Jagged Confusion about Emotions Early in My Life
*Name has been changed
Especially from when I was four until I was eight, both of my parents expected me to have an explanation for my every emotion. One would get angry and hit me when I didn’t, and the other significantly lacks empathy and doesn’t even understand it when people get highly emotional. And what little kid understands their emotions without being taught how to properly navigate them?
It wasn’t until these past few years when I started to finally believe that I’m autistic that I realized that part of the reason I couldn’t explain my sudden crying outbursts was that they were meltdowns. It wasn’t that I was doing it on purpose, the way my parents obviously thought that I was. Or that I wanted it to happen. It was that I couldn’t help it, and I didn’t understand what was happening to me or why.
No one else was there to provide me with any proper guidance, either. I also never had a meltdown when I was away at school or in public at that time that I can remember.
After the 1995 accident happened and my grandparents took over the meat of raising me, my maternal grandmother, to give her credit where it’s due, was the first to show me that emotions aren’t a bad thing. And was the first to point out that I tend to “bury my emotions too deep”, which she wasn’t wrong. But, still, and partly due to her own unhealed childhood trauma, my grandmother’s idea of being emotionally expressive was being a constant basket case, which annoyed the crap out of me and everyone else in my family!
But, still, there were times (never at a funeral, thank God!) when I couldn’t help but burst out laughing, not completely aware that everyone else around me couldn’t hear my thoughts. If anyone asked me what was so funny, I would immediately clam up, feeling as if I’d done something heinously wrong.
I know that some of my sense of humor is rather childish. To this day, I’ve never met anyone else who ever sang “Old McDonald had a toilet” or came up a joke like, “What do call scrubbing the floor with your butt? Useless!” that I know of. I also didn’t want to embarrass anyone with it. My former “friend”, *Caitlyn, at some point, told me that I “laughed for no reason” and that was when I’d say, “what happened to just being happy?” But my laughter has, unfortunately, become less frequent with time and age.
Discovering my Alexithymia and The Beginning of Its Deconstruction
**To clear any confusion, no, I do not have any reason to believe that I have DID, as I do not dissociate into alter personalities. I’ve simply been doing inner child work since around 2021, building on the foundation of the “Depression Queen”, whom I first “met” at the start of my college days.**
Alexithymia wasn’t in my vocabulary until about my early or mid-30’s. As soon as it was, I knew almost immediately that it made so much sense for me. Especially the times when I was aware that I was feeling something, but couldn’t describe it. And that I’m often aware of my emotions only when they reach their almost- or maximum height.
However, I didn’t realize just how much alexithymia I have until very recently, when I started an essay just a few days ago about my hatchet burial trip to Fairfield Bay, Arkansas, in 2024. It’s only been then that I’ve finally recognized that my pain doesn’t always show up as the stabbing sensation, but sometimes as a profound feeling of disconnection.
Lately, the more I’ve tried to navigate myself, the more disconnected I’ve felt. It’s only now that I’ve recognized it as a thick shield that I had no choice but to build in childhood for my survival. Into a month from my 40th birthday, I can say that I have never experienced a greater frustration than feeling blocked from myself.
However, one piece of success that I’ve had is finally being able to magnify what you would call my “inner child” (IC), or the emotional part of myself that’s heavily damaged and makes up a good majority, but not 100% of, my obsessive compulsive thoughts. I’ve been trying to convince IC to stop listening to and believing what “Depression Queen” says, and the horrific images-such as those of me being a victim of violent crimes- that Depression Queen often likes to dump.
But, so far, unfortunately, I haven’t had much success. IC just keeps putting up the old wall screaming that I/we don’t deserve to be loved, that we do deserve to be abused, pillaged, etc., ETC! I have found it somewhat helpful to approach IC with the “okay, let’s say for argument’s sake that’s true” angle. So, as much as IC is very glad to finally be seen, unfortunately, Depression Queen still has IC right where she wants IC-still in her clutches. I’ve tried to get IC to spend more time with my “inner parent” who is called Anamalie 2.0 (pronounced like a combination of Anna and Molly) or my wise, discerning self, and other safe “selves”. But no matter how hard I’ve tried, IC just keeps going right back to Depression Queen.
Considering that I’ve been almost nothing but disappointed in love in all forms, IC is very afraid to try to love again. IC has absolutely no trust in humanity, and for that matter, neither does Depression Queen. The difference is that Depression Queen doesn’t necessarily believe in undeservingness of love as much as she wants IC to believe that in order for her to stay halfway alive.
Where this new deconstruction of alexithymia is going to go from here, I don’t know. But one thing I do know is that this work is necessary. If I am going to do the healing work that I know I need to do to have the chance to live the life that I know I’m meant for. I need to be reborn, and I cannot let anything stop that from happening anymore.
Lacy Pierce