The Joy and Tragedy of a Wide Open Gate

So I was sitting in the garden yesterday and I heard a rustling in the other side in the brush. I hurried there to find my cats killing a baby rabbit. With his last breath, the rabbit raised his paw to say, "I am dying, don’t hurt me anymore." At this point, I fell off my stool and had a giant Primal. It was the leitmotif of my life. I raised my hand and cried and begged, "Don’t hurt me anymore." It formed my weltanschauung, my outlook, and philosophy of living. It became my personality, but I never knew it. I was excessively sweet, kind, and gentle, acting out, "Don’t hurt me anymore," since when my dad started beating me with a fury when I was five or six.   I never even knew how it shaped who I was and I never knew I needed to scream, "Do not hurt me anymore."  I never knew it because he was unrelenting and was a stone who could never understand his hurt of me, or even that he was hurting me all of the time. It was, “all of the time,” because it became an imprinted feeling that could never let me go of it.  I could not get over it because that memory was embedded and part of me.  I acted it out in my deep unconscious, "Don’t hurt me anymore." It was now my personality, and I was sweet and submissive so he would stop hurting me. It never happened. Because he never wanted me. I was an accident and he made me suffer for intruding into his life and creating more responsibility. 
The image of the rabbit raising his paw to say, "I give up. Please don’t hurt me," led me to a feeling I never knew I had; it was same as that rabbit. My mother was psychotic and could not understand the hurt she brought on her children, and my father was a chronically angry tyrant who could not be mollified. He had no capacity for pity. No ability to empathize with the hurts of his children. They sent me to a hospital for weeks, almost never visiting and never saying that I was in line for a difficult surgery. I was shocked when I was wheeled into the operating room and had no one to  explain or reassure me, to soften the blow. And still they did not visit. That is the kind of hurt that was a daily occurrence. I could not raise my hand to utter the plea, "STOP!"  It was something they could never understand. Worse, it was something I could not understand.  That total neglect seemed everyday to me.  It was what parents do. That is how I learned: do the opposite of everything they did and said. I am the opposite of them, illiterate, never any interest in anything, no culture nor education. I often joked that I was an orphan with parents and I now learn how true that was and is. 
My daily personality, as my patients and therapists tell me, was sweet and kind; it was the chronic act out, "don’t hurt me anymore," even though I never knew I was hurting. The rabbit taught me to raise my hand to stop the torture. I do it now in my Primal, but the feeling is still built in. I will never be a tyrant or mean.  My father beat the meanness out of me. He taught me to give in, to cede and not fight. And clearly, never talk back. My parents' whims were my destiny. I was afraid because I saw the anger in his commands, his watery and red eyes that spelled danger. That shaped my whole life. I never felt, "Love Me," in my earliest Primals. It took first til now to speak what was so awful to speak its name; "Pity, please, Pity. Mercy, I beg you, Mercy."
So an act-out is nothing external for all to see; it is encased in behavior that speaks volumes. And it speaks the truth while my neocortex never knew that truth. My act out was unconscious. So I was perceptive and unconscious. I cried heavily for that poor baby rabbit as I now cry for me as that helpless baby. My cats were not mean; it was just play for them. But so deadly. My father was the same way, creating damage through inadvertence.