Grotesque

I’ve been doing a lot of meditation lately. Well, a lot for a non meditator that is. 15 minutes in the morning and another quarter hour at night just before sleeping. I have found this process to be immensely difficult to get accustomed to (the conscious brain does not like to be shut off, even temporarily) but once I got into it, the rewards were substantial.

I’ve become more focused, less stressed and above all have had a handful of insights to things I never thought I’d get clarity on, let alone closure. Childhood loneliness, fear of strangers and a few other things have come to the fore and been dealt with. It’s an awesome little bit of mental defragging that I recommend to anyone.

A rather nice side effect of this exercise is being able to receive flashes of inspiration and insight even when not meditating. And this happened last night…and the revelation was substantial.

I have a big, 4K, smart TV. Every night I watch a few YouTube videos on it and the WatchMojo and What Culture channels have some pretty entertaining Top 10s. Last night it was Top Ten Banned Horror Movies. Some of the list were predictable (The Bunny Game, A Serbian Film) but one I’d never heard of. It’s called Grotesque and it’s so controversial that the UK censorship board the BBFC flatly refused to give it a certificate. A Japanese movie directed by Kôji Shiraishi it was outright banned with the justification being “Grotesque features minimal narrative or character development and presents the audience with little more than an unrelenting and escalating scenario of humiliation, brutality and sadism”.

During the discussion of the film in the Top 10 video, various non-squicky clips were shown and several were of a man and woman tied up, helpless while their captor stands in front of them.

It was, while watching this that I finally realised that, for most of my life I have felt like I was bound and captive while other people had the power to hurt me.

To elaborate…

For many years I’ve never enjoyed scenes where people are restrained and tortured in films. I can handle brutality and used to absolutely LOVE the Friday the 13th series back in the 80s. Jason Voorhees went from being a mutated mummy’s boy to a hulking, undead thug through 11 movies and one remake. Hey, I even liked Jason X where he’s in space! But the thing with Jason was that he was simply a killer, not a sadist. He would murder people indiscriminately (but never little kids or babies) and did it inventive ways that would have made the theatres of the Grand Guignol proud. Your death at Jason’s hands (or feet) would be quick though. He was so full of rage that he just couldn’t wait to squash your head to the size of a pineapple; or punch your heart out through your back; or stick a spear through you and your girlfriend while you were fucking. Jason was someone who offed people quickly and I could identify with that. He wanted you gone and would do it expeditiously so you wouldn’t be around to piss him off any more.

A few years ago I saw the Ryan Gosling film Only God Forgives. At one point a criminal has knives thrust through his hands into the arms of a chair and is blinded and finally killed. I didn’t like this scene and I didn’t like it so much that I left the room before it finished.

Similarly, in the superb Starz TV show Spartacus: Vengeance four gladiators are recaptured after the slave uprising and brought to a party of noble Romans where they are paraded to the gentry prior to their scheduled deaths ‘ad gladium’ the following day. A drunk Roman, annoyed by the contemptuous glances the shackled slaves are giving “their betters” pleads with the magistrate that they be allowed to kill one at the party. The magistrate concedes, saying “OK but only one” and a randomly chosen gladiator is led away. I wasn’t really paying attention at this scene and it probably would have faded from memory if it weren’t for what happens next. The scene cuts to the man tied up, arms behind his back, hanging from the ceiling by ropes and a wooden bar. A roman is cutting out his tongue slowly, while two guards hold his head still. The noble then turns around, waving the severed, bloodied flesh and proudly announces to the other partygoers “the tongue” and they all clap politely as a topless slave girl collects the tongue on a plate. They spend a jolly time taking turns cutting the guy, each time preceded by the warning “remember, don’t cut too deep!” not wanting him to bleed out or die before they’ve had their fun. Finally he is dispatched with a sword through the abdomen.

This scene has forever repulsed and disgusted me and I’ve never gone near it again (even screenshots of it make me feel upset). The other violence in the show (from someone’s face getting cut off, to Julius Caesar being anally raped) didn’t phase me in the slightest but this struck a chord that resonated on all the wrong frequencies and made me feel fucking awful.

