What is Revealing the Concealed?
“Close your eyes,” I told my family as I stood in the middle of the room huddled over my make-shift magician’s stand. I can’t place how old I was or what holiday/event we were celebrating, but they were all gathered—my parents, aunt, uncle, cousins, grandparents—ready to behold something spectacular. After scanning to make sure everyone’s eyes were closed, I quickly set to work. I twisted off the end of my magic wand, stuffed the miniature sponge rabbit into the hollow middle, then plugged the cap back on. I rehearsed this sleight of hand many times prior to the live demonstration of my new magical abilities. I can do this! “Ok, now open them!” My family opened their eyes, looking at me then around to take note of any changes, not registering that an entire rabbit (roughly the size of a quarter) had all but vanished into thin air. I mean, come on! I called attention to the rabbit’s presence prior to their eyes being closed and suggested how magical it was to have disappeared. Everyone shared a laugh, aside from me. I stood there, scratching my head, because I couldn’t figure out how to disappear.
Magic continued to be just outside my reach growing up. A few years after this illusion/delusion, my friend performed the coolest magic trick I had ever seen up close. He would take an object, like a salt shaker or a jar, and put a napkin over it; he would hold the cloth tight to make a clear outline of the object. A few magic words and twists of his hands...Then, he moved the object closer and closer to the edge of the table until—abracadabra!— it was gone. The shape I was seeing move across the table was nothing at all. Or was it? He never did reveal how to do that trick, no matter how much I begged. It seemed like such a miraculous feat: to vanish but still be there the entire time. All in plain sight.
The most elaborate magic show I saw was in Las Vegas while visiting with my parents in 2001. It was Siegfried and Roy—the magic show—and we were staying at the Mirage where the two magicians were featured. I heard the rumors about their relationship, and their picture on the hotel’s marquee sign didn’t leave much to the imagination as to who they were under the covers; still, it didn’t take anything away from the spectacle of their performance. I was mesmerized at their ability to fool me once, twice, and then some as my eyes darted around to take in every detail of the stage only to be stopped dead in their tracks when the illusion was revealed. By the end, I didn’t want to stop clapping, finding that the vast majority of the audience was in complete agreement: these guys were magical. There was no denying it. Their sexual identities were not the spectacle, though it was clear how free they felt in their work together. It was remarkable. Though I later questioned their use of tigers and was horrified to learn about what happened to Roy in 2003, I still am in awe of their magnificence.
“The ego distorts reality so that we see only what it wants us to see. This Name ends our tunnel vision and stops our delusions so that we perceive truth in our daily circumstances and see things as they really are” (132); Yehuda Berg’s words in The 72 Names of God expose a lot when I open the pages to Revealing the Concealed, particularly when I consider the close of my “This is Why” series and the secrets I brought to light through that experience. I feel like, while riding on a roller coaster of fear-driven emotions, I was able to plunge down into the darkness, pull my whole-hearted, harmonious self from the wreckage, and reappear before your very eyes. Hocus pocus! Do I get my own Vegas show now? It seems highly unlikely given this limbo as I transition into my next project: conquering my addictions. Just typing that makes me want to delete the sentence, erase this post, and run and hide under the covers. It’s crazy how a sniff of sobriety in any form has me disappearing from sight. It’s as if I don’t feel powerful enough to stand up against the many forms of escape I utilize when I’m anxious. If I were to get my own Vegas show (working title: The Spider’s Slumber), I don’t think I’d even make it on stage without reaching for something to curb this sinking feeling. All those eyes. Staring. Expecting. It’s maddening!
I turn back to Berg’s words for encouragement: “You bring forth the powers of observation to see the truth…and the courage to handle it!” (133). In early April, I attended a seminar that focused on the power of personal responsibility. As someone who has tried to escape that very subject since childhood, it seemed like a step in the right direction. I knew it was going to be an intensive exercise (it ran for 2 days, 9am-5pm each day), so I tried my best to remain balanced prior to the event despite the call of addictions. When the day came, I found myself wanting to disappear again, almost skipping the seminar altogether after some vehicular issues, but I willed myself onward, and I’m very glad I did. What awaited me was a wealth of information and an opportunity to delve deeply into my anxiety. Though I could go on and on about the interactions I had with other participants, the activities we took part in, and the vulnerability expressed throughout, the key takeaway was a little red chip with the Karpman Drama Triangle inscribed on it: Victim, Persecutor, Rescuer. It revealed so much about every relationship I was in, including the relationship with myself.
