After feeling very unhappy for a while and coming face to face with the big monster, in which there was no solution to the fear I felt and no healthy strength arose in any way, it was a matter of waiting until I recovered and started avoiding the big monster again. Avoiding is not necessarily bad. If there is a monster in front of you and you cannot fight it, because the monster has taught you not to fight over the past 41 years by always reacting violently when you are angry, instead of reacting with understanding, then you have to run away from the monster, otherwise your soul will suffer irreparable damage. So if there is realistic danger, it is right to run away and avoid. And because of my father’s dangerous behavior in my childhood (see Section 1 of my story), it has always been realistic that I run away. In clinical therapy, they taught me to stop running away, which made me fight instead. And they taught me to handle the intense aggression that was released by that therapy through strict behavioral therapy. It was the perfect therapy for me. But it also damaged me at the same time, because I no longer allowed myself to run away, even though it was always justified for me to run away from that big monster, because it was realistic danger. But anyway, I still had my ability to fight, so it wasn’t the end of the world. Unfortunately, we didn’t know at the time that I had faced such a big monster. I suppressed it and didn’t talk about that part, and the therapists misjudged me and referred me to the part-time therapy. In the part-time therapy, they systematically tried to unlearn my ability to fight. They thought I was too powerful, not knowing that this was the only way my strength could be felt by me. I wasn’t hurting anyone, and I had learned to handle it well. It was an option not to do the therapy, but my therapist at the time, Eelco de Smet, thought that my condition was bothering me, and that was the reason they decided to put me through the follow-up therapy. They hoped that their therapy would make me fight in a more moderate way and experience my feelings less intensely. Moderate fighting looks like this. It works best with two men. One says effeminately, “I don’t like you doing that! I don’t feel taken seriously!” Then the other one says: “Well, I don’t like you doing that! I don’t feel seriously taken either!” And then you both cry, and then you reconcile with each other with a heartfelt kissing session where you cry together and comfort each other, and then you say, “Let’s seriously ‘take’ each other!” And then you penetrate each other with your penises. That was probably the hidden desire of my therapist Eelco, and he wanted me to become just like him. He will always deny it, but of course he was determined from the start to make me gay. He let me work on my identity because he thought I had what it takes to have a healthy identity. To have a healthy identity, all your feelings must be allowed to exist, including love, anger, and aggression. He didn’t question whether the aggression might possible not have been allowed in my younger years and whether the therapy through that might not immediately backfire, because he blindly followed the wrong judgment of my clinical therapists, which they had written down in the referral letter. You saw those clinical therapists regularly in that clinical therapy, but they kept their distance. They had residential homes with dozens of people, and they had to take care of all of them at once. They were incredibly arrogant, thought they knew you, and never offered one-on-one conversations to get to know you better. Anke van Brunssum (my clinical therapist) snapped at my mother when my mother asked if they had helped Anke in the systemic conversation. Anke said dismissively: “It’s not about you helping me! It’s about me helping you! And then to make such a huge referral mistake is hilarious! Karma for Anke! It was definitely about us helping her. You had to come up with everything yourself in therapy, only to be ridiculed in front of the entire residential home or your group. The people with BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder) in particular had to endure abuse. One social therapist always sang Madonna’s song Borderline when a borderliner walked by. Bullying behavior. Nothing else. Later, I saw her again on a TV show about conflicts of neighbors. No surprise there. She bullied her neighbor and sang Borderline all the time, because according to her, her neighbor also had Borderline. (A hammer will always only see nails). She said she worked at the clinic where I had been, and that’s why she sang those songs. Very professional, indeed.
My part-time therapist, Eelco de Smet, thought I was gay because he saw that I had difficulty forming adult relationships with women, partly because my mother did not behave in a particularly emotionally mature way. I behaved like a man-child and quickly grew tired of women’s endless demands. I couldn’t let go of that or ignore it because of the trauma I had towards my father. I was also emotionally immature then. But that makes sense, of course, because the emphasis in the earlier clinical therapy was on embracing ‘the free child’. So there you were encouraged to embrace your childish feelings of aggression. Eelco knew that I was unable to have a mature relationship with women, and he saw men as a good alternative for me, not knowing that he was leading me straight into realistic danger. He hadn’t thought the trauma was that bad. After all, my father always behaved like the perfect man, when he was in contact with the therapists, and he said nothing about the oppressive and hysterical violence he unleashed on me and my brother and sister. The memory of that still makes me feel suffocated. It’s like putting someone in prison in a very structured way. And then giving them medicine for life by “taking good care of eachother”. It was precisely because of this stark contrast that it had such a powerful impact. Violence is unacceptable for adults toward adults, but violence towards children is completely insurmountable for children, because their personalities are still developing.