The meditation and breathing control I’ve learned recently have allowed me to analyse the events of my life without getting upset about them. Nothing is worse in trying to solve past issues than being emotionally attached to what you are trying to deal with. A detachment is required and yesterday I finally had that breakthrough.

All my life I’ve felt like I was restrained and that I couldn’t or shouldn’t fight back against tormentors, the consequences of retaliation being more pain and suffering. I never knew I felt like this, even though I was pissed off and scared for most of my childhood and a huge chunk of my adult life. As time moved on I was able to relax but never completely. As a child I was bullied continuously and, mainly due to an incident at playschool when I was 4, was unable to fight back as I was told hitting back would get me no friends and that if I was nice to people they wouldn’t hit or bully me. As I got older I was constantly verbally abused by my mother who regarded it as a right to come home and take her stress and bad feelings out on me and my younger brother or my father….without retaliation being given. In the late 80s she said, matter-of-factly at the dinner table “I think if I come home and I’m in a bad mood and I feel like taking it out on you or your brother then when you’ve done anything or not you should just sit there and take it until I’ve decided that I’ve finished. This is my house and I’m feeding you and I’m keeping you and you’re not contributing anything to this house”.

I was also never allowed a lock on my bedroom door, which is understandable when you are a small child but not when you move into puberty and are conscious of your body or might even be masturbating. The one time I actually asked for a lock my mother had a tantrum about how she was very offended as her and my father didn't have a lock on THEIR door. 

I had no privacy beyond what time I could steal and went from about age 8 to 19, when I left home, constantly afraid of someone having a go at me, be it at school or in my house and had absolutely no place of solitude.

As I went to work, be it part time or after I left uni, it was the same story. People would have a go at me and while I sometimes stuck up for myself it was usually half-hearted because, deep down I was afraid that someone would make my life even worse if I answered back. I have had bosses that to this day I would like to set on fire, or I hope they die of intestinal cancer, simply because they took pleasure in hurting me, be it through put-downs or unfair treatment or even bullying and I felt powerless to stop them.

The rare occasions I did actually stand up for myself the results were usually worse treatment. Standing up to my mother over how she was treating my grandmother led to a 30 minute screaming and crying fit, while refusing to do what she wanted on another occasion got me an elbow in the face and being completely shunned for the next 7 days. At school, retaliation was called “answering back” or “being cheeky” and at work it was both of those things but also an excuse for some cunt to threaten you physically.

I moved through my life frustrated, bitter and upset constantly fearful of being hurt and expecting the whole world to want to take turns cutting bits off me while not cutting too deep in case I bled out.

Years ago a friend chastised me for the fact that my eyes are everywhere when we were having a pint together and I wasn’t looking at him. Truth was my paranoia had left me unable to relax and in a room fill of people drinking alcohol I was totally ill at ease.

Being insulted at a poxy job I had after leaving uni I replied “takes one to know one” and the little cunt who’d said it to me snapped “watch your mouth!”

Seeing those people tied up in that film Grotesque I finally made the connection that I felt I was metaphorically restrained and unable to defend myself. All I could do was try and keep quiet and be friendly to those who abused me and hope that they warmed to me or got bored of hurting me.

This led to loneliness and isolation because, by sub-consciously believing that I was bound and restrained and unable to answer back, I falsely concluded that everyone wanted to hurt me. They didn’t but my paranoia kept this myth alive.

In my adult life I have made some horrendous decisions around who I called my friends. This has led to being taken advantage of both financially and emotionally and even being hurt physically. I thought everyone was a torturer and was trying to appease people I believed fundamentally were out to hurt me.

Realising this now, I can move on and climb down from the restraints that I imagined myself to be in for so long. There are a few positives. Being like this for so long, coupled with being a teacher of little kids AND a cyclist in Rome means my situational awareness is pretty good (the children think I’m telepathic when in reality I just make full use of peripheral vision).

Being denied the ability to verbalise opinions led to me feeling neutered and restrained.

Now I’m able to walk freely.