stigmata: a mark or obvious trait that is characteristic of a disease or defect

So, I’ve been here for a day, and the time is nigh for me to get rid of the big green ‘no photo’ box and put up an identifier. A thought that fills me with terror. I’ve been down for the count for a year now, and one of the topics that keeps coming back up is identity. How do we define ourselves, and how much is our choice and how much is a result of events and circumstances outside of our control?

I’m not so good at choosing. I resent being created. Ergo, I often choose limbo.

But why not choose? I’ve made exactly two choices in my life that I’m willing to stick to; that don’t fill me with regret. Those folks who say ‘we always regret the things we don’t do’ haven’t been living inside my skull. My errors can fill me with poignant shame upon recollection, and literally stop me in my tracks as I fend it off.

I know, in theory, where much of this comes from. I had a step-parent who seemed to make it his life’s mission to prove to me that I was a nonentity. There are worse Cinderella stories out there, much worse. But this guy told me, one way or another, that I had no rights, that I was branded with something disgusting, and in fact, that I wasn’t a real human.

He didn’t work alone. Another parent suffered from spontaneous combustion syndrome. Alright, I made that up, but it’s appropriate. I know now that when my mother exploded with verbal vitriol, it was because something else in her life was scaring the crap out of her. Back then it seemed as if it was triggered by my having an opinion…any opinion.

A third parent unwittingly reinforced the idea with more drastic action, though like the other two, he was lost in his own pain as well.

Funny how the adult can understand things, but still my emotional responses remain the same. The adult knows now (though it took a lot longer to discover) that step-father actually attacked me because he couldn’t face Mom. Mom attacked me because she couldn’t face life.

It was my job, in some way. One that at least found meaning when they created my much younger brother. If I was taking it, then he wasn’t. Don’t know if he understands how much of an anchor he gave me by needing that protection. So, even in the swamp one can find meaning.

I always felt that there was something inside of me that caused me to be the target of these reactions…hence the concept of stigmata. An idea that got reinforced several times throughout life. It seemed to the emotive part of myself that as soon as I became known on a deeper level to folks, they ran like the wind or stuck around and let me know that I was crud. There are, of course, some wonderful exceptions to that idea, but I find that trust comes slowly for me. Hopefully in a healthy way. Hopefully.

Both my parents are good folks, and I have much to be grateful to them for, but I could wish that they had decided to become adult before becoming parents. It’s funny, many people I know say that they would like an apology for the negative messages that their parents gave them. I don’t think I could stand it. Don’t know why, but perhaps my entire sense of self was developed around that stigmata, and I could crumble if it heals.

So, I did, in fact choose an icon. By preference, if I had the graphics skill, what it would be is the two halves of yin and yang with boxing gloves sparring each other. Healing feels like that, the intellectual and the emotional trying to find balance, but not yet able to work in tandem, and often trying to find supremacy over each other. Chose the rainbow version because my sexuality, at least, is one of the few areas where I don’t have questions. Besides, color is cool.

Thanks so much to the many folks who, in the span of a day, have reached out with welcomes and advice. I hope that I am able to return the favor.

Ok…another cultural question.  I read the entry and still don’t get it.  What the heck is tribe vibe, really?