Inner children #1

Before you read this, I want to make the disclaimer that this is a mental and spiritual exercise I am doing to try to unlock the source of some deep-seated anxieties, to locate old wounds so that they might be healed. It's complicated, it's painful and it's strange. My therapist is guiding me through working with my inner children. That's right, plural. But remember, these are constructs, and I am using them to figure things out. It does not mean that I am going any crazier than I already am. Both of these children are fully "me" and I am both of them. Got it? Maybe? Okay.

My therapist had me picture my inner children in therapy, in sort of a half-trance, meditative state. I saw them and talked to them. She asked them some questions and I spoke with them and her on their behalf. I am trying to expand on the experience now, and make a little more sense of it.

The boy, Morgan, is curious, outspoken, boisterous and quick-witted. The girl, Heather, is lost in her own world, unmotivated to interact with others, preferring to play with her toys. It seems like they are different ages, but really, they are twins. Morgan is Heather's big brother. Heather wishes she could be more like Morgan, but can't quite manage it unless they are alone together. They share many traits. They are both very smart and very introspective. They think with the same mind sometimes, and feel with the same heart. They love each other very much. Heather feels safe with him. Morgan likes to protect her.

Of course, they are both "me," constructs of what was and what may have been, in my childhood. Morgan is everything I wish I would have been able to say and do. Heather is who I was. It makes me a little sick to say and write the name "Heather." It's not that I hate her. It's just that I had to put her aside and grow up to be Morgan. But excising parts of yourself, dividing up your soul into bite-sized pieces, is never a good idea. I just don't know what to do with that little girl anymore. I know I need to take care of her, and yet, I wish she'd just disappear.

I didn't have a name for Morgan until recently. Morgan is the little boy who never was. I think I adore him and idolize him the way a little sister might admire her big brother, but he has an evil streak, too. He is monstrous, sometimes. He tortures bugs and toads in quiet amusement. He rages and screams when he does not get his way. He tricks people into doing what he wants, and he isn't above playing his parents against each other. He does this, when Heather just curls up into a ball and cries.

When Heather cries, her father always says, "Stop that phony crying!" He invalidates her fear and pain, which makes it worse, and she cries harder, and her father yells more and makes her stand in a corner until she shuts up. And Morgan hates it and wants to hit his father. He wants to take the old man on in a bare-knuckled fight and teach him to pick on someone his own size. But he'll lose, because he's little, too, and Daddy is big.

... Whew. This is hard. Gives new meaning to the term "bipolar." I'll come back to this later. It's going to take several entries to work this out, but it must be done.