world around me and to give it a glimpse of not being real.
As this scene faded away, a second scene came into focus and it similarily evolved bit by bit, until I got the whole picture of it and what I saw there really was too much to bear for me as a three year old child and even as an adult reviewing it, left me so puzzled as it felt there were no words to describe the intensity of the feelings there. I was standing in an open barn, watching my father. He stood right in front of me, maybe two or three metres away, he had hung a sheep onto the huge wooden door of the barn, cutting it`s throat with a sharp knife, he cut it full length and the blood was spilling down and when he finished the cut he showed me the knife with amazement and satisfaction... I recalled he even licked the blood off the blade. Me as a three year old not understanding the whole process in it`s complexity, since this sheep was one we had bonded to, it felt like family and there I was watching it from struggling to being a lifeless creature, while the movement got less and less. What really struck me the most was sensing the satisfaction my father felt at that moment. I didn`t want to see it, I couldn`t fit it into my world, so the truth I sensed and saw was just too much to bear and so I tried to blur my vision, making the world I live in unreal. Especially since my father described children as being nothing more than animals.
And because observing my father slaughtering our animals happened frequently, sheep, ducks, geese, hens, cats, out of one of those incidences arose the third scene, where I was slightly older trying to tell my mother about how much this scared me, how afraid I was of my own father, probably in a very simple child like language,... she just shut me off, she denied my truth and didn`t want to hear me out, didn`t want to hear anything, so she kept her holy world intact. And I had to keep mine inside, deciding that it may be better not to see the truth, better to create a fantasy world, that dissociates me from the disturbing feelings and the reality that my father didn`t care about the life of others at all, besides keeping a shiny facade to the outside world.
Why am I sharing this story? Because I wanted to share anecdotally that compulsive behaviour and impaired vision can be a strategy to survive a sick environment and probably even more, I wanted to tell you how much the resurfacing of those scenes puzzled me, as they were really buried in my amnesia. When I left my parents at the age of 20 my childhood was like non-existent, like as if I were born an adult, besides two scenes, the rest was covered in a dark blanket of forgetting. Since my parents always told me how blessed we (my sister and I) are, how easy our childhood was, compared to them, I did believe them, but now I more and more realize that I felt pray to the truth of a psychopath and his companion, bound by the permanent threat of his non-calculable nature... the least I had in my mind was a vision, a vision for my future, but now I really believe it`s time to clear out the denial, name it as it is and speak my truth, as my body was paying the price for too long already...