Guilty Pleasure: Hack Psychology

Eleven popped by the kitchen the other day to say hello. She also recommended The Unsayable by Annie G Rogers. That evening I went by the library and checked it out. I picked it up after dinner, and I didn't put it down 'til around midnight, when I had read the final chapter. Eleven had said it was "intense" and at the time I thought she mean that the subject was heavy, but I didn't think I'd be absolutely glued to it for six solid hours.

I Might Think Twice Before I Post Another Dream

Dr Roger's premise is that language is the first trauma. When we are infants learning language, in the process we lose a big part of ourselves that cannot be put into words, and that piece becomes our unconscious. Because our unconscious is without words it uses the body, dreams, verbal slips, art, events and whole slew of other things to communicate with. Her ideas were influenced by Jacques Lacan, a French psychoanalyst, who said "the unconscious is structured like language". She worked with children and adolescents who were victims of abuse and who couldn't talk about it. She found ways of listening to the clues that slipped past the children's consciousnesses, helped them listen to themselves, and in the process they were able to heal.

The thing that Eleven and I found compelling was that in Quebec there is a Lacanian analysis program that has a high success rate for young adults diagnosed with schizophrenia. After 8 years of treatment 60% of the patients are off heavy medications and are living relatively normal lives. That is huge. My uncle wasn't nearly this lucky. He died last month, after suffering from the disease for nearly forty years. His bedroom floor was covered with loose change, and his mattress was stuffed with newspapers. I wonder what he was trying to say?

I am Intrigued for Entirely Selfish Reasons

The idea of looking for clues to my unconscious in every aspect of my life is very exciting. I can be a more sensitive and reflective reader of "Fat Camille," the floor of my room and this blog. I can begin to unravel why, at nearly every stage of my life, there has been a male person of Hispanic heritage who corrects my English grammar (I can count four at this writing). Maybe some day I'll even be able to understand why I don't want a real job and why I can't seem to date anybody longer than four months at a time. I like the idea that very little separates dreams and daily life, because on a certain level, I experience them as one continuous narrative. Of course, anything that has to do with stories, narratives, symbols and decoding the above is seductive.

This explains why English feels so awkward, as if it is not my native tongue. When I am talking, words come out backwards, in the wrong language, or they don't come at all. I am a language victim! (stop your sniggering, Cab!)

Inflamed Body Parts

This entry isn't about my left tonsil, although, if it wasn't for that sinister inflammation, I'd be righteously teaching the youth of Muttonham the finer points of the visual arts at this very minute.

As it is, I am hunched in front of the glowing screen in my purple bathrobe, nursing lukewarm echinacea tea, listening to internet radio and reading Lauren Winner's Real Sex (which the M left, conveniently, on the kitchen table).

I try not to write about sex here, but since this is in the form of a non-confessional book review, it is well within the purview of this blog.

I have to confess, I skimmed/skipped the first three quarters of the book. I did this for a few reasons.

• I read all the righteous sex-is-only-for-people-married-to-each-other books that my mother gave me back in the 80s.
  
• I attended those 90s InterVarsity sex lectures, too (that inevitably began with the presenter confessing to years of porn abuse or some other shocking sexual deviance)
  
• I believe it. From what I saw in my skimming, she outlined an ethic and view of the body that I already espouse.

I was ready to dismiss the book as a complete waste of time, for me, personally. I was sure it was helpful for people not already indoctrinated by the Church. Finally, I was arrested by Chapter 6's subtitle: Line Drawing and Formation. I had had enough line drawing. The three second kiss, the hand holding, but mostly, I was tired of having the sense that I had crossed too many lines. I could skip line-drawing , but the "formation" bit was intriguing. I sat and read closely for a while. Her idea of focusing on classic Christian disciplines (like prayer, fasting, community) as opposed to wallowing in guilt when one has "crossed lines" was infinitely encouraging and sensible. This is probably going to make El Caballero laugh, because he's been advising me to be more disciplined in my prayer and study for ages.

nb, I double checked the spelling. Both inflamed and inflammation are orthographically correct.