9/15/2023
I talk to myself a lot
I use to think it was a reflection of my instability
With all the voices in my head
Why add one more?
But it's like finding a clearing in a meadow
I can focus on one thought or emotion
Dissect and reflect on it
Sometimes it leads to nowhere
Sometimes the clarity eases my racing mind
The noise in my head can be distracting
It's so hard to explain the intolerable noise coming from silence
Sometimes it's so intense that engaging isn't enough
So I'll pace back and forth
Existing is such an odd experience
I often find myself watching myself, watch myself
I have never ending questions about life
About existing and experiencing
It's fascinating and saddening all at once
I feel alone in this
There must be others who feel this too, right?
At times I feel so connected to the world
Other times, I feel fooled by it
How can you have access to see so much
Yet, understand you know so little?
9/14/2023
Every time he texts me, I’m consumed with LOVE
Some times I’m not a very good texter
And he surely isn’t either
But like clockwork we find our way back to each other
He fills me with love I cannot not explain
And cannot compare
I stayed for him
It’s always been for him
I’d never tell him that
Not that directly at least
Because if I ever lost the battle, I know he’d only wonder why
Why he no longer was enough
He’s always been enough
He always will be
Leaving him was hard
We had several conversations about it to prepare him for the move
If I’m honest, maybe they were primarily for me
I needed to know he was ok and was going to continue to be ok
I needed his permission to only care for myself
I don’t regret the last 17 years even the slightest
I’m appreciative and proud of the role I have in his life
I’ve invalidated my importance for most of it
I believed my role was small
Only in the last few years have I started to own I’m a good mother
But when he texts me…
I truly feel it
He doesn’t hold back in expressing his love and appreciation
He feels safe and seen with me
It’s all I ever wanted for him
He needed to know he wasn’t and would never be alone
He’s growing up and into an amazing human being
Our relationship has to shift, it has to change
I love it and I hate it
My baby is growing up
I’m a grieving mother
Learning to let go
But I’ll always make sure he knows I’m never far behind
9/13/2023
(Dream)
I wake to leave the two story house
As I exit animals rush in
xxxx comes
I mention I'm leaving
A lion rushes in and starts smelling me and holding on to me
I'm fearful, so is xxxx
He passes
I go back up stairs to get dressed
xxxx follows and exits into another room
I tell him to be careful
There are plants everywhere
I notice they're dead
I touch one and bugs come from the soil
Large-like house flies
They're black with red spots and they fly at me
Like they're mad
I grab a natural spray and spray at them
Suddenly there is less but ones left die
I go back looking for clothes
I wake up
9/10/2023 Loving Her
This city quickly became home
This took me by surprise
I’ve never cared for the city of Los Angeles
I didn’t understand the draw towards it
Los Angeles is chaos
It’s loud and intense
This city is a game of Russian roulette
You can never know all the edges and corners
But you know secrets hide in alleys
How can anyone find beauty in all this mess?
There are many things I could do without in this city
But they’ve become things that just are
I had things I loved and things I hated
But I couldn’t have the things I loved without mess
I can’t quiet say it’s a love/hate relationship even
The things I hated have now become things I accept
A complete parallel to my relationship with Her
I find it humorous
That the city I once dismissed now holds a special place in my heart
It is the city I learned to fall in love with myself
9/10/2023
The point was never about getting better at dealing with the pain
I use to think it was about becoming stronger
I believed I was too weak and that's why it was all so heavy
I believed the point was to managing it
But I didn’t need a lesson on how to suffer
I’ve been doing it all my life
A course on “how to live with pain”
Was never of use to me
The point was to learn to experience joy
Such a simple and overlooked word
Three letters so often used in the English language
One included in my own vernacular
I didn’t understand
I couldn’t feel joy
I could hear it and I could speak it
But it never stood the chance of penetrating through the noise
All I could even do was close my eyes and muffle screams
Hope the intensity would pass soon
And it did, in waves. It just always came back
Learning to take peek wasn’t about being stronger
It about giving myself the chance to look for the joy in all the chaos
Grief is an old friend of mine
I didn’t need to look for it
It just always was
With my eyes open I can choose to seek something more
In the heaviness and haze I can see it
I can access it
Joy
“Learn to feel joy”
Yes.
9/2/2023
I’m happy.
Not in a naive kind of way.
Life hasn’t transformed into a fairy tale.
The ugly, messy darks parts of me still exist.
I’m not so scared anymore though.
I’ve learned to take a peek.
The crazy isn’t so bad.
I kind of like Her.
There’s magic in Her darkness.
The happiness is understanding.
It’s acceptance and peace.
Owning my magic.
Even on the days its heavy.
