I recently had the opportunity to create a new line of thinking, prompted by two separate ideas. One goes like this: “depression is anger turned inwards”; the other is “anger is based on fear”. So these fused into this particular concept: “Fear of (something) and the inability to remove that fear leads to anger; if the fear and the resultant anger cannot be expressed towards the thing/person causing them, it will result in depression for the one who is fearful and angry.”
Seems to me that while Slicer is the one who exhibits anger, she(?) may also be fearful. (And it’s the fearful dog that bites, not the barking one, so they say.) And why wouldn’t there be fear? Fear of the loss of love, fear of deserving that loss…and so on. Just a thought.
And love. A tiny word with a nearly infinite scope of meaning. A tiny word that is hopelessly, appallingly overused, cheapened, and tossed around without appreciation for just how much it is really worth. We all have our own personal definition of love, so how can we quantify it and truly identify it to true satisfaction?
From I Corinthians 13:4–8, what I think is a really good description of love: “4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 8 Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.” — In other words, Love will always win.
OR My grandmother. The one person in my life that actively, consistently demonstrated love — and not just for me, but for every person that she knew. When I grow up, I want to be just like her. She taught me what love was and is. I was very lucky to have her — because like your father, I suspect that my parent’s (and specifically my mother’s) “love” was actually approval. As long as I did what they wanted, it was good.
It is a part of my spiritual practice to love every being. To accept them as they are, to acknowledge their own sacredness in our Universe. I don’t have to like their behavior, I can find them unacceptable as human beings by the proof of their actions (certain political creatures spring to mind), but I love and honor their inherent sacred worth, even if their own actions deny it. I don’t even claim to succeed all the time, but I do try. After all, if I am worthy of love…so is every single other being — and conversely, if every single being is worthy of love…so am I. And so are you, Sarah. And so are you.
It is not your fault if other people have failed to love you. I think we’ve talked about the fact that my own parents probably shouldn’t have had any children because they don’t really like them…but here I am. And while I’m glad for that, it doesn’t make me blind to their lack of unconditional love — which I received from my grandmother. I didn’t have to do anything (or not do things) to have her love me. She just loved me. I try to do that for everyone I meet — unless they talk me out of it, haha sort of.
I hope that you will find your own version of my grandmother — and it may be your therapist. Or maybe someone you have yet to meet. Someone who can show you that love, given freely, has no strings, no obligations to be met. It just is. You deserve that.