It’s Tuesday so we must be talking about therapy. Hah. Yesterday was one of those rare Breakthrough Sessions. We tend to do this, we fight ghosts inside ourself for months then everything clicks in a raptor-like blaze of glory.
We got mad. We got furious. We got so enraged that we have temporarily lost our voice. Poor T could not believe it.
You see, we shut down and rip ourself apart, that is what we do with the rage. The Four Furies create voices and havoc and disgusting remembered smells. But it’s all shadow-boxing. We see the blood and the gore inside us but from the world we hide it all. T knows of this bien sur because she wrangles with them on a regular basis.
Yesterday however we got MAD. A huge volcanic eruption. Black and blue from hitting ourself on the things as we screamed from inside a tight little ball.
And for the first time since the nightmare of our life began happening to us in 1962, we got mad at him. At the man who did it to us. Who passed us around who….well, best leave the specifics alone.
We got mad at uncle Norman. We got mad at her mother who said “nobody in my family would do such a thing” and kept dropping her off at his place, knowing what he was up to. Bitch. We got mad at all the aunts and uncles who refused to take us in.
We go mad. Not at her. Mad at the perps and their allies.
Our poor T. She just sat there, saying well that’s right he did unspeakable things to you. Your mother said what (furious writing)? No, there is no justice in the world for you because the motherfucker’s dead. Yes, it sucks that in the end you were just born to the wrong family. Yes the randomness of that is appalling. Yes it was somebody else and not you. No, nobody had the right to do any of this shite to you. No you parents should not have left you alone for weeks at a time when you were ten years old. Yes it was your uncle Norman. Yes it sucks that you needed and you trusted and you loved those people and they treated you the way they did. Yes, yes, yes. No you are not bad. No there isn’t anything inherently in you and yes it was other people. Yes he was a motherfucker to you. No he did not have the right to do to you the things that he did….
Once we tired ourself out T said something very interesting. She said you should try to tear a phone book in two. She said this is the hard part, sitting with these feelings. The Furies went off of course but somebody in here made a sudden connection. That IS what it’s all about. It’s about walking thru overwhelming pain and doing whatcha gotta do to be safe while the pieces get put back together. Oh, that is what she means. Don’t rip yourself apart. Do safer things, be decent to yourself because you have been thru Hell and you all have to heal.
Oh.
We feel like shit today. We are frustrated and depressed and suicidal ideation is running amok. We’re pissed atthe wifey pissed at our life and pissed at the big black cat for shedding all over our lap. We’re pissed at the car whose ball joints just went out. Pissed, pissed, pissed. Sad sad sad. And about as drained as we can remember.
We asked T what now? She said well you will all come here and we will continue to work on getting you healed. She gets how much we hurt which is unbelievable. But she has faith that we can get thru it. Which is more than we have in ourselves.
We don’t know how long this hangovah is going to last but it best not be for long. It is feeling dangerous. Of course, everything’s dangerous anyway, right? Right?
Sweet baby Jesus this sucks.
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