9/1/2023
(Letter to the sister I always wanted and finally found)
I’ve always been able to feel her
This made it easy for me to find her when she retreated into corners
I could see her despite the walls she put in place
I understood that kind of fear
Walls only built in response to wounds I know all too well are easier forgotten
She was easy to love. Despite my own reservations with intimacy
She found her way into my heart without my knowing
The first time I witnessed her walls drop I was flooded with grief
It pained me to watch her river flow
That’s when I knew I loved her
Because without thinking, I dropped my guard to show her some of my mess
To meet her in her suffering
I risked harm and received acceptance instead
I have loved her ever since
Our connection is quietly rooted
It’s unspoken-beneath the surface yet so obvious
I’ve been running all my life and I may never stop
But I’m learning to pause
Trying to articulate my thoughts and emotions is challenging
Have patience as I find my way
In the moments of pause, I am flooded with all the things that come from knowing you
I do not know your thoughts or feelings but I can feel the love you mercilessly shower me in
It overwhelms me in these pauses
You may not know the darkness of my mind
Might not know all the ugly and broken but I have given you glimpses
And you have loved me despite it all
I abandoned parts of myself long ago
I believed these parts were unlovable
I banished Her in forbidden exhibits
I couldn’t feel any compassion for Her
I’m beginning to understand something you always have
Thank you for loving Her when I couldn’t
You’ve helped me heal in ways I never thought I deserved
Instead of giving up you only loved me harder
I don’t know how my story ends but there are things you have to know before I go
I know our love is unspoken but it is worthy of words
In the last 13 years I have seen countless layers of change in you
The timeline is beautiful to me
Much in the way that art is- unintentional and resulting in magic
I think you’re beginning to see that for yourself and that brings me great joy
I’ve spent so much of my life scared
I’ve spent it believing I was small
I was stuck in a time where I was small, defenseless, and unwanted
I’ve moved through spaces accepting this narrative although secretly desiring to be wanted
To be loved
Yet, knowing nothing about what it looked like only what it wasn’t
I’ve feared touch, love, intimacy. I feared being known because even though I want it-
It meant risking another injury
Another disappointment
My life left me fearful, depressed, but also angry
Without the anger I wouldn’t be here.
Anger moves you. It was my fuel
You can’t move in spaces of fear or grief, but anger drives you to fight
I’m tired. Always so tired but I don’t want to be scared anymore
Not with you
I don’t believe there’s a need for that
I don’t want to withhold
I want to be recklessly raw
It needs to be said for me to be at peace
Not just in life but in death
I’ve watched you use your words like blades and cut yourself down
I’ve watched you struggle to find yourself
I watched you fight to see your worth
I could never see the things you saw
But how could you describe colors to someone who’s always been blind?
I guess I understood that kind of blindness
You can’t explain it or teach it
It needs to be seen and lived
I’m happy to know you
I’m lucky to be loved by you
Thank you for being my family.
8/25/2023
The nightmare started as abruptly as it ended. Starts and ends with the sound of a door opening.
I wake up sweaty. My chest is tight and my stomach aches. I notice the roaming tension in my body as I sit up. "What the fuck?" Is my first thought.
I summon the memory of the nightmare in search of what it means. But the brief images and sound intensify the fear in my body.
The vomit fills my throat. What is it with the vomit man? I head to the restroom. As the vomit sinks back the grief rises. "A fucking door?" "What is it with a fucking door?"
Doors opening and closing do briefly startle me. Even if they aren't slammed. If I can't anticipate it then it does bother me but it's so mild I never thought much of it. Or maybe I'm just used to it. Doors are everywhere and they all open and close. The sound of a door will make me sit up right... doesn't it do that for everyone?
I feel sad thinking of this. Can't connect it to a thought but it's sadness. I feel the need to cry. "Poor kid man". I think of Her.
Doors. They're bookmarks for the openings between spaces. They could represent freedom. A form of escape from the space you're in. A transition. They're also privacy. Good and bad privacy. Good when you're standing alone behind the door. Bad when the danger is there with you. Then the door serves as concealment but not in the sense of protection. Just invisibility...
Sometimes they come with locks. That could mean safety if you're alone. If you're locked in, it could mean trapped...Or lonely. Real profound loneliness...
A door is like gunfire at the start of a swim match.The notice of something beginning. "Be ready for what is to come" it says. I'm anxious writing this. My hands feel numb. My chest is very heavy.
I'm trying to calm my brain. Ok, so it's the notice of something to come. What kind of somethings?
Violence. Chaos. Abuse. Violation. Death. Surrender. Fear.Suffering.
My hands are shaking. Breathe...I'm staring at this office door. I put the nightmare away but all these doors today... Doors everywhere! Suddenly I notice them and they're everywhereeeeee.
Ok, but this one is closed. I'm alone. I'm safe. No one is coming in. I control when it opens...
Breathe...
More somethings...
Loss of control.No safety.Anxiety.War. Frozen.Pain.Aches.Blood.Punishment. Soreness. Bruises. Tenderness. Disconnection from myself.
Open doors welcomed these things. My doors didn't have locks. They allowed scary things... scary people... to transition. To enter into my space. In and out whenever they pleased. The sound of the latch retreating from the door frame was my queue. That's my gunfire. I jump into the pool....I go from yellow to green...Prepare for impact.
