Transference Target

I guess I should give you a little timeline clarification.  My story has reached the point of summer, 2011, around 10 months past DDay.  To refresh my memory and to be as accurate as possible, I've gone back through my sent email folder from that summer.  The day I went to church was Sunday, August 14th.  A month or so before that, I was getting myself worked up for the visit.

I had not heard a peep from Jaymie since I went to fetch all the swag from her house months ago despite the extraordinarily valiant efforts I have already shared with you.   Some might call my attempts to contact her excessive or maybe even obsessive.   I would argue that I was merely tenacious.
At home, Richard and I had days of glorious calm interspersed with days that found me in a cocoon of my own making to avoid any contact with the man I hoped to be married to forever lest I become a female preying mantis and devour him after a session of Hysterical Bonding.

All these months later, I understand exactly what molded my mode of conduct.  We've talked about the mental phenomenon before.  Transference.  The true creator at the root of my residence in Crazy Town lived under my roof, slept in my California King bed and frequently recited his repetitive anthem of apology.  He did not reside in a lower middle class neighborhood in Spring Valley.
My overwrought brain outwardly shut down when I was around Richard.  I had to stand watch over my conscience mind.  My anger was lying in wait just under the surface for a small crack in my facade to escape into the world, my world, with my kids, my job, my friends and my husband.  I feared if I allowed that much anger to contaminate my world many people I loved would be permanently scarred.

So much easier to toss the toxins at Jaymie's clan!  I gave no consideration to anyone in her world.  I used her friends and family like pawns in my game of payback chess that had no rules unless I found them to be useful.

The problem with transference (well, there are MANY problems but this one is major) is you gotta pick a reliable place to transfer the emotions or you're dealing with possible ricochet issues!  Lash out at the transfer target, but if you miss that person the shot of hatred and venom fired is bound to hit a close bystander.  In my case, the emotion of choice was anger, (Duh.) but transference also occurs when a person needs a place to put a heavy load of love. I had previously had transference training. When Richard and I couldn't have kids right away, I was the best cat and dog Mommy in San Diego County.

I was running out of targets.  I feel no need to bore you with the list again.  (You're welcome)  I was out of targets, but still loaded for bear with ammo.  I aimed at my primary transference target via text throughout the month of July.   The shots never hit their intended mark and since I could not allow them to become impaled in anyone near me, I adjusted my sights and found an ambitious bull's eye that would surely earn me a conversation with my primary target, Jaymie.

Daddy James has been an active member of the First Baptist Church of Lemon Grove for many years.  He told me all about the place the day I told him his daughter wasn't the angel he had hoped he spawned.  That place would be a veritable Transference Target range!
I really didn't want to go.  I never thought I'd go.  The idea was too outrageous to comprehend.  Sent many texts asking for Jaymie to contact me or else.  Sent them to her, sent them to Geek Boy Kevin.  They had grown very good at ignoring me.

Saturday night, August 13th, I told Richard where I was going the next day even though, at the time, I still didn't think I'd waste the gas on the 30 minute drive.  After DDay, he never told me what to do...or at least he never told me what NOT to do.  He was so afraid of my wrath or even worse, my periods of cocooning.  He was as needy as a new born.  To anger me meant emotional starvation to him.
Richard was an enabler for me during my stay in Crazy Town.  He wanted me to have what I said I needed to move forward, a face off with Jaymie.  He would have strapped her ass to a target the size of Mt. Rushmore to keep me from aiming at him.

Sunday morning, August 14th, I woke up, showered, dressed and drove south.  It was almost like an out of body experience.  I didn't wanna go.  I had no idea what I'd do when I got there.  I drove down the 67 South trying to find the spark of anger in my heart that I had been tending for 10 months, but I couldn't.  It had been smothered by a tidal wave of despair.