Disconnected

I have been watching the Dexter Series rather avidly. Besides it having the usual necessities of a good cast, great acting and a witty and rather twisted script, there are quite a few things about Dexter that I can relate to. It is always the aim of script writers to get the audience to be able to see a little of themselves in the characters, but to get you to identify with a serial killer is quite a feat, unless of course you are a little unhinged already.
“He’s smart, and he’s got a great sense of humor. He’s Dexter Morgan, everyone’s favorite serial killer. As a Miami forensics expert, he spends his days solving crimes, and nights committing them. But Dexter lives by a strict code of honor that is both his saving grace and lifelong burden. Torn between his deadly compulsion and his desire for true happiness, Dexter is a man in profound conflict with the world and himself.”
I am sure that I do have a rather violent streak, although mine inevitably gets directed inwardly. I grew up with a lot of pent up rage. Rage towards those who were abusing me, rage towards the world for putting me in so a vulnerable position, and rage towards myself for not having the strength or facility to fight back. I was young and small and so very helpless. Yes I did rage, I raged back with an inward spirit of stubbornness, I raged silently and violently against myself – the only outlet they could not control. “I might have been sitting down, but I was standing up inside”.
This has left me with the simmering anger but also a huge disconnect. I am unable to bond well with people. I have the usual Borderline reactions of the black and white pendulum swing, as well as the community/nesting/familial bonding instinct of a newt…which is almost less than zero. I am getting a bit better having realised these attributes, but trying to drum up something that doesn’t come naturally is rather impossible and makes you feel even more fake than you already do.
So anyone who has watched Dexter will appreciate what I am talking about. If you haven’t, it is awesome but could be rather *triggering* so be careful! I also feel like most of the time I walk around with the right face on, I respond with the right reactions and I make the all the right comments and noises that normal people are expected to make. Nothing cuts below the surface though nothing really reaches into my heart. I have learnt these reactions the hard way, cognitively by watching those around me. I didn’t learn them instinctively as children do; I was too busy dodging my alcoholic father, parenting my chronically depressed and suicidal mother, navigating through sexual abuse and ritual programming. But don’t feel too sorry for me, I am sure most of your stories are the same or worse.
All this lack of feeling comes mostly on my numb days; I am not a complete robot. I have days when the feelings flood in cascading through my body with the force of a high-pressure hose, peeling back my skin and at these times only the bloodletting helps (my blood – no need to reach for the police speed dial just yet )

If anyone can relate I would love to know, it is not a vicarious knowing, but rather a need to not feel so alone or unnatural.

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