Since I was very small, I have had two besetting shadows: anger, and grief over others losing their physical possessions.
How odd is that? Not the anger, so much. I can vividly call up white-hot anger from as young as four years old – some people seem to come into the world that way and I’m one of them. But fear of people losing their stuff? That’s just messed up.
I can recall one of my earliest emotions as being very anxious that my family didn’t lose the things they valued. I would have visions of getting all my loved ones’ prized possessions together in my embrace and whisking them to safety – the things, not the people. It often took the form of a long wooden toy train which I would remove to a safe place to stop the anxiety.
Now, I suffered most of my life from one form of anxiety or another; most marked and longest-lasting was my agoraphobia, which only fled from me utterly after I was taken apart completely and re-assembled.
I have scoured the internet for some mention of this very strange fear, but all that comes up is the fear of losing one’s own possessions. That doesn’t worry me much. I tend to throw stuff away rather than hoard – I’m not much for keeping material possessions and I feel better with fewer. But the thought of someone close to me losing, failing to gain, or hungering for some…thing causes a great ache in my heart.
Deep personal anger is common enough that it was among the first shadow-puppets to arise in me when I went looking. I continue to deal with it on a daily basis. But this bizarre fear for the attachments of other people is just…loopy.
I have no idea what this is. Just that I’ve always harboured it. Time to haul it out, I think, and expose it to some light.
Or some Ancestors. You listening, my People?
Pic: from Lolsnaps.com