I wrestled with some demons, they were middle-class and tame, sang Leonard Cohen. My demons and I are well-matched, for they are me.

On TV Tropes, there is the term Wangst, meaning weedy or whiny angst. Cohen might have overcome his demons, but mine have the trick of making themselves appear small to me, and then mocking me: you mean, you could not even overcome Us??

Well, it’s meaningful to me, matters to me, bothers me. My demons want to convince me they are not there, or not a problem, so that they can overcome me.

They are trying to protect me.
They are failing.
A woman turned her occupying army into security guards.

All of me is trying to protect me, seeking my flourishing, but in conflicting ways. Much of it is unconscious, or so normal-seeming as to be imperceptible. Bring it into consciousness, name it, notice it- not the air I breathe, but the wind that holds me back. When I call my reaction Wangst, I minimise it, so make it impossible to overcome. Or pass through, whatever, the whole point is not to feel bad, surely?

I feel pain, and I blame myself.

How could you be so fucking useless?

Hello, Mum.

-It feels very Scottish, she says. The English woman notices the Scots resistance to showing pain: it’s showing weakness. All genders are like this. I, having made the opposite move, Scotland to England, am not so sure: it is English, too, possibly in many or most societies.

Part of what I can achieve by permitting myself to feel the pain is not showing it. I try to ignore it, it shouts louder, it manifests in tears or gasps or wails.

So that part of me which seeks to suppress pain, and that part which seeks to acknowledge it and feel it and process it, all internally, are on the same side: not to show it.

I am going round and round in circles with my counselling. What am I trying to achieve?

I am finding out about myself, and how I function.
I am finding out about myself, and valuing my qualities.

I am reconciling my different internal voices, the
part I call rational and the part I call emotional,
both of which are both rational and emotional

-Do they speak to each other?
But they can speak, here. I am sure that higher, softer voice is a part I do not hear, myself, which-

God was not in the wind that broke mountains, or the earthquake, or the fire, but in the sound of sheer silence.

while my glory passes by I will put you in a cleft of the rock, and I will cover you with my hand until I have passed by; then I will take away my hand, and you shall see my back; but my face shall not be seen

that higher softer voice is a strong part of me, which normally I cannot hear, which does not trust enough to speak, but trusts when I am in counselling. Then other voices in me crowd in, and change the subject.

All comments welcome.

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