I had a dream earlier. I heard the word “backpeddling” and then I woke up. It was another message from the Antichrist entities I am now facing. The monster. The real danger. Which I always carry with me. It feels like they are holding up a mirror to me, that I am now backpeddling, and that they want me to completely ignore women and continue to seek comfort only in men, even though they are intensely dangerous monsters. The attachment then becomes disorganized, and I get thoughts of men who want something from me and invade me, while I don’t want that. It’s terrible! And when I recover somewhat after a few weeks and seek support from women again, they confront me for “backpeddling”. They just want me to break down. But I don’t want to be destroyed, and in that respect I am strong, because I am still here. But at times I wish I could be destroyed and that it would all be over. I’m just not allowed to be myself. And they want me to feel love for men, even though I don’t want that at all. And they harass me more and more. They themselves just need this filthy, suffocating love. It’s pathetic. They’re losers! Go cry to men yourselves. Go have your own “loving” (oppressive), comfort sex (full of pity) with men. Yuck. I don’t want any of it. Poor souls! It’s one big nightmare. Similar things kept happening in my past. Then there was a boy whom I felt sorry for, and then I became afraid of being gay because they ‘invaded’ me (not literally, fortunately). Even though I didn’t want that. It happened with four boys during college (I didn’t even have contact with most of them). And I was always happy when I could focus on the girls around me again. And it’s purely because relationships with men feel so awful and suffocating that I don’t want that. They put me in a suffocating prison. And it was so intense that it was forever, and there was no way to escape. That’s what trauma is. So it’s not because I’m afraid of being hurt. What nonsense. No, the pain has already happened, and recovery is impossible. It’s damage. Understand that, you bunch of morons! But no, this Antichrist force goes a little further each time to confront me with the trauma. Apparently, that’s necessary for recovery. But if you can no longer recover emotionally, then it feels pretty pointless. Normally, when you confront someone with trauma, healthy fighting spirit is activated, which then takes over. But that’s not the case with me. That’s the trauma! So it’s completely pointless, what they’re trying to do!
Sometimes I hit myself. It calms me down, knowing that I can direct my feelings towards women. But now that they are confronting me even more when I direct it towards women, and they want to take that part of me away for good, without giving me anything in return, hitting myself doesn’t even calm me down anymore. It doesn’t even give me satisfaction anymore. For the doctors among you: feeling unsatisfied inside is the emotional cause of diabetes. And that is very abnormal! Currently, I can’t point the aggression outward, and I can’t point it inward either. But it’s there, deep inside! Because my sense of self is in the aggression. That’s because it’s been rejected my whole life, and then it becomes part of your system, no matter how much violence humanity pours over you after that. It doesn’t matter. Irreparable damage. And when I say that the aggressive Jesse is the real Jesse, those Antichrist entities act as if you’re a very bad person. Which is ridiculous! When it’s purely just an intense charge, nothing more. It’s purely because they totally disapprove of those feelings in others, because they themselves act harshly on their own aggression and think that I would do the same, but they don’t want to hear that. In that respect, they are the hypocritical morons, not me. They see me as a responsible adult who hasn’t been through anything, so they think I’m ready to learn to deal with that disapproval. But the problem is that I already had to deal with it as a child, and that’s really not okay. And that wears you down so much that it undermines your self-confidence, and then you become a danger to yourself! The aggressive Jesse then becomes the real Jesse. That’s where your only sense of self lies. And the healing lies in embracing and expressing those aggressive feelings, in combination with learning to handle them in contact with others, as they taught me in clinical therapy. Better to be a man-boy than to suffer endlessly, after all.
And I can keep repeating it, but they just don’t want to hear it, and they only make it worse. Well, it does feel good to share it. And it has brought me back to myself, because I am the one deciding for myself what makes me happy and what doesn’t. No one is going to tell me that! Even if they just keep torturing me!
