BEASTS OF THE SOUTHERN WILD

The Emotional Myth of Fiercely Tough and Never Sad

Photo from Fandango.com 

As I watched Benh Zeitlin’s poetic, gorgeously filmed movie, I kept asking myself: who are these Beasts of The Southern Wild?  Of course, they are prehistoric Aurochs, encased in Ice Age glaciers, set free by the same storm that threatens Hushpuppy’s (Quenzhané Wallis) home. But, as a psychoanalyst, I can’t help but reflect on the mythical Beasts in Hushpuppy’s mind. After all, they appear and re–appear, at crucial points in the film, when storms of feeling threaten to overwhelm a little girl who, in spite of her resilience, is quite alone. There is a mother who ‘swam away’, an erratically loving, angry, and dying father (Dwight Henry) - teaching Hushpuppy to be “The Man”, fiercely tough and, especially, never, never sad. 

When a mother leaves, and a father is dying, a child too frequently blames herself. Her need, her anger, her hurt – those (misinterpreted to be beastly) feelings - must have done it.  She constructs a tough wall against her feelings and love’s unreliability; like when Hushpuppy lashes out at her dad: “I hope you die and when you do, I’ll go to your grave and eat birthday cake all by myself” - as if she doesn’t care. When he disappears from the place he has suddenly fallen, she’s terrified: “I’ve broken everything”. Did her angry wishes turn him into a tree, or maybe a bug?  Will he ever come back? 

“The whole universe depends on things fitting together just right. If one piece falls apart, the entire universe would get busted”.  Hushpuppy’s world is falling apart; an internal voice, in voice over, is trying to sort out her fear that she’s the one who’s done the busting. That’s hard, though, with no help. When the film pans to an Ice Age scene with the world frozen over, we know Hushpuppy’s trying to toughen up; to be “The Man”.

Toughness is her dad’s way, too, and keeping those Beasts (of feelings) encased in ice is what he wants. If there is any tender kind of “girl stuff”, he aggressively yells: “Beast it, Hushpuppy…. Beast it, Beast it, Beast it.” A litany. A chorus; until Hushpuppy is showing her muscle-guns: “No time to sit around crying like a bunch of pussies”. Feelings of sadness, love, and need won’t be quieted, though, and the Beasts burst through at every turn - with Hurricane Katrina, a backdrop for the storms of a little girl’s troubling emotions. 

“Sometimes you can break something so bad you can’t get it put back together again.” Hushpuppy’s fear: that she’s “eaten her own Mommy and Daddy” - as all children do, in their understandably greedy need for love and security, to stave off the fear of loss. Hushpuppy, too adult, tries to face what she must: “Everyone loses the thing that made them. The brave must stay and watch it happen. They don’t run”. 

This little brave one finds her Mama and brings back Mama-cooked fried alligator; a last- meal love offering for her dad. The Beasts chase her, close behind. These Beasts are her Beasts - feelings of sadness, loss, and fear that must be felt. As Hushpuppy fiercely turns to face them, one of the Beasts kneels before her. Softening, she says: “You’re my friend, kind of”; not sure how safe her feelings are quite yet. As her dad holds her and they finally share a tearful goodbye, Hushpuppy’s Ice Age wall of toughness begins to melt: “When it all goes quiet behind my eyes, I see everything that made me . . . all the pieces are there”.  Yet, that wall, like the levee, needs time to deconstruct. There is still a lot of mourning to do.

This post was originally published on Dr. Jennifer Kunst's blog, Headshrinker's Guide To The Galaxy

THE SESSIONS

When Sex Is About More Than Sex

Photo Property of Fox Searchlight Pictures

‘The Sessions’, written and directed by Ben Lewin, sensitively portrays the longings, and poignant loneliness, of Mark O’Brien - a poet and journalist disabled by polio at age 6, living in an iron lung.  On the surface, ‘The Sessions’ is a story about sex surrogacy, sex in the disabled, and Mark O’Brien’s determination to lose his virginity and experience sex like any other man.  But, is ‘The Sessions’ really about sex?  At a deep level, I don’t think so.  

Sex, of course, is an important part of anyone’s life.  But, sex brings with it a host of other needs and feelings.  In Mark O’Brien’s case, intercourse wasn’t the only thing he wanted to achieve. Mostly, he was trying to overcome excruciating feelings of being unlovable; of believing no one wanted to touch him.  As he said himself in “On Seeing a Sex Surrogate”: “I wanted to be loved. I wanted to be held, caressed, and valued. But my self-hatred and fear were too intense . . . I doubted I deserved to be loved.” 