When I returned home, I felt in control of my mind and the negative thoughts that entered. Poof! I made them disappear; it seemed so simple. What I wasn’t expecting was my body’s response to the anxiety that crept in. First, it would work its way up my legs; my thighs tensed unexpectedly while talking on the phone or driving to a social event. Then, it would climb to my shoulders, raising them up so they were nearly touching my ear lobes. Last, it attacked my jaw, clamping my mouth shut and holding the words in. What the hell is going on here? I figured out how to rid my mind and heart of the drama it needlessly fell into, why was my body giving me such a hard time getting rid of these remnants of anxiety? Was MATTHEW permanently switched to self-destruct mode? There had to be more concealed in my physical response than I was originally seeing. By now you know the trick: I need to reveal how the Drama Triangle roles manifest in my life so I can make this anxiety disappear. Feel free to close your eyes; I’m not sure I’ll be able to pull my well-being out of this magic hat...
The Victim
“Victims feel powerless and at the mercy of life’s events and may avoid taking responsibility for their actions, finding it easier to blame others or their circumstances” (The Empowerment Dynamic). Geez…sound familiar? Well, it’s pretty clear where I’m stuck, right? I’m a victim, by definition, through and through. It’s not that I enjoy blaming others for the circumstances I find myself in, I just feel so powerless in my identity that I don’t believe I always have a choice in the matter. My most common oppressor: straight men. Why do they get all the power?! It seems so unfair. I’ve had to adjust so much of my being to gain their stamp of approval and avoid the labeling. Of course, this separated me from my heart, sawing me in two, while straight men continue existing without being questioned or challenged when it comes to explaining who they are deep down. It’s bullsh*t.
In the burgeoning age of the internet, back when dial-up was the craze, I learned a new way to tip the scales. It was the summer between 7th and 8th grade, and I was at a friend’s house where we were grouped around the computer. “I have to show you guys something,” said our friend, a straight guy, who I also had a major crush on. We watched him sign on with an unfamiliar AOL screen name, then begin chatting with strangers about sex. I suppose it wasn’t that revealing given that we were all curious about our sexual identities and how to express it; the surprising part was that he posed as a woman to chat with men, typing up the raunchiest things he knew (as a preadolescent) and becoming giddy as they took the bait. The rest of us were shocked. What kind of trick is this? He normalized it, though, brushing it off as nothing.
As an aspiring illusionist myself, I knew the next step: trick the trickster. I went home, created a fake screen name, and started chatting him up, using the same methods he showed us. Wouldn’t you know it, it worked! Suddenly, I was able to explore sex in a relatively safe way (at least, in my mind) while also discovering the fantasies of my crush. I felt powerful behind the computer screen; I could use words as my magic wand to reappear as someone else. And if I could do it with one straight guy, why not more? The illusion was cast to a broader audience, revealing more about the concealed appetites of men, whether they were straight or gay, through which I began to understand more about how I fit (or didn’t fit) into the norms. Over the years, I grew more bold, using a fake identity to begin meeting gay men for sexual trysts (I was underage, after all). Most times, I would flake, leaving them high, dry, and angry at falling for such a cruel trick. Other times…well…you’d think they would have known I was under 18 based on my appearance or the dissimilarities compared to the photos I sent, but things proceeded on anyways. Regardless, I felt like I had more control of my identity and more power over those who were ready to oppress me if/when I left the confines of the computer screen. I no longer felt like such a victim of my circumstances.
The Persecutor
It wasn’t until much later that I learned the term for what I was doing: catfishing. Now, to be fair, I wasn’t luring anyone into a relationship, at least not an emotional one. This was purely sexual, giving me an opportunity to explore all facets of sex from multiple perspectives without risk of violence, STIs, or attachment. Though I felt justified in my approach, especially when I considered how powerless men made me feel in the real world, I knew my actions lacked integrity; I was disappearing into cyberspace. Was my voice my own or someone else’s? Who was I supposed to be when I stepped away from the computer? I didn’t realize how much I was punishing myself through this behavior; however, it felt like I couldn’t stop since it helped me maintain some semblance of control in my rapidly deteriorating world. With each moment of anxiety or confusion, I would seek out comfort by losing myself online, bringing more shame as I became separated from who I was inside. Then, I’d jump back on, hoping to find myself through those same conversations. What did I say about spirals in Like Clean Sheets? Oh right, they’re f*cked up. :/
“The persecutor is whoever the victim feels victimized by. Cast as controlling and malicious, people in this role often act angry, defensive, and condescending” (Curiosity). Wait…so am I the victim or the persecutor? A hybrid? Though I felt tortured by my differences and powerlessness in my everyday life, I failed to see how my actions were affecting others, whether that be the men I lead on, the people I used to conceal my identity, or the boyfriends who discovered my secret and demanded an explanation. Unfortunately, I was too far in, unable to pull an answer out of the hat. The truth was I didn’t want to recognize how much hurt I was causing; I was concealing it from myself. When I felt pressure to respond, I detached and lashed out in anger. Based on the spiral pattern, you can imagine where this landed me. Yep, right back in front of the computer looking to connect through false pretenses, escaping into the vastness of the internet.
