It really all avalanched when I saw the Boy with the Firehose.
Here in my mind was the image of a child in a burning room with a firehose. He’s trying to put the fires out. Sometimes. Sometimes he’s hosing flames, sometimes he’s hosing nothing at all. Sometimes he’s hosing some interesting object, just because that is the most interesting thing happening (in his mind) at that time.
And the fire’s not really getting put out. The child knows this, and sometimes he is overwhelmed with the reality of the situation and is horrified at this impossible task. Sometimes he battles on imagining he’s a great firefighter and he can put this great blaze out. Sometimes he’s overwhelmed and just falls down and cries and cries at the futility of his own capacity in the face of the task.
The firehose is powerful, but the child is incapable of holding it on task or even of apprehending where exactly the firehose should be pointed at any one time. It’s a mess. The child knows it’s a mess too. This knowledge in itself is appalling to the mind of the child, but what else can be done? The child has no other capacity to offer to the task than to just point the firehose and hope that somehow it puts all this fire out.
My mind unraveled when I saw the Boy with the Firehose. In my mind was this boy, myself, ungrown from childhood, trying to manage the life of an adult. And the Firehose that it was pointing at the fires bursting out in life around him was a few-sigma-plus-IQ Adult rational brain.
Here was a Child-mind – emotional, scared, heaving with fears of long-gone childhood threats – and in his hands he had the full power of a highly-educated, highly-IQd, rational Adult-mind, ready to pour analytical thought on whatever trouble or trivia came into the Child-mind’s interest-view as either a threat or a titillation.
This was what caused me to find and invert the experience of the Child-mind being in control of the overall choice of mind-state from moment to moment in my life.
It was a moment of intense sadness. There was this honest 6 year old. Born smart enough to figure out a lot of life early, enough so that he didn’t recognise that adult life can only be understood by the well-balanced, well-developed Adult mind. Instead my own little alien had grasped the mantle of comprehension of adult life too early and had never let go of that life-function. Here was the mind of a virtual 6-10 year old fundamentally running the most important segments of my psychological life: defense against or processing of 3rd party criticism, defense and development of life-support structures such as work and education, trust permitted towards any 3rd persons on any matter of self-preservation.
There was a period for a week or so when I mourned for the poor child holding the firehose, valiantly and vainly fighting the fires of my life. During that time I also charged my Adult-mind with the task of stepping up to the poor boy, taking his hand and helping him with the firehose. In that first week, I was convinced that I had OCPD and that the firehose experience that I was enduring was in fact the OC trait – the rushing mind, pouring unstoppable thoughts at whatever the Child directed the OC segment to obsess over.
After a week or two I became aware that the OC trait was actually grinding slowly to a halt. The firehose, seemingly for the want of the frightened child as the instigator, was slowly but very obviously losing it’s powerful compulsive force.
After two weeks I came to the conclusion that the OC trait was in fact a falsehood overall. What I believe I experienced was that the Child-mind was the first-responder to many of my life’s moment-to-moment situations, and along with looking up it’s petty stored rules of life in the archives of my childhood mind, it had a capacity to “lord it over” my rational analytical mind – if you like: my Adult-mind was a comatose slave, mindlessly driven by the Child-mind into pure intense rational thought on any topic that the Child-mind was terrified of or titillated by.
So this is how I now comprehend my history of OCPD behaviors. A frightened Child, pouring high-IQ rational thought at whatever frightened it, in a very irrational and emotional way.
So, that was Boy with the Firehose. Rest in peace, sweet child.
Now the Child plays when play is due, and the Adult goes to work and manages life. The Child is happy because it’s in its right place in my life, and the Adult is facing up to the long clean-up of a lifetime run by a Child. Better now than never.