Before I went to see ‘The Sessions’, I watched, on YouTube, a short Academy Award-winning documentary called ‘Breathing Lessons’, made in 1996 by Jennifer Yu. Yu captured a very emotionally open Mark O’Brien – and showed, in raw detail, his excruciating self-hatred and feelings of ugliness.  Apparently, this documentary significantly influenced the movie and John Hawke’s development of the Mark O’Brien character.  But, after watching ‘Breathing Lessons’, I felt ‘The Sessions’ fell short of showing Mark’s real internal struggle.  How trapped, he was, not only inside the iron lung and a body whose muscles did not cooperate with his desires - but, more so, in his loneliness; in his belief that he was someone who couldn’t be loved.

Mark O’Brien did find love; not just sex. He found it, in spite of a self-hatred that might have made him shrink away from what he needed the most.  How did he do it?  He didn’t give up on himself.  I wouldn’t say he was optimistic exactly – at least ‘Breathing Lessons’ showed something quite close to hopelessness.  But, what he did have was a very strong will.  And, he didn’t deny his feelings, which his poetry gave him an outlet to express.  Sometimes, even, he was unabashedly open.  

It’s hard to stay open, when self-hatred is consuming – and, if anything, ‘The Sessions’ made it look a little too easy. Perhaps, that’s Hollywood. But, ‘The Sessions’, and most importantly, Mark’s life, did show the kind of courage and determination necessary to overcome those unrealistic self-hating feelings that can seem all too convincing.  Mark and ‘The Sessions’ (the movie and Cheryl Cohen Greene’s help) prove it’s not impossible.   Mark O’Brien’s life sends a strong message:  Never give up on what you want. 

This post was originally published on Dr. Jennifer Kunst's blog, Headshrinker's Guide To The Galaxy

AMOUR

An Insufferable Sadness

Photo from www.sonyclassics.com

No one can watch, or remember, Michael Haneke’s ‘Amour’, without being suddenly awash in horror at the way Georges (Jean-LouisTrintignant) frees Anne (Emmanuelle Riva) from her suffering. Does he do it for himself? For her?  Or for them both?  His choice of methods - shockingly violent, and a disorienting contrast to their gentle singing together - is, of course, disturbing. Yet, in it we see the abrupt turn of Georges’ quietly escalating desperation; the trap he’s increasingly suffocated by.

This movie belongs to Georges.  It is his story; the story of a man forced to stand on the sidelines helplessly watching, with slow agony, his beloved leaving him. Although he seems to be managing quite well, he’s not. With Haneke’s infusion of memories from Georges’ childhood; his nightmare – we see the shadows of Georges real trap take shape: his inability to cry; to be comforted; to share his loss with his daughter, Eva (Isabelle Huppert); to let Anne go; to mourn.

Georges’ memories, as memories can do, take us to the heart of his current struggles.  In the first, Georges as a young boy, returns from a sad movie only to have an older boy callously walk away, as a crying Georges tries to retell the story. Georges’ second memory is at camp, separated from his mother. When a cruel counselor makes him stay at the table until he finishes what’s on his plate, Georges sits. Crying. Alone. If a child has no place for sadness; no one to hear it; what does he do?  He sets up the same cold barriers inside (and later towards Eva), as George’s nightmare shows:

The stairs are blocked. A big wooden X – bars any exit. The floors of the hallway are flooding. Georges wakes with a scream. A panic; yes, from the terror of the nightmare; but even more from what the nightmare means: coming face to face with the rising waters of feelings he has done his best to deny. Sadness he can’t allow or escape from; resentment towards Death itself. For it is Death he wants to control and can’t. Yet, in his final desperately frustrated and angry act, he does. But, then, a horrible irony leaves him with what he fears the most. Being alone. And since Georges can’t even let his own daughter in to share their loss – he has barricaded himself in an unendurable forever kind of aloneness.

And then we have the pigeons. Haneke may say he doesn’t like symbols and ‘the pigeon’ means nothing to him; but, to me, the pigeons dropping in unexpectedly twice in the film hold the key. The first pigeon’s entrance is a sudden invasion; as Anne’s illness has forced its way into their lives. Pigeons if allowed, mate for life, and they are a symbol of hope. Georges’ hope and plan to be uninterruptedly with Anne are now steeped in his doomed effort to protect his beloved wife.  

When the pigeon appears for the second time, Anne is dead. Georges catches the pigeon in a blanket, and we hold our breath expecting a second suffocation. Yet, just as suddenly, Georges cradles the wrapped, caught pigeon tenderly in his arms; then - releases it. Powerless to keep Anne stilled in his love; Georges can’t live with the unspeakable hours, days, months, and (perhaps) years he’s condemned to be without her. Unable to free his sadness from the distant prison he’s locked it in; to mourn his loss - Georges can do nothing else but follow.

