Safe in my Skin.

So, I'm at school and I do not have my journal, so I was just going to type this out here.

Last week A. asked me my reaction to the idea of being safe in my own skin. And, well, I looked at her like she was bonkers. I have never and have no conception of what it means to feel safe or comfortable in my own skin.

So after that initial response, my response is how could you even expect me to be safe in my own skin. Seriously, as far as I am concerned the danger lies within my skin. It seems a little cliche to me, but sometimes is does seem like some toxic chemical has been implanted in me and it is slowly eating away at me. The danger was me, not him. I know it doesn't make any sense and it is not rational, but I'm trying hard to not reject things that are not rational without thinking about why they are so important to me. I kinda react to any irrationality with "But I am rational, so if something is irrational, I not only don't accept it, but I also argue that I cannot even be affected by it." I don't think that is a reasonable position. Irony? Anyone?

Honestly, however, I would like to be able to feel safe in my own skin. To some extent, I think that my own body is the enemy. A. has referred to it as body-phobia. And that is true for me. I am afraid of my own body. I don't hold him accountable. I hold my body accountable--I can punish it, keep it in check. I would be interested in the history of the mind-body duality and how that relates to the idea that the mind must keep the body in control. Unfortunately, the mind and body are not separated by a impermeable brick wall. I don't really understand the relationship between my mind and my body and I don't think anybody really understands the relationship between the mind and the body. I also don't feel comfortable with the idea of not fully understanding that. Because I know that if I can understand, quantify, model and explain the relationship between my mind and body, I can equally correct and control that relationship.

I read THE BODY REMEMBERS a couple months ago. I did not spend much time with it, but the book tries to explain how physical trauma turns into neurobiological signals in the brain, which impact the mind. The point being that you don't just get over trauma. The only problem I have with that argument is the assumption that there exists a form of trauma outside of social experience. More and more, I am not sure that such an assumption is necessary to support such an argument. Over time, we are learning more about the plasticity of the brain. If the brain is plastic, then it seems that something could become trauma in the context of new information and that trauma can have neurological impacts. Oh, if the world were as simple as an economic model, but I am getting more comfortable with the fact that the world is not that simple.

On a social scale, using models might be very important. To understand the generalities is simple to me, but to do the nitty-gritty of any individual situation is very difficult to me. I suppose this is what the gen-x'ers call real. I don't handle "real" very well. It is much more natural and intuitive to me to avoid the real, things that matter. Staying abstract, separated from the world AND from my body.

This has had tremendous advantages for me. It keeps me distant from my pain, probably keeping me from committing suicide on more than one occasion. It does make me an exceptionally mathematical woman. But in some sense, I imagine this has also meant that I do not experience as much joy and attachment as I could. I haven't decided if the tradeoff is worth it.