The DOWNSIDE to the Art of Not Feeling

Everything has its price.

Even emotionally detaching from a seriously toxic parent (in my case, a narcissistic adoptive one).

Last week, when a-dad rendered me invisible for the zillionith time I went into emotional detachment mode. This involves imagining myself in a giant ziplock baggy to ward off the hurt, all the while mumbling, "Let it go. Don't let him ruin another evening."

Well, it worked. By evening, I was able to forget about a-Dad.

Until the next morning.

Woke up feeling like I was coming down with something. Achy and painy with a slight sore throat and really tired and dragged out. I was feeling so lousy, in fact, I couldn't work on the first draft of the book I'm trying to write. For the last month or so, the writing was going very well.

But no, I simply was not feeling strong enough to write. I had no energy. None.

And then I started feeling worthless. Writing makes me feel good. Productive. Now I didn't even have that outlet.

In the meantime, the phone calls with him suddenly started to bother me again. Where before I was able to chat without really engaging, now everything he said hit my last nerve. While he talked, I thought about how much I couldn't stand him. A weird sort of claustrophobia sets in. That's probably due to his narcissism because narcissists are all-consuming and left unchecked, will devour you alive. I've always found him physically repulsive and when I'm near him, I want to run away.

This is my father I'm talking about so all these feelings make me feel horrible and guilty.

Try as I might, all this loathing began to emerge last Friday and continued to seep out over the weekend and by Sunday, no more aches and pains.

Coincidentally, I stumbled across a book by Dr. John Sarno called, "The Divided Mind" which is about psychosomatic pain. Real pain that is triggered by our repressed emotions to divert us from whatever is threatening to bubble up into our conscious mind.

I was so busy emotionally detaching and NOT feeling/numbing and suppressing my rage I suspect I was literally making myself sick. The book seems to confirm my suspicion.

So now what?

My a-dad, by making me invisible, also makes me feel worthless. Like my voice is not important. I get that. But I need a voice to write. Voice and truth are the tools of a writer. So how do I pole vault across this big and boggy ditch?

More later.