First posted as a guest post on Dr. Jennifer Kunst's Psychology Today blog, "Headshrinker's Guide To The Galaxy"

LES MISERABLES

Photo originally published on newyorktimes.com

When Shame and Hate Tear Hope Apart

Victor Hugo may have written his 19th century novel, ‘Les Miserables’, to condemn the ills of a society that created a class of ‘miserable ones’. But as a psychoanalyst, I’m interested in what ‘Les Miserables’ tells us about the inner causes of human misery. In ‘I Dreamed A Dream’, Fantine sings about one cause: Shame - which tears hope apart. Fantine doesn’t survive it.

Jean Valjean and Javert struggle with shame, too. Like many of us, they are haunted by their pasts; by losses and mistakes. Although, on the surface, it’s difficult to compare Jean Valjean and Javert, they are each one side of the other. The hate that grips them both takes a different form. Jean Valjean’s is turned against himself; Javert’s is directed outwards. Neither escapes. Each is trapped by the other.

Who is Jean Valjean to Javert – and Javert to Jean Valjean? We have no idea, in Tom Hooper’s cinematic adaptation of Les Miserables, why Javert single-mindedly pursues the letter of the law; bent on destroying Jean Valjean. Except that this puts him in the ‘right’. What makes more sense is that Javert was born in prison to a convict father and a gypsy mother. He turns against his shameful origins by becoming ‘Inspector Javert’.  

Isn’t Javert’s unrelenting hate for Jean Valjean, then, really directed at his own origins and, particularly, against his shameful self? ‘Inspector Javert’ is a more respectable identity. But another self in the form of Jean Valjean haunts him; a self he must destroy. For Jean Valjean, Javert is the self-hating, shaming, unforgiving voice that won’t leave him alone: “Men like you can never change” – a constant reminder of his wrongs. 

This kind of voice is, unfortunately, not unfamiliar to many people. At it’s worst, it ruins chances at love and even, sometimes, makes hate almost impossible to give up. This is Jean Valjean’s struggle in ‘What Have I Done’ when he allows the bishop to reach him: “why did I allow that man to . . . teach me love . . . I had come to hate the world  . . . Take an eye for an eye! Turn your heart into stone!” If Valjean doesn’t keep his heart hardened by hate, he’s afraid he’ll feel his shame “inside me like a knife.”

Shame and self-hate can make love seem dangerous. The complicated thing, though, is that love cures hate. Yes, there are risks to love. Jean Valjean loses Cosette to her own life. But, more tragically - with the Javert-voice constantly pursuing him in his mind, he can’t feel the real goodness of Jean Valjean. Losing Cosette makes him feel unlovable. He doesn’t really believe in Cosette’s love or the possibility of anyone else’s. He can’t go on. His shame is his prison and his demise.  

But, perhaps, Javert is the most tragic. His heart must unwaveringly remain stone; never allowing love. Not a fleeting feeling for the dead boy revolution fighter (his little boy self; the victim of his self-hatred); and especially not Jean Valjean’s kindness in releasing him. Kindness turns to pity in his mind – and he must set himself against Valjean. If he lets his heart soften, he doesn’t believe he’ll survive his shame; that he (his Valjean self) can be forgiven.

It’s true; shame and self-hate are difficult to overcome. But, painful experiences from the past, even mistakes, can be reconciled; and they don’t make someone ‘bad’. Psychoanalytic therapy wasn’t available in Victor Hugo’s time.  But, it is now. One of the most satisfying parts of my work is helping people get those cruel voices out of their heads; making love safer. Shame, self-hate, and despair don’t have to ruin anyone’s life – or hope. 

This post was originally published on Dr. Jennifer Kunst's blog, Headshrinkers Guide to the Galaxy. 

ALMODOVAR'S "THE SKIN I LIVE IN"

From IMBd Website for "The Skin I Live In"

Controlling Loss

Being separate from the one you love can seem like losing everything. And, if a loss has already happened – you just might want to do everything possible to make sure it never happens again. There are many complex emotional methods for dealing with such fears – and Almodovar’s film, “The Skin I Live In” gives us a disturbing window into some. 

Dr. Robert Ledgard (Antonio Banderas) uses the most extreme of measures not to feel hurt, need, or loss (as well as to express his bitterness and revenge). He kidnaps Vicente (Jan Cornet); controls and torments him; robs him of his identity; and makes him over in the image he wants - that of the dead wife he lost; naming him 'Vera' (Elena Anaya). In my last post (‘Gay Rights and Soul Murder’), I discussed one aspect of soul murder.  In Ledgard’s actions, Almodovar shows us another. 

