What is ‘honest with self’?

I once didn’t understand how a person couldn’t be honest with themselves.  I mean if you know something is true, how can you not know it’s true?  I know – it confused me too.

The heart knows what the mind won’t admit.

Maybe it’s the other way around, I’m not sure.  I do understand now that it is possible to lock memories and facts away in the recesses of the brain.  And it’s possible they can be “triggered” to reappear.  Most often at very inopportune times.  Of course, triggers often come from someone saying something.  Or a cologne.  Or cooking odor.  All of which could involve someone else that you can’t explode in front of but who just unknowingly lit the extremely short, almost non-existing fuse that will blow away the shell holding back the memory that is going to put me either in a rage(more common) or curled up in fear.

My biggest triggers are usually visual.  Either reading something (more common) or through a video or movie or even commercial at times.  And often my own fault.  I’ll see a title of something and know, and KNOW that it probably contains things that parallel my abuse.  So I read them.  Or watch them.  WHY?????

Am I the only person who purposely delves into the realms of constant triggers?  Why do I do it? Some of my own poetry contains triggers for me.  I write them down in hopes they will lose their power.  But they don’t.  I read them and am instantly thrown into a horrendous visual memory.  My father always told me I wasn’t bright enough to be a burned-out light bulb.  And I keep living that fact.  And I say “fact” because I keep making it true.

Ok, rational brain time.  It isn’t a fact.  I know it isn’t.  Yes, I seem to be constantly trying to prove he was right when I should be, if anything, proving he was WRONG. (and good-bye rational brain…)

Maybe I go into those areas the same reason people read horror books or watch horror movies.  For the “thrill” of being scared or grossed out or whatever-the-$&%# reason I can come up with.  Me?  I can’t read a book or watch a movie where any animal (including human) is being torn apart.  But I can read something that has a child-abuse theme and action.  And if I run into a childhood sexual abuse story, I can’t seem to stay away from them.  And yes, they exist.  All over the web.  Just like porn or practically anything else you want.  You look and you can find them.

So, this past bit of ranting doesn’t really align with “honest with self’ … and yet for me it does.  If I was honest with myself I’d know how bad triggers can be and work not to purposely pull them.  Unless I’m in my therapists office perhaps.  Except I fired him and haven’t found someone else.  But that’s another story.  Look at (***POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING****) this poem if you want more on that one .

Does being honest with self mean protecting oneself from known dangers?  And where is that self-preservation instinct?  I know, I don’t think I’m threatening my life, so that instinct doesn’t fire.  Or I don’t care – but I still believe the instinct would kick in.

Is there a way that I can force myself into the ‘honest for self’ behavior?  A mantra I can repeat frequently?

I guess what I’m really asking is:

Is there hope?


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