Abandonment

I’m not exactly sure where it originated, but somewhere in my forgotten conditioning process I developed an acute sensitivity to abandonment. Not the permanently damaging sort of abandonment, like the disappearance of one parental figure or another at a young age, but a variety of such that inflicts a slightly milder wound. While my parents were always there, or rather eventually there, they both worked a lot to support the family, and tended to take a very hands off approach when it came to me…particularly in the very early years, before I had the company of my siblings. Consequentially, I spent the bulk of my time anguishing in one daycare or another, with strange kids and adult types that were completely indifferent, and often resentful, of my presence there. Of all the hours I spent in those places, among the tall rooms and strange toys, the memory that stands out the most is simply one of a perpetual and terrible longing to just see my parents, and go home. To see my father stroll around the corner in that brown leather jacket of his, and to run over and smell his cologne as he carried me off.

All in all, the effects of such conditioning were diverse, and mostly positive. It generated strong independence and self sufficiency, as well as a certain richness in my depth of desire and satisfaction. It also made me fiercely loyal to those who value me, intrinsically, in an unconscious effort to justify the condemnation of those with less regard. I have learned, however, that getting upset over the act of being abandoned by someone in the position to do so is pointless, and unwise. Instead, I simply reciprocate.

Permanently.