Let’s backtrack a moment to the plot summary on IMDb: “A brilliant plastic surgeon, haunted by past tragedies, creates a type of synthetic skin that withstands any kind of damage.” Maybe Ledgard thought he was creating this skin for burn victims, like his wife. But, really, this was a skin he created for himself. A skin so hard, he could no longer feel. Or love.  

This kind of ‘skin’ is not unfamiliar.  Love can feel dangerous.  There’s the risk of being left.  Do you toughen yourself up?  Turn away?  Do you let your guard down?  Or don’t you? Ledgard fights this battle.  Mostly he keeps his feelings locked up as tightly as 'Vera'. But, he isn’t entirely immune. In spite of himself, he begins to fall in love with his creation. Is he capable of real love? No. He’s too scared. His is a love by possession; a love that suffocates.  

What about Vicente? He’s mostly an innocent victim; kidnapped, changed, and imprisoned. But, we’ve seen his insecurities; his desperation and need to be wanted. What if you’re a real life ‘Vicente’? Man or woman. If not for the actual locked door in the film - isn’t there some temptation to give yourself completely to a ‘love’ that masquerades as a singular togetherness; that says: “I want and desire only you”?  

If you’ve been taken in by your insecurities – you can escape. Vicente did - to “a place inside. A place that no one can destroy.” Robert Ledgard sealed himself into a hardened skin. Vicente took shelter in a different way - by holding on to who he really was; refusing to accept his ‘new identity’. Yes, he plotted his escape; played his part so subtly we thought he might be in love.  But, love is not a game.  Nor does it rob you of who you are. 

In the end – real love is about separateness. The words of poet, Ranier Maria Rilke describe it best: “A merging of two people is an impossibility, and where it seems to exist, it is a hemming-in, a mutual consent that robs one party or both parties of their fullest freedom and development. But once the realization is accepted that even between the closest people infinite distances exist, a marvelous living side-by-side can grow up for them, if they succeed in loving the expanse between them, which gives them the possibility of always seeing each other as a whole and before an immense sky.” 

GAY RIGHTS OR SOUL MURDER?

Gay Rights Photo from www.fanpop.com

The People at Mikey’s Late Night Slice vs. Antonin Scalia 

I can’t get Antonin Scalia’s outrageous comment out of my mind: "If we cannot have moral feelings against homosexuality, can we have it against murder?" This may be old news (12/11/12), but the barely concealed bigotry is not. So, I was particularly happy to read Joel Diaz’s blog on HuffPost today about so many people standing up against homophobic hate. That gives me hope. After all, this is 2013. Why does anyone have to invoke the constitution or the bible when it comes to what should be a very basic human right to love whoever we love? 

Anyway - it’s clear to me. Scalia’s got it all mixed up. Having moral feelings against homosexuality is murder. Leonard Shengold, M.D. (1989; 2000), a very astute psychoanalyst, defines soul murder as "a dramatic term for circumstances that eventuate in crime: the deliberate attempt to eradicate or compromise the separate identity of another person". Isn’t that what’s happening here? Anyone who masquerades as a constitutional or biblical supporter against gay rights is a soul murderer.

Think about it. How can homosexuality (a form of love) and murder be treated as the same issue? How can anyone in his right mind compare love and hate? Anyway, what is the ‘moral’ problem in loving someone you love? Love doesn’t hurt anyone. But, hating people who love differently, or telling them they are wrong for being what they are – does.  And anyone who is offended by someone expressing love in their own way should face the fact that the real problem is in them.  Not in the person who happens to be different. 

As Shengold says, soul murder is a crime. Then, isn’t the hypocrisy that haunts our society today a part of that crime? If religion, let’s say, is about saving peoples’ souls - how can ‘soul saving’ disguise itself as forcing anyone into some preprogrammed box – and telling them they have to be just like you? The psychoanalytic therapy I practice isn’t like that. Religion doesn’t have to be like that, either. Take the changes Gene Robinson, the courageous gay Episcopalian Bishop, worked tirelessly to achieve in the Episcopalian church (detailed in the documentary, 'Love Free or Die'). He endured hateful attacks and cruel ostracism to do so and is, without a doubt, one of the most loving, real, and inspiring people I’ve had the privilege to meet. 

Gene Robinson’s message is universal – we all, gay or straight, have the right to openly be who we are. This New Year – let’s each of us search our souls and do what we can to promote this freedom (short of bigotry, murder, emotional abuse, or physical harm). Yes, Joel Diaz’s blog on HuffPost is hopeful – especially to know that his story went viral.  To see so many people standing up for the rights of others to freely live their own lives – means that we, as a people, do have the capacity for change. Let’s take a lesson from Gene Robinson’s work and from all those people at Mikey’s Late Night Slice. Soul murder cannot be tolerated.  

IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE

Photo of George Bailey's Despair from "It's A Wonderful Life" 1946

If You Can Live For Yourself

Life isn’t so wonderful when you sacrifice yourself for other people.  Of course, friends are essential; and I certainly don’t disagree with George Bailey’s guardian angel, Clarence Odbody, that  “no man is a failure who has friends”. But, friends can’t be everything. And, this isn’t 1946. Our culture supports things like individuation and a certain degree of selfishness when it comes to making choices about how to live your life. But, if you are even a little like George Bailey - that doesn’t always come easily.

This year, I found myself watching “It’s A Wonderful Life” with my analyst’s eye. Granted, I’ve watched this movie countless times and, I’m sure like many of you, got swept up in the compellingly simple message that a happy life isn’t about monetary riches but about the people in it; those we touch and who touch us. But, this time I was very clear. I wouldn’t want to be George Bailey. Nor would I help any of my patients to become like him.

No question – George is an admirable person.  He cares deeply and, as far back as childhood, has an unusual sensitivity to the feelings of others.  This is a wonderful thing. But, this quality also has its downside. If someone else needs something, George all too quickly gives up his plans and goals – his college education, his desire to strike out into his own life; even his honeymoon.

If we look at the movie closely (and not from its heart-warming, but idealized ending), things get worse and worse for George. He gets poorer - not to mention terribly depressed. No one can continually put aside everything they want, and expect to be happy. The frustration, anger, or hopelessness will build up; no matter how loving you might be.

Why would this happen? Why would you, or someone else, put other people consistently first, like George Bailey does? Is it because its been expected of you, or you’ve been told you are selfish (or worse) if you don’t? Maybe you feel you are doing something terribly wrong if you even think about saying, ‘No’.  Or, perhaps, you have to say, “Yes” – out of conviction that, if you don’t, you won’t be loved. That someone will be angry with you. And, never want to see you again.

What are the lessons in “It’s A Wonderful Life”? Sometimes others come first – and sometimes they can’t.  Strike a reasonable balance. You can’t be a happy, satisfied, optimistic person if you don’t think of yourself a good part of the time.

Clarence was right to show George what life would be without him; but I’d like to look at this in a slightly different way. George was absent from his own life – and he was worse off because of it. What he really needed to do – was to show up for himself. Don’t be too much like George Bailey; caring, yes. But not self-sacrificing. Just because your friends will step in, in a crisis – doesn’t mean that that’s enough.

DOES SIBLING RIVALRY EVER END?

Photo from  familymatters.net 2010

And Now It’s The Holidays . . .

In the 2006 film, 'The Holiday', Graham (Jude Law) is serving hot chocolate to his daughters, Sophie and Olivia. Sophie, the oldest, complains: “She has more marshmallows than me.”  Graham, the daddy, responds: “No, she doesn’t. You each have 5”. Turning to Amanda (Cameron Diaz), a grown woman, Graham quips: “You have 5 too.” Can it be that even grownups have sibling rivalry?

The question is – do sibling jealousies ever end? And, can they be a prototype for all rivalries in later life; even interfering with getting what you really want? Who would know better than Freud? Not only because he was the father of psychology and psychoanalysis. But, mostly because he was the oldest of eight children - all born in just ten years. 

Here’s what Freud said: “A child who has been put into second place by the birth of a brother or sister and who is now for the first time almost isolated from his mother, does not easily forgive her this loss of place . . .” 

There is no doubt that Freud understood the feeling of being pushed aside by a competitor. It happened to him year after year. Jealous feelings come up every day of the year – and not just for oldest children. The holidays, though, are a time when rivalry can run wild. Yes - even if you are an adult. 

Sound irrational? It’s not. There are plenty of old feelings lurking in those secret corners of your mind. Who gets the best present? Where do Mom or Dad spend more time?  You get the idea. If, early in life, you’ve felt pushed aside by a brother or sister, or two or three . . . the holidays certainly can bring painful reminders. Isn’t it all too easy to find ‘evidence’ that you are, or aren’t, the most special one? 

What happens to those feelings of jealousy and competition? Do you tell yourself, “That’s in the past”? Or, like many people – perhaps your early feelings of sibling rivalry may not be conscious. Yet, very likely they are still interfering with your life today - substituted by other people and different situations.  Situations involving things like love - job recognition - or how much money you make . . .

Does it seem like someone else always gets chosen over you? Do you have to go after what you want full force? Pushing competitors aside? Believing - if you don’t think of yourself, no one else will?  Or, do you quickly back out of the competition altogether; feeling no one will want you anyway? Do you feel like Sisyphus? Starting from scratch again and again. Because every time you try to get what you need – something (or someone) gets in the way. 

