You must email me to find out where they have gone.
I promise I'll tell you.
I want you to find them.
I suffer from Damsel In Distress Personality Disorder, also known as DID. Subjects diagnosed with DID suffer an irresistable compulsion to place themselves in danger. The danger can be physical, psychological or both.
(Sharing sensitive personal information on a public internet site under one's own name might be a good example of symptomatic behavior.)
This state of peril creates a psychological stoppage, causing powerful emotional pressures to build. Denied release, these pressures can result in debilitating depression or anxiety, which are of course two mirrored expressions of the same psychological disturbance.
Emotional release is possible by meeting one of two conditions. Once tied to the railroad tracks, as it were, the subject will either be rescued by the intervention of a benefactor -- friend, parent, lover, concerned bystander -- or he will be struck by the oncoming train. Both of these outcomes are tied to the subject's deep-seated wish-fulfillment fantasies that stem from traumatic childhood events in which the protective shield of mother/father either failed or was denied at a time when the child was in danger.
Again and again the subject attempts to recreate scenarios in which he is imperiled, hoping that this time he will be protected as he should have been long ago. However, because he is now an adult, that particular form of protection is no longer available to him, and so he is inevitably hurt each time the drama is replayed. This repetitive pain reinforces his belief, branded upon his psyche in that early betrayal, that he is not worthy of protection. A worthy child, a viable child, would have been protected; he was not.
I can not believe that I am worthy of love or protection. I can not trust that others have my best interests in mind. That is not a world-view that is open to someone of my experiences. I can only limp along as best I can, attempting to live a meaningful life within my limited means, remaining aware of my flaw and how it colors my desires and responses.
My diaries are an expression of that flaw -- yet another way in which I place myself in harm's way, hoping for rescue, prepared for what it will confirm when rescue does not come.
I still have a lot to say. But while my words can be a target, I can not. After seven years, I have learned my lesson.
Follow my words. Don't follow me.
John Kusch
September 2007
Madison, Wisconsin