The Rescuer
Here I come to save the day! I had to pull myself up from the spiral. I began to see a path toward the light, and as I walked along it, the pieces of my integrity that I previously worked so hard to conceal began to reappear. It felt like magic, really. I started journaling regularly, revealing my voice, which then helped me launch this blog, which motivated my journey Southwest that beget this exercise of exploring “What’s in a Name?” and the facets of our identities that connect to higher consciousness…again, you’ve seen all this before. You know this trick. Still, here I am: protected behind the screen of a computer, allowing my words to cast the illusion that I’ve been rescued from my self-inflicted torture. Throughout this process of revealing my deepest, darkest secrets, though, I cannot emphasize enough how much I’ve wanted to fall back into the spiral, despite the pain and heartache it brings. How much I’ve flaked because I’m afraid to meet the eyes of those I know are reading these words. How much I wish I had any other life, because this one just doesn’t seem worth it.
“Rescuers work hard to help and caretake other people, and even need to help other people to feel good about themselves, while neglecting their own needs or not taking responsibility for meeting their own needs…They need victims to help and often can’t allow the victim to succeed or get better. They can use guilt o [sic] keep their victims dependent and feel guilty themselves if they are not rescuing somebody ” (Linda Graham, MFT). Ugh…now I see. I’ve victimized myself in order to continue this pattern of having to rescue my integrity each time I sit down in front of the computer. When I’m not able to save myself through my writing, I persecute my weakness instead, causing me to fall back hard in the victim role with less hope and more fear of being rescued. Then, I project this drama out to those around me, bringing more negativity into the universe. This triangle is almost as bad as the spiral. Can I reach in and pull myself out of it, though? What did I learn through the seminar and by exploring my fear in “This is Why…”?
Overcome. I suppose I wasn’t completely transparent in Like Clean Sheets when I revealed how I found my younger self trapped in the wreckage of the plane crash, mourning my loss of life. The truth is I have spent the last 2+ years passing through a graveyard in my subconscious, each tombstone marking a point in time when a part of me closed off, shut down, and effectively died. I’ve cried along with my former selves as we peered down at the corpse in each grave, wondering what could have been if I had a different identity. By doing so, I’ve failed to recognize how those parts of me are still very much alive; they are just stuck in this Drama Triangle digging themselves deeper rather than rising up. But they have started to surface, much to my delight and chagrin, through my writing. Moreover, by pulling myself up and out of my comfort zone in social situations, I’ve taken ownership of my growth and experiences without disappearing from sight. Though sometimes the past memories or current interactions cut through me like a saw or bury me in the deck, I remain in plain sight. Voila!
Turning back to this 100 ton block of anxiety, which would prefer me to disappear behind the screen of my computer to escape any responsibility or emotional turmoil, I now see that I am a more powerful magician than I previously thought. According to Sandra Pawula of Always Well Within, “Chances are, you’ll return to and play out your former role in the Drama Triangle again and again. But every time you act from an empowered place, you build your capacity to interact in healthier and happier ways. Gradually, your relationships will feel more satisfying, you won’t feel so powerless, and you’ll be able to avoid toxic relationships that would only draw you back into the Drama Triangle.” Throughout this journaling process, I have revealed my role as victim, persecutor, and rescuer; moreover, I’ve taken the opportunity to express it creatively in effort to both heal and rise up. Of course, it came with some magic words, but only those that resonated most with my heart and reestablished my integrity. If I continue on this path, I can’t say for sure if I will pull a Vegas show out of my hat; what I do know: by revealing the things I’ve concealed, I grow happier and healthier each day, breathing new air into my lungs and preparing/relaxing me for whatever awaits. Alakazam!
Credit: Tedx Talks