It might be hard to believe – but if the pickings seem too slim, maybe you are looking in the wrong place. Unknowingly repeating all too familiar situations from the past. Sometimes others do get more marshmallows. But, it doesn't mean they are better than you. Try to remember this: Although it might not have been this way in the past – there really is enough to go around. Make it your New Year’s resolution to open your mind to new possibilities.

SPEAKING OUT

Photo From Blog Post on Feronia Project Website 3/29/12

Hostile Act?  Or Not? 

I don’t agree with Joan Didion. It just doesn’t sit well with me that saying “This is what I think” is always an act of hostility. As much as I admire Didion for how she writes, I don’t think what she says about being a writer is true. Of course, she has a right to see things her own way. I even find her point of view interesting. And, I definitely thought about it. But, am I a bully for saying, “No. I see it my way. I hope you will, too”?

Here’s what Didion says: “In many ways the act of writing is the act of saying I, of imposing oneself upon other people, of saying listen to me, see it my way, change your mind. It’s an aggressive, even a hostile act.  You can disguise its aggressiveness all you want . . . but there’s no getting around the fact that setting words on paper is the tactic of a secret bully, an invasion, an imposition of the writer’s sensibility on the reader’s most private space.” (From, “Why I Write”, The Writer on Her Work, 1980, p. 17-18)   

Yes. Putting your thoughts out there and expecting to be heard is an act of aggression. But, is aggression the same as hostility?  What’s wrong with saying – listen to me, this is my idea, this is how I feel? Am I being hostile for disagreeing - and writing about it? Or do I simply have a different point of view? Is all aggression the same? I don’t think so.  

Let’s look at how Didion uses her aggression. Her strong point of view is clearly stated.  She owns it.  She doesn’t attack.  She simply says what she thinks.  She wants us to listen, to take her ideas seriously.  Yet, we aren’t forced to agree or change our minds. And, in putting her thoughts on the page – she leaves room for us to think, to react; to do what we want to with her words.

What Joan Didion offers – is an example of healthy aggression: the kind that registers, “I have a right to how I think. A right to exist.” Healthy aggression isn’t cruel. It presents an essential ‘I – ness’; a solidarity with yourself that is crucial for being real - for claiming what is yours.

It’s true. Some people do misuse their aggression for purposes of ridicule and control. That type of aggression is hostile. But, there’s a big difference between insultingly abusive verbal attacks – and saying what you think. Wanting someone to see it your way doesn’t make you a bully (as long as you don’t deny their equal right to an opinion of their own). We all want to be understood.  

So, I respectfully disagree with Joan Didion. But, I offer my opinion. No more. No less. My intention, as a writer and blogger, is not to overthrow anyone’s thoughts. If my words speak to something in you, spark your curiosity, or make you think - I have done my job. If you disagree, I’ll listen. It’s reasonable to say: “This is what I think.” Even – “this is what I want.” In fact, to be successful and happy – saying both is absolutely necessary. 

THE BOOK OF MORMON

Broadway Cast Performing 'Turn It Off' 2012

Turn Off Your Feelings Or Go To ‘Spooky Mormon Hell’? 

Matt Stone, Trey Parker, and Robert Lopez are truly the masters of irreverent farce. ‘The Book of Mormon’ is about as funny as it gets.  But, it is also - in the cleverly honest ways comedy has – a show that puts quite serious matters right ‘in your face’. And one serious matter is this: “Turning Off” your feelings isn’t funny. 

In my last post, on the Academy Award winning movie ‘The Artist’, I talked about feelings that are silenced by mocking internal voices that say “Don’t be a fool; you’ll just be hurt.” The ‘Book of Mormon’ song “Turn It Off” tells us something else that silences feelings: believing certain feelings are bad.

If you feel that way, you are living in your own version of ‘Mormon Hell’ – a place of terrible self-judgment.  To add to that hell, you probably believe other people are judging you, as well.  It’s so unbearable to feel that way – maybe you do what Elder McKinley does as he struggles with his gay feelings: “Turn It Off – like a light switch”.  Or, if that doesn’t work - “imagine that your brain is made of tiny boxes. And find the box that has that (‘curse of a feeling in it’) - and crush it!”  

More important, though, is why you have to use these methods to silence your feelings in the first place. It’s because you believe there’s something wrong with them. So wrong that a voice in your mind (not unlike the “The Spooky Mormon Hell Dream”) tells you - you are ‘worse than your own version of Ghenghis Khan, Adolph Hitler, and Jeffrey Dahmer’.  What do you do when you believe your feelings and thoughts are that bad? 

