THE WOUNDED INNER CHILD:
Recovered from April 2012:
As I cry my eyes out, paranoid as all hell; trapped, and having to deal with it every single day:
Re: “The Wounded Inner Child”
There is something about being loved and protected by a parent (or guardian) knowing that I can be loved for who I am, not what I can do, or might one day become. Unfortunately it’s not usually like this in every single situation. From time to time my parents made mistakes during my childhood. Possibly I was the mistake, or unwanted. But I don’t know. I had every material thing that I could have ever wanted, but there was still something missing, as if I felt distanced from my parents, or misunderstood, in the ways that they treated me. At times I had felt completely loved and accepted by my parents, but for one reason or another, they were unable to care for me, provide for me, in some ways that would have been very important.
Sometimes I feel like I am trying to make up for the experiences in life that were absent when I was a child.
It is not flesh and blood but the heart, which makes us fathers and sons.
My father and I have always had a dysfunctional relationship, and for the most part, no relationship at all. Yet my father is in full control of every single aspect of my life, legally—everything. The document is what I’m referring to. It basically forced me to take a vow of poverty and submission. I had no choice but to re-define my values and what things were and are really important to me. I hope to post the Trust document at some point. It’s something that nobody in his or her right mind would have signed, and yet I did not sign it. I was not in New York anytime around the time and place of my “signature” stamp. I have proof of this—phone records, emails, IP addresses, security camera footage, and doctor’s notes as to where I was—in California at my doctor’s office. A Notary Public also signed the document, yet, [thoughts trail off…] I believe with money, comes power. And this includes such power as in power over the courts, and even politics. Not millions of dollars, but billions. I’m referring to Bill Gates’ kind of money and thus power—control.
There is so much I would like to say to my father, at the same time—nothing at all. A numb feeling takes over when it comes to the thought of my father, which one might think would be very sad, unfortunate and tragic, but again, as it’s no longer anger, but the numb, apathetic, uninterested, immobilized, and if anything callous feelings that come up. But, more—[thoughts, a hurting, and massive tears trailing off, again…] having to accept my fate, our fates, and all the further loss, hurt and consequences that are bound to come, by law, that will affect a large part of the world, as my father and my family are exceptionally well-known and influential public figures. They have made many seriously profound impressions and contributions through global philanthropy, for example.
I have read Martha Stout’s http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martha_Stout “The Sociopath Next Door” http://www.amazon.com/Sociopath-Next-Door-Martha-Stout/dp/076791581X among countless other books in order to learn some answers of “Why?”—Why does my father and my family behave so mysteriously manipulating and crafty?—Bordering on diabolical.
At first it was very difficult for me to accept that my father might have as Ms. Stout calls, “no conscience,” yet, I was more relieved to see that this was actually a common character type. I was able to get a glimpse, just a glimpse, into the sociopath’s mind, perhaps.
“If you’re the father of a little boy, there’s a good chance that right now, you are enjoying a very close connection with your son. He probably idolizes everything you do—dressing up in your clothes, imitating the way you read the paper or the way you stand when you talk. He tries to do everything you do and works hard to make sure he has your attention and your approval. You can see in your little boy’s eyes that he is utterly convinced that you are without a doubt the ultimate man in the world…”
Continued on the blog by my good friends at Healthy Place:
My father recently wrote me. At least I hope it was he who wrote. Often I find that other people are hired to write on his behalf, sign on his behalf, and even make decisions on his behalf. I have no contact info for him and I’m blocked on every email and phone number he owns, which is why this blog seems like the only way to even reply to him, or to communicate at all.
I know that I am often a very bad person—a lot of times, perhaps most times. There is so much about me that I have done wrong, hurtful attacks, etc., pure evil. I wouldn’t even know where to begin—and I also don’t care to. Even still, I have skeletons in my closet. Time will unclose them, I hope.
I do believe I am a good person underneath it all, and a beautiful creature who happens to be a very troubled and deeply disturbed adult with an especially wounded inner child and a past full of war-like trauma, which to this day causes me to still be that sad, angry, brutal and malicious person, and I have heard it from so many people, too. I think you know about the unending series of relationships that, because of me (having schizophrenia with bipolar, or not—) have ended, on particularly bad notes.
I only have so many issues I am literally able to take on at once, and I believe that I do exceptionally well as I work on myself, through therapy, and personal mediations, education, even speaking with the voices I hear due to the schizophrenia—both the voices of paranoia and the angelic spirit guides who I see and interact with on a daily basis. Yes, I am literally “crazy.” Schizophrenia and Post Traumatic, even “Presently-Traumatic” Stress Disorder, has shaped a lot of my life and yet, I still make my own choices.
All this while I still, every day… [Thought trails off…] If I would like him to “know” anything about me, I so often ask God to bring me back to Baby Jesus—for the chaos, the feeling completely trapped—in my home, in my mind, in therapy, in public, in private—I want it to end so much. I can’t tell you how much. But suicide is not an option. Recovery and hope are the only options—gratitude.
There’s good and evil, so-to-speak—what I call the Angel Demon Human Dichotomy—in everyone. I believe that I have “signed up” for all of this—all of it, for me to have, to deal with. And hopefully overcome, on my own, on my own accord. In this lifetime, and so to make better for my next incarnation.
On that topic, I believe that I am actually the future life (reincarnation) of his father, my grandfather—who did have schizophrenia, diagnosed in the hospital in New York, and who ended up taking his own life. I think he chose to live, but it was just a second too late. I have, in deep meditation, experienced his life, his feeling trapped, his unspeakable strange occurrences in his mind, and his self-doubt.
I do choose to post the positive things I do on Porcelain Utopia, the quotes, the motivational/inspirational material (along with my transgressions) even when Satan is looking over my shoulder. It’s completely real—for me, likely due to the symptoms of schizophrenia, yet maybe not, says some of the latest medical studies and reports.
I do not write the positivity I do because my life is necessarily at peace, but often, I will post a positive quote because I believe in it, but more, because I want that, to manifest positivity in my life when it is lacking it.
The full spectrum of Jonathan Harnisch is an extremely complicated one. I am just about 100% sure that I have forgiven my father, but more myself. I need to, and I need to feel, believe and think it—to live it. There is no cure for my condition—not yet—only treatment. The difference between the two is tremendous. I also have a baker’s dozen other diagnoses as well. I have to pick and choose which to work on, which to heal, and which to let go.
Paranoid, Paranoid, Paranoid.
My experiences aren’t real, but I can’t tell.
I just want to be loved for who I am, to restore the honor and protection—safety—I perhaps should have had as a little boy, but was unable to have because of natural circumstances, which on a soul level, all the absences, I have chosen. You and I now differ a lot; from the clothes we wear, to our beliefs, values, needs and wants. I have recently taken on some healing-my-inner-child work. Who knows what’s next?
So often, I truly hate my life and who I am. I hardly trust a soul these days. Living in a perpetual state of fear and distrust—a living [fill in the blank] because I can no longer write any more at least for now. In tears for the last hour or so because of the hurt this writing causes me.