The Demon I Call Karl Marx

Yesterday I had a tough time struggling with a demon. He lives inside my brain, and is the result of a lifetime of feeling out of control of very important things.

Apparently Karl Marx was widely regarded as a practicing Satanist. Until I did research for this post, I didn’t know that. Odd, and hilarious. One of several books on the subject is Marx & Satan.

I didn’t have a name for him for most of my life. I didn’t even understand that he was a demon, pushing me to try to manipulate people in a  desperate attempt to achieve some sense of control over my life. And most important, I didn’t get that my actions were actually tactics. That’s how unaware I was of my own subterranean motivations and needs.

But in the past few years since I’ve discovered a healthy recovery process, I’ve been able to realize that this demon isn’t me; he has his own identity, which I named Karl Marx, taking a little license with spelling. Karl can also be spelled Carl, and the initials CM for me stand for the two-faced devil of control and manipulation.

So about yesterday…

I’ve learned a lot about my demon Karl Marx in the past two years, and now he and I engage in battles whenever he decides to appear. Yesterday, he reared his really ugly head by creating in my brain the idea that I needed to “help” my adult daughter (key word: adult) act on some key things she needed to achieve, because apparently she wasn’t doing it fast enough for me. I was worried that she would miss some opportunities because she was dragging her heels on these tasks.

My first hint that Karl Marx was trying to mess with me was when my heart rate started going up after I had a talk with her. She wasn’t really hearing me, or she would get right on that stuff, he whispered in my brain, in my voice (like he does when he’s trying to trick me). Right. I’m on it. What can I do? I could make a list for her and email it to her, as a gentle follow-up. It was almost like an auto-reaction to an addictive craving.

I got home and paced the floor. I could even look up the numbers she would need to call to get the ball rolling on these things. That would make it easier for her to move forward, right? I was about to sit down at the computer, but couldn’t, because there was another voice talking. (Sometimes it gets really noisy in my brain.)

The healthier me inside said, Gentle? Really?? Wow. That sounds like Karl Marx talk.

“You bastard!” I said out loud to Karl Marx. “I see you. Busted!”

Fighting with new tools

What I did next was part of my new control and manipulation…of him, using new tools. I’ve had proof they work for me, and everyone around me. The more I use them, the less Karl Marx dares to show up.

1. I got busy. I looked at my calendar and to-do list. I had deadlines. I was giving a talk the next day, and had to finish the presentation. I had an important lunch meeting scheduled also, and had some prep to do for that. I had stuff that I needed to get done to keep myself on track. Never mind what I thought I needed to do for others: What they need is for me to keep my poop in a group, not to interfere in their poop. Why would I want to group their poop? It’s quite enough to have my own crap to handle.
2. I read my stuff. I realized I’d forgotten to do my morning readings, which vary but which always include something from the co-dependency literature that has been the source of my recovery. As usual, I read something that helped jerk me back to a more positive perspective.
3. I prayed. I took a moment to step out of my brain-flurry, to put my hands together and ask for guidance; for the knowledge to do the right thing, instead of the easy or habitual thing. And of course, as always, I got that guidance and the love that comes with it.
4. I contemplated calling a friend. I ended up not having to; having ousted Karl Marx with tools 1-3, but it was awesome to know that option was there.  Like a back-up to God, my close friends will always be there. Sometimes just knowing that can be enough.[bctt tweet=”Like a back-up to God, my close friends will always be there. Just knowing that can be enough.” username=”@SuzPinkNotebook”]

All’s well…

So, of course, the moral of the story is that I didn’t write that email. And she might never know I was going to, but if she did I know my daughter would say, “Good choice, Suzanne.” With a wry smile. And yah, sometimes she calls me Suzanne. When she needs something she calls me Mommy. When she’s mad at me, I’m MOM!!! I’ve got her number just like she’s got mine.

The good news is that Karl Marx used to run my life, influencing every action and decision. He was killing me. Today, he only dares to make a play when I’m weak, tired, or otherwise distracted or unaware. He has to use subterfuge, because I’m on to him. And he rarely wins these days.

Because the thing is, he didn’t just appear; he was born at some point, and grew over years to become the professional demon that he now is. He’s tough to completely exorcise, but I’m working on it. And the people I love and who love me are seriously happy that I am. Not to mention the freedom I’m starting to feel. 

Ask and you shall receive,