Probably you have no choice but to turn them off, dim them down, crush them, or lie to yourself about them.  Maybe there’s some truth to the idea - “it’s OK to have certain feelings if you don’t act on them”, as the song says. But, most feelings aren’t dangerous to others. Turning them off, though, is not at all good for you.  Nor is having to deny who you are to please someone else - or living up to a code of behavior that isn’t really you. Isn’t that it’s own kind of hell? 

What does it take to break free? It takes the kind of new, strong, and heartfelt belief that ‘The Book of Mormon’ ends with: There is nothing bad or sacrilegious about finding your own personal way of seeing things. Especially when it comes to defining who you are. Isn’t that what Elder McKinley needed?  Isn’t it what you (and I and everyone) need – the freedom to be openly yourself, with all of your feelings? Without the “Spooky Mormon Hell Dream” telling you – you are the worst of the worst if you do.  

THE ARTIST

George's Nightmare from 'The Artist' 2012

 

What Makes Change A Nightmare?

Change is scary to many of us. Often we don’t even know why. Surprisingly, perhaps, ‘The Artist’ is more than just a compelling homage to the silent film. ‘The Artist’ is an accurate portrayal of why change can be frightening for some; and, for others, like George Valentin, an absolute nightmare. What is it that makes change so frightening?

George’s terrifying dream tells us quite a lot. After George turns away from the Talkies, from Al Zimmer, from his future, and from change, he has this dream:  Everything in his dressing room makes a shattering sound. George is petrified. Mouthing: ‘What the hell?’ into the mirror - he has no voice. He is the only silent thing in the room. Mouths hovering above are talking and laughing - at him. George doesn’t yell for help.

George is used to living in a silent world. Not only the world of silent movies, but also of his feelings. We can see why in his dream. Voices inside his mind mock him if he even thinks about needing help. To George - needing help; needing people; opening up and talking about feelings – is humiliating.  Some of you, I’m sure, feel the same way. It isn’t easy to be open; to risk saying how you really feel. Voices in your mind, too, might tell you ‘it’s crazy’, ‘don’t make a fool of yourself’, ‘you’ll just be hurt’ – or something like that.

What happens if those voices get louder and louder when you even think of wanting someone, or something else?  Does a warning flash in your mind - ‘Keep those needs quiet’ - like the ‘See No Evil’, ‘Hear No Evil’, ‘Speak No Evil’ monkeys that appear at just those moments in ‘The Artist’? And, like George, do you tell yourself you’re just fine? You can take care of yourself. You don’t need anyone, really. But, it isn’t true for you – any more than it is for George.

In spite of voices that tell you otherwise, there are other feelings and needs that come right along anyway – unwanted and unexpected. Just like Peppy Miller. Who is ‘that girl’? She is everything George is afraid to let himself be - alive, open, not afraid of change, and disarmingly herself. She disturbs his protective shell. He feels something for the first time.  Can he let himself? Not so easily.

George does what many frightened people do. He runs away. He drinks. He is terrified of opening up. He expects to be hurt, and when he is, he attacks himself: “Stupid! loser!”  The voices that mock his need for help and love almost win. Especially when he discovers how much he needs Peppy.

But, something hopeful remains – like the one movie he saves (dancing with Peppy). Once George begins to see that needing help, and love, is not a weakness – he can change. And, not only does he dance again with Peppy, he talks. He no longer lives in a world of silenced feelings. Most importantly, George proves those mocking voices wrong.

GLOBUS HYSTERICUS

The Lump In Your Throat That Is Not 'Just In Your Head'… 

 Sigmund Freud by Sidney Chafetz

You feel it. You really do. The lump moves up your esophagus and stops short. Something is stuck in your throat – leaving you with frightening thoughts: ‘Is this lump blocking my airway? Will it choke me?  Do I have cancer?’  In all likelihood, your doctor will tell you there is no physical cause. Still, the lump is real.  It’s just not what you think.

That lump in your throat is known by two different medical terms: Cricopharyngeous spasm and Globus Hystericus. Some say it is “stress related”. And, it is. But, when there is no organic cause, some misinformed doctors, or friends, might pass it off as, “made up”,  “bogus” or “just in your head”. Don’t believe them.  The lump in your throat is much more complicated than that. It’s a symptom. An emotional symptom – a lump of unexpressed feeling - converted into a physical sensation.

Neuroscientists and neurologists are beginning to take seriously that these physical sensations are quite real and not imagined. (Newsweek Daily Beast, November 28, 2011) The original diagnostic name was conversion hysteria, dating back to the days of Freud and his cohorts, Charcot and Breuer; hence, the “Hystericus” in Globus Hystericus. Hysteria, in the public arena, has a bad name. It arouses visions of overly dramatized emotional reactions. Even worse – putting on a show for attention. Really, though, the basis for hysteria is something quite different: anxiety.

