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Discussion Starter · #1 ·
My thoughts on reading the first chapter or two of a memoir of an Auschwitz survivor...and on my own anorexia/soul death

they wanted their souls, their very souls, and they would inflict more and more pain
and the pleasure of dissociation is that you give your soul away,
you spiritually killed yourself in order to win,
you cut off the hand that is tied to the enemy,
and the pleasure of becoming a nothing in a concentration camp
could bring; when you were nothing you were not conscious anymore,
you could do whatever you wanted and never get hurt

like a user of drugs who craves the ability to take their consciousness
and judgement out of the way to be able to finally find relief in the
most debasing acts possible (such acts are needed to fully feel the
sense of release), it is incredibly do-able for one to turn off his
consciousness of what is around him and make himself into a machine...
this act of tearing out everything that is consciously "you" is as
addictive as heroin. I remember times of literally existing, nothing
more, I had magazines in front of me in Sohail's living room and I did
not even read them, or at least I comprehended little of what I read;
instead I knew that Melissa Schiller was reading a magazine and she does
this to survive the next few minutes of denying her own existence,
she does this in order to ignore the soul and in order to survive.
the magazine becomes euphoric to the touch, the paper so incredibly
lovely in its shockingly heavy weight, this anchor to my "off button"
Without such distractions in front of me, I could accidentally become
melissa Schiller again, I could accidentally burst into a world of
the self that caused so much pain in the first place, I could burst int
that being who must have done so much wrong in order to have received
the treatment she did. I would become that being who, in her consumption
of food, made a fleshy being that had been picked apart before. I could
not show any sign of need that could be taken away and I would have rather
been a crow.

Reading about the concentration camps I still entertain the want to have
been there, yes a tool of masochism but not directly attached to my Self.
See, if I was in the camps I would have things I would have to do and people
telling me waht to do and I would never be able to be Melissa Schiller,
and any Melissa Schiller that shone through would get exterminated,
and in my mind rightfully so as she had been at fault for so much
pain inflicted on her. The Holocaust doesn't shock me anymore.
I would be impressed if it did by the end of this book. It used to shock
me, it used to hurt and make me feel empathetic, but now I say and act like
it does because I don't want to appear a sociopath.

Part of me, although far in recovery, still has the foot in the door of
conscious death. Part of me, not the part that loves the humidity, looks
forward to chaos in which I will not have to act or be anything anymore.
Part of me does not want to make choices and part of me wants nothing
to do with the world and part of me is so incredibly fascinated with
stamping the soul out because I've not grown accostumed to having it.

I do not like these sensations, they are often unpleasant and anxiety-inducing,
but I know deep down inside I love them more than anything because I still
hate myself. I still know that deep down I have not become comfortable
with my own skin yet and I still want to hold on to that hate because
it's terrifying to not have it; it's terrifying to not have control over
what lashing will come next. It's terrifying that I could say something
silly or gain a pound and then the world would look at me differently. And I don't
even think the world operates like that but I remain in the game, you know,
just in case. If I am nothing, If I wipe out the existence of my soul,
then no one will have an excuse to hate me.

For some reason I feel that many of us have this part of us that is fascinated
with the soul death. The appeal of "heroin chic", in which one finally attains
appeal when they are strung out and incapable of anything...People are only
appealing when you can control them and break them. But at the same time
there is a horrible fear of that breaking...you wouldn't WANT to really do that,
you know if you did in reality it would kill you. But you love the fantasy
of it because it's not really about them, it's about you and what you want
yourself to be...

I still hate myself too much to completely NOT want to be in the concentration camps...
 
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Nobody is willing to TOUCH this one, lol...

I do understand your thoughts here...I've been that self-destructive and desperate myself. I NEEDED my self-hate - it felt like the most real thing I 'owned' some days.

I really liked the "heroin chic" metaphor. See, part of what those kids are displaying is almost a taunt. They're saying "look. you can't hurt me, world...i'm already dead. A zombie walking through the mall....all you suckers who can get your hearts broken and who worry about whether you look fat in those jeans....I'm impervious. Envy me? Oh, come on...you know you want to."

It's more narcissisitic desperation. We are looking for a safety that doesn't exist. "Heroin chic" is a LOOK, and a statement, not an inner reality.

We humans CAN get crushed. If the love object hurts us, we want to die. If we lose someone we need, we feel dead. We are not on this earth to be as "safe" as you think you're entitled to be.

The key for you, M, is that you're going to have to work on making PEACE with your hated self. Not to stop hating, but to accept that no amount of hating is ever going to satisfy you. Bottomless. Most of these symptoms are bottomless. The only way "out" is to turn the other direction.

Love,
J
 

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Discussion Starter · #3 ·
Yeah I think the feeling of the bottomless abyss is a metaphor for our bottomless hate and giving up and that all is a metaphor for our nonstop trying to change reality, trying to stop what we can't control, trying to work against reality.

Bottom of the abyss searching and fascination= trying to work against reality.

Interestinglly enough I'm not really hating myself so much, but I know I still have the hate left, and quite a bit of it, I still do some controlling things that I have not let go of, but I'm actually rather excited that I'm aware of it. I should have pointed out that that was more of an observation. I always kind of knew that stopping all these little control tactis and self checking and self controlling things would somehow relate to real recovery, but last night I realized in full just how true that was.
 

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Discussion Starter · #4 ·
And when I say
"I still hate myself too much to not want to be in the concentration camps"

I realize that yes the reason why I have a mere fascination and emotional deadness towards the reading on concentration camps, is that I have not fully given up the wish to annihilate my soul. As much as we may be afraid of soul death, at the same time we have a total fascination and wish for it.

This could very well be the most powerful few things I've ever written. Ever.

And it feels like the whole of depersonalization. It feels like the whole of it just saying that just admiting that and it makes me realize that yes I am wanting this depersonalization I am wanting that sick hold of control and I am doing to torture myself, that
 
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We'll both get slaughtered for this, lol..but yep, I agree with you 100 per cent. It took that for me too - only once I realized HOW much I wanted to disappear could I really turn around and start making different choices.

There is the ol' Freudian "Death Instinct" involved in this too. The reality that all of us are born with a lure towards the End and we fight it tooth and nail with the Life Instinct to the last moment.

The "death of self" is a symptom of that same drive. It's the ultimate exercise of personal power - I WILL destroy me if I want to. Suicide of the mind. dp.

left a shell.

and part of self didn't die.

welcome to hell.

You got it, girl.
Love ya,
Janine
 

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Discussion Starter · #6 ·
And it feels like the whole of depersonalization. It feels like the whole of it just saying that just admiting that and it makes me realize that yes I am wanting this depersonalization I am wanting that sick hold of control and I am doing to torture myself, i'm wanting that feeling that blank space to sit I want to be here I want to be here I want to be here
 
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