One of the many roles I have filled in this lifetime is Symptom Bearer. A Symptom Bearer is the one who is seen as the crazy one in a family system and is shunned or rejected in various forms. At an early age, I remember not understanding why everyday things were not talked about. There were many things I was not allowed to speak of. As I have progressed through my years, I have consistently rededicated my journey to seeking out these underlying truths that were not acceptable or honorable.
At first, I didn’t have any idea where the Access Elevators leading into the inner world were or what they looked like. I learned to be aware of the reactions I had, ones that spiked my temperature in some way, either to excitability or the other end of the range, frozen. I placed metaphorical markers — they look like golf tee flags — to commemorate the moment, and when I came across the markers later on along the path, I took time to clear away any clutter used to cover up an Access Elevator portals. Even then, I didn’t know how to open them. Certainly, the pull to ignore the portals was strong. But, I was determined to mine the underlying truths that I was not supposed to speak of. I instinctively knew they formed the foundation of my expertise, and the only way to get respect for my true credentials was to gain access to those elevators!
I figured out the portals had to be polished before it became evident how to unlock and open them. That part was kind of fun, nothing messy, like solving puzzles. And, at first, the path leading down into the interior was a gentle slope, but it progressively got darker and spookier. Whispers, voices, glimpses of rooms behind partially closed doors, and lots of other doors locked and silent. This is when the persona Feel Bad got his name. He became the primary interior trekker. It was his role and mission to uncover deeper and deeper into what would ultimately be seen as the Catacombs. Feel Bad’s job was relentless. He would mine what content he could find, lug it back to the surface and dump it our on the sorting table in the Mental Command Center. It was his job to sort out the valuable content from the clutter, to clear away the clutter after entering it into the Clutter Database for future reference, and file the valuable content. Then he was sent back down into the deep winding hallways of the cavernous catacombs until he came on an empty room where he laid down on the bed and awaited the attendant.
All the attendants looked the same to Feel Bad. He assumed they must be robots. Each of them had a gender-neutral appearance and an aura of wanting to please. Once they set down the tray they carried, Feel Bad would make his selection. He started with a single dose of shame and worked his way up to double and triple shots. Then he closed his eyes and waited for the doors to open. In this way, he found dank and troublesome corridors that nearly snuffed out his very breath. He found words left by others on the walls and artwork shoved in the corners. He was told by the people in the Mental Command Center that he was to frame the lost words and to clean and hang the artwork, on top of his own duties, mining ungodly amounts of repressed shame. He couldn’t handle the stress. More and more he didn’t want to struggle to the surface. He lingered longer and longer at the X marks on the walls marking a passing moment to commune with the souls who had passed to the other side. He knew they were released from the torment, and though he wanted to join them, time and again he struggled back to the surface, lugging his sack of precious content.
Surface Guy, the guy who confidently went about structuring everyday life, getting along with others and developing the brilliant content the mental Command Center guys sent down the pipeline, didn’t want anything to do with Feel Bad, but everything began to crack. This was when Catacombs Caliban made himself known, the interior steward, a self-made guy of Hulk proportions. He became increasingly annoyed at the desperate floundering of Feel Bad down in his catacombs, and finally, he exploded and raged to the surface to create havoc and act out in unacceptable ways. Saying things not meant to be spoken of, drinking and shouting and wailing before stomping down into the underworld, and leaving Feel Bad to recover. In a way it was terrible and in a way, Feel Bad slowly learned to ask for respect for the role he filled. He forged team relationships with the Mental Command Center guys and everyone came together to insist that Surface Guy learn to join the team.
So, really, in hindsight, growing up the Symptom Bearer is paying off. Imagine if I had decided to pursue cover up investment as my lifestyle!
All the attendants looked the same to Feel Bad. He assumed they must be robots. Each of them had a gender neutral appearance and an aura of wanting to please. The attendant set the tyreay down and Feel Bad selected a double dose of shame and swallowed it quickly before he laid back down and closed his eyes.
The familiar mist