Yes, Globus is an anxiety reaction. But, defining something as ‘anxiety’ is a catchall phrase that says nothing about the person who is suffering. Anxiety, like Globus, is a symptom. Freud understood symptoms in an interesting way.  As a compromise between two different parts of your mind: One that wants to openly communicate a feeling. The other that says something like: ‘That’s stupid, weak, or unacceptable’– and bars the feeling from your awareness. These opposing parts have no choice but to make a deal. They ‘agree’ on a form of expression that isn’t the real thing. A symptom. The symptom conveys the feeling, but in a disguised way. So, what could that lump in your throat be trying to say? 

You all know the expression: “I have a lump in my throat” when you feel like crying and can’t. It’s, also, pretty common to choke back angry words. What, then, might be involved in the onset of Globus?   Something happens that stirs up old feelings – feelings you probably aren’t aware of. A loss is re-experienced; one that happened long ago. It could be the death of a parent; a parent leaving; feeling less favored than a sibling; or other early deprivations that made you feel unwanted or left out. The feelings of sadness and anger surrounding these old losses have been pushed aside; the loss left not fully mourned. 

When feelings have no place to go and no one to hear them, they are put in that category of  ‘unacceptable’. If they try to come out and are stopped – they get stuck. So – the lump in your throat that won’t go away, but has no medical diagnosis? Don’t let anyone, including you; write it off as ‘nothing’.  Think about what was happening before you first realized it was there. Did something make you sad?  Did you feel abandoned? Pushed aside? Angry? If you aren’t sure, and the troubling lump persists – consider seeing a therapist. You might be surprised. When therapy helps you replace the symptom with the real feelings behind it - that lump in your throat no longer has a reason to exist.

A DANGEROUS METHOD

Shedding Light On Sexual Desire In Therapy 

 

A Dangerous Method (2011)  

Keira Knightley and Michael Fassbender (shown above)

David Cronenberg’s film, ‘A Dangerous Method’, helps us understand the complicated role sex can play in hysteria and therapy – which is not about adult sexual desire at all.  What happened in Jung’s treatment of Sabina Spielrein?  And, how did sex become a part of it?

Sabina’s trauma, abuse by her father, is at the heart of her symptoms and her desire. She is not only terrified, but, confused and ashamed.  We see these feelings clearly when Keira Knightley’s Sabina arrives at Burgholzli Clinic, in out-of-control anguish. Jung (Michael Fassbender) introduces himself as her doctor and says they will talk most days - just talk - and try to understand what troubles her.  This is the task of any good therapy. 

For Sabina, like many patients, trust is hard to come by; but the treatment begins well with Jung’s thoughtful understanding. Sabina, with great difficulty, admits that “any type of humiliation” excites her.  Her confusing relationship with her father made love, sexual excitement, and humiliating punishment interchangeable.  Sabina takes a risk to tell Jung her shameful feelings – and, he, unexpectedly, announces he is going away. 

Jung’s leaving, especially right after Sabina opens up, is no simple matter. In Sabina’s disturbed mind, she takes this sudden separation as rejection; confirmation of her “vile and hopeless” nature.  Who, then, is Jung?  Her punisher?  Her father?  When Jung beats the dirt from her discarded coat (as she feels he’s just discarded her), Sabina runs in panic from her excited; jealous longings. The unconventional framework of the therapy – working together, boating; sharing common interests – doesn’t keep Sabina’s fantasies properly contained or understood.  

What Jung fails to see, in Sabina’s desire and attempts to win him over, is the real cause of her hysteria: her frightening, desperate, and sexualized longings – for her father (not Jung) to love her.  Jung does not understand that Sabina turned the beatings - which made her feel despicable – into something ‘exciting’ instead.  ‘The sex’ in Sabina’s hysteria – is the sex of insecure love; a frantic, jealous, and possessive plea to stop any rival from making her feel unlovable.

What did Sabina really need from Jung?  She needed his kind and truthful understanding of her wish to be lovers to escape awful feelings of badness and despair.  She needed him to weather the storms of hurt and rage.  If Jung had kept his footing, he could have talked to Sabina about how she translated his refusal into rejection.  Helped her understand that she misconstrued his being her doctor, not her lover, to mean he loathed her.  By talking to her, he might have dispelled her anguished fantasy that he chose and loved someone better. These are reasonable  – and, I would emphasize, loving – things for an analyst to talk directly about.

Patients should be safe to have any feelings in therapy – even sexual ones.  It’s an analyst’s job to make sense of things – not letting their own needs or fantasies get in the way.  Psychoanalysis is the best therapy for traumatized patients to work out feelings of worthlessness and jealous longings for an old unrequited love of a parent.  But, if, like Jung, an analyst loses his objectivity and replays the original trauma – that is the danger in the method.