UND DAS NICHT AUSN\u00dcTZEN LASSEN von Anderwesen oder auch eigenen Schie\u00dfbudenhirnfig\u00fcrln,<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n das \u00fcberlegen wir uns vielleicht einmal.. ich gebe gerne in Schrift, was ich halt inzwischen gelernt habe, und teilweise verstehe, teils auch.. kann, ja.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Ich lasse es gerinnen, tauen… denn hier k\u00f6nnen wir vielleicht wirklich etwas entstehen lassen, das auch tr\u00e4gt.<\/span><\/p>\n Und, wie das gut ist, zur eigener Zeit, und im eigenen Wohnen. Unsere echten, tiefen, vertrauten F\u00fchldenkwerkheimst\u00e4tten.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Ja.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Nun gut<\/span>: fff<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n denken wir vielleicht zuallererst an, WAS DENN RAUM \u00fcberhaupt an sich ist und wie wir es sind, daraus.<\/span><\/p>\n\n
In the EPILOG:<\/span> „Thieves often create a similar illusion, catching you inside a\u00a0 <\/span><\/span>thought trap where all is well, as if they are just a passer-by or a friendly citizen, confusing\u00a0 <\/span><\/span>you even as they steal from you. Or in another example, I remember a yoga guru who mo-\u00a0 <\/span><\/span>lested<\/span> his<\/span> victims<\/span> in<\/span> plain<\/span> sight,<\/span> in<\/span> front<\/span> of<\/span> an<\/span> audience,<\/span> and<\/span> no<\/span> one<\/span> batted<\/span> an<\/span> eye,<\/span> as<\/span> if<\/span> what<\/span>\u00a0 <\/span><\/span>was<\/span> happening<\/span> was<\/span> not<\/span> actually<\/span> happening.<\/span> Everyone<\/span> was<\/span> as<\/span> hypnotized,<\/span> under<\/span> the<\/span> spell<\/span> of<\/span>\u00a0 <\/span><\/span>this guru considered too elevated do be doing anything wrong. This profound level of\u00a0 <\/span><\/span>gaslighting is not that uncommon.\u00a0 <\/span><\/span>\u00a0 <\/span>When in those weeks after my rescue I verbally confronted my mother about how I had\u00a0 <\/span><\/span>obtained my wounds, it only roused her impulse to silence me at any cost. After one strangulation attempt, and one final trip to the network behind the back of the leadership,\u00a0 my mother regained her control over me by sexually assaulting me. My shame over this as-\u00a0 sault was so great that I split, and gave up. Without any room for truth, without any mirror\u00a0 or context, the prohibited reality gradually escaped from my conscious mind, and I slipped\u00a0 back into placating behavior, accepting my mother\u2019s fantasy in which she was the perfect\u00a0 mother. Everything that did not fit that narrative simply never existed. After the scabs fell off,\u00a0 physical scars remained, but I was so dissociated I barely noticed them, let alone wondered\u00a0 how I had gotten them. Everything connected to the network, the early incidents that had\u00a0 been revived when Patrick had asked me about them, as well as the trauma Patrick himself\u00a0 had inflicted\u2014and which I had shared with Peter\u2014everything was gradually pushed down\u00a0 into my subconscious mind. Ultimately, Patrick himself had insisted that I forget everything,\u00a0 including him. While I knew him, I would have never believed it possible, but I did forget\u00a0 him, or it would be more accurate to say that the memory of him was repressed, even\u00a0 though my sense of self, my beliefs, thoughts, and actions were influenced by him.\u00a0 \u00a0 My mother was never diagnosed as mentally ill. It was in fact barely recognized that\u00a0 something about her was off. At most, people might have judged her for her compulsive\u00a0 flirtations and overtly sexual behavior, likely symptoms of sexual trauma. However, by to-\u00a0 day\u2019s standards, in the way that massive brainwashing has pushed the entire Western world\u00a0 into unbridled sexual focus and addiction, such behavior would still not be generally recognized as an unconscious symbolic repetition of some aspect of a previous sexual trau-\u00a0 ma. In my mother\u2019s case, I believe that a young, girlish part inside her was constantly trying\u00a0 to feel loved by being sexual with all men, cardboard stand-ins for the Father, placing her in\u00a0 direct competition with all females, cardboard stand-ins for the Mother. As far as I can tell,\u00a0 my mother\u2019s emotional life, which motivated her every word and action, was stuck inside an\u00a0 impossible incest triangle.\u00a0 \u00a0 According to my mother, her parents had been perfect. Nevertheless, when in my early\u00a0 years in therapy I would try to confront her with anything she might have done that was not\u00a0 perfect, she would scream that I had no idea how bad she\u2019d had it. When I would query her\u00a0 about what, then, had happened to her, she would become vague and fall silent. I do know\u00a0 that she was born in in 1939 ________ meine Mutter im selben Jahr in Wien ________<\/em><\/span> in Belgium near the Dutch border, and that the town where she\u00a0 grew up suffered famine during the Second World War. Her father was held as a prisoner of\u00a0 war in a German concentration camp and returned home in 1944. In 1945, weeks before her\u00a0 sixth birthday, her mother died in childbirth. If she was a victim of incest, I can imagine that\u00a0 after her mother\u2019s death, any negative feelings towards her mother (for not protecting her\u00a0 from abuse?) would have been locked away behind many thick layers of shame. My mother\u2019s intonations were often those of a five-year old girl, …..“ _____<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/li>\n
<\/li>\n
Wie gesagt: f\u00fcr 30 Tage kostenfrei zu lesen, in vollem Umfang unter https:\/\/de.everand.com\/read\/595518190\/Quest-for-Love-Memoir-of-a-Child-Sex-Slave#<\/span><\/h2>\n<\/li>\n
<\/span><\/p>\n