“The Hands That Held Me”: Emotional Truth in Bassey Ipki’s I’m Telling the Truth but I’m Lying
For trauma survivors or those battling mental illness, simply stating the “facts” of a situation can be an exercise in futility. Bassey Ipki’s collection of essays—a fitting, frenetic format that effectively communicates the impact that mental illness can have on recollection—takes a hard look at the voids left behind and, more importantly, how they are filled. When historical fact becomes difficult to bring to the surface, it is the emotional truth that is left in its place to be reckoned with. Ipki posits, indirectly, that this is the meat of her trauma; only in scrutinizing these truths, either affirming and accepting, or dismantling entirely is she able to realize why they were created in the first place.
Ipki makes many references to her dishonesty. She dubs herself a liar, going so far as to name an entire chapter “Becoming a Liar”. And it is revealed to the reader that she does tell frequent untruths. It is interesting, however, to note that almost no lie referenced in her essays seems to be from any place of malice. In fact, nearly every lie serves to ease some social tension. As she states in one passage, “I learned to lie to save others. I did this for them. I am this lying, script-changing, rose-colored liar for them” (pg. 50). These lies might be omissions or outright fabrications, but what they are in a grander sense are a method of defense.
Many psychologists will cite axioms to the effect of “when you are not telling your emotional truth, chances are, you are hiding it” and in most cases when this practice is in play, it is to protect the feelings of others or deny your own. On a micro level, these frequent lies that Ipki references are compounding wounds, twofold. By means of never communicating how she truly feels, she also takes the on the emotional responsibility of keeping the peace.
In the book, she also laments her spotty memory. She explains how she fabricates an idealized version of her grandmother, even writing of her on many occasions. This, she doesn’t question until much later in her life when she finally attempts to reconstruct her past. At which point, she acknowledges: “I have written a lot of things of which I am uncertain” (pg.17). She interestingly points out how she attributes all wisdom, all feeling of being wanted at a young age to this “mythical” grandmother figure she has created. That is the emotional truth of her early life. She needed to feel wanted, perhaps collected various wisdom from multiple sources or even cultivated it within herself. And though her brain found it easier to associate those attributes with one solitary figure, those emotional needs—emotional truths—remained as a reality. Sensing these voids, a fabrication of a figure that could provide them—that did, in her mind, provide them—was more comfortable.
In this sense, we can see the divide between emotional truths and intellectual facts. This grandmother figure was not as Bassey had conjured in her imagination. She had constructed a defense mechanism to fill her emotional needs. So then, it may be asserted that emotional truth supersedes historical accuracy. In a sense, that emotional truth that is left behind is much more real—as a representative of need—than any tangible event. Intellectual facts can be more objective, and the memory tends to distort events. Yet, it is the unmet needs that we carry with us into the rest of our lives, that color every aspect. And all stemming from a reluctance to examine their origins.
Bassey Ipki makes it clear that she knows a thing or two about emotional regulation, especially in regard to cultivating methods for regulation, herself. Without regulatory meds or proper coping techniques, this process can be taxing. Studies have shown that people with bipolar disorder exert more effort in emotional regulation than people not diagnosed with BD, and to less success. She describes the exhaustion—exacerbated by her lack of comedown time—in her harrowing, timestamped “This is What Happens” chapter.
The events described in the chapter bring to light the pain of struggling with the ability to emotionally regulate, but also puts into perspective the degrees to which those reactions are or aren’t proportionate to situational realities. By postponing an examination of one’s emotional needs, continually fabricating reasons, people, memories to replace them, the mind can react quite disproportionately to its stressors. Somewhere between this reaction and the trigger is often a neglected emotional truth, a moment of trauma that has gone unchecked.
It is Ipki’s revelation that her emotional truth is valid; it is as valid as any intellectual fact. In finally obtaining the help that she needed, near the end of the book, expressing gratitude for her supporters, she says that she has “to figure out a way to pop my own balloons” (pg. 248). In this, she seems to be asserting that while she appreciates support, her health is her responsibility. The balloons—fabrications—are the lies from her time as a liar, that she must herself confront. The pieces they leave as they burst, the colorful rubber husks, are the emotional truths left behind that require a long-neglected nurturing and understanding.