I'm trembling. My body remembers. I know She's here. She's trying to warn me.
I hear you. These fucking doors let in so much crap. What do you want me to know about these doors?
My hands are trembling. I need to help Her. I place one hand on my forehead and the other on my chest. I'm trying to align my mind and soul with Her. What happened surprised me.I tell her, "I know you're scared and warning me. It's scary and it scares me too. You've been brave but now we have each other. I promise I'm trying to listen.
I love you xxxxx"
It rolled off my tongue like the most natural thing to say. I've never said that. Not even in my head. Never felt it. But I did say it. It was my voice and I felt it to be true. I open my eyes and look at my hands. They've stopped trembling. I'm crying.
8/20/2023
She can't be trusted with not hurting me.
So, if I don't give myself to her she can't.
And if she can't, I can see her without being in her line of fire.
I couldn't see her before. Even when I thought I could by letting myself feel the grief of anger.
I let myself explore the sadness until I discovered the rage.
In the rage I felt the depth of my pain.
I could see the anger came from an active wound.
One caused by my own mother.
I'd be justified in hating the women who gave me life.
It all began to loosen when I acknowledged, "I don't like her".
But that rage also blinded me.
I have stopped handing her the keys to the car.
She can't help but crash, so I drive.
A tingling feeling rushes over my body as I think, "I like her like this".
I realize I can not only love her but I can like her.
Just not as my mother.
I needed a mother but I no longer do.
The all-consuming desire has dissipated.
My soul can't reach her but it can see her.
I can watch her.
I can witness her fears, struggles, barriers, and limits.
I can love her as she lingers there.
And I can like her for all the ways she finds joy in that world.
It's ok mom. I got me now.
I can accept you like this.
Just as you are.
You can have access to my warmth without controlling it.
We can experience each other in that warmth and know we have learned how our connection works.
Appreciating the connection we have and letting go of the one we'd hope to have.
I forgive you.
I like you mom.
8/17/2023
(Dream)
Looking for a book because he asks me to come with a book. It was a specific request but I don't remember why I bring Harry Potter to show him.
I feel nervous and shy handing it over. He starts with the back of the book and says "that's it?". Not in a dismissive way but in a way that eases my nervousness. I show him the chapters and they're covered in doodles, phrases, and mess. Dark themes. Suffering and death.
He gives me his Harry Potter book. I'm surprised it's the same book.
The pages have careful needle blades all over. Just enough to not slice the page. Titles and edges have doodles and words.
I scan carefully. Touch the lines and tilt for reflection of light on the pages.
It's messy. Dark. A lot of death and grief.
I find an illustration with hello kitty and a rabbit. Both dead.
I'm pleased with this image. It's in color and stands out.
He says, "I added her into it".
I'm invested in the details. I want to explore the pages. Dive into the mess of these lines and images. It's beautiful.
I look up and realize he's been watching me.
Not looking at the book with me.
It scares me and I awake.
8/9/2023
I see the email notification of the publication.
I’m excited because it’s finally done.
I jumped on my laptop and go to ProQuest… to search the title. To search my name.
It’s like I needed the proof and there it was.
I’m overwhelmed with appreciation.
I feel so grateful I had the opportunity to research this topic.
I’m grateful for the women who chose to talk about a topic I know all too well is easier exiled from the mind.
I immediately notify my participants and send over a copy.
I finally file away my research for storage. It’s done.
I’m overwhelmed with appreciation for Her.
I’m feel pride for answering the call and completing the task.
The work brought up a lot of my own pain.
Would have been easier to find something else.
I’m proud I let Her speak.
I’m finding a way to give Her the voice she lost so long ago.
Rediscovering that is its own suffering.
8/7/2023
(EMDR Session)
The memory is of my first attempt.
My childhood is full of black outs and blurry images.
But the feeling of wanting to be gone, to be dead, for it end-is one I can’t remember not having.
I grab the knife and I go out to the driveway on the side of the house.
The ball goes back and forth as I’m asked to remember the worst part of this memory.
My mother coming…
I’m crying, I feel sad.
That’s new but I imagine her 8-year-old hands and it’s sad.
I know the desperate feeling so well.
It’s familiar in my body, in my mind.
The balls goes back and forth.
I feel the tension in my jaw, in my shoulders, and my back.
My stomach hurts.
I’m sick to my stomach.
I hate this feeling…
The ball goes back and forth as I’m asked to follow the feeling.
Suddenly I feel very nauseous.
I’m burping and I feel the vomit in my mouth.
The ball goes back and forth as I’m asked to notice the throw up.
I don’t remember when it switched.
I don’t recall noticing the change.
I tried to focus on the tension, the ache, and the nausea.
I disappeared.
I was gone.
When I’m back- my body is so heavy.
It’s unresponsive.
I follow the ball and try to speak.
Nothing comes out.
I try to lift my arms and move my head.
Worry sets in. “Why can’t I move?”
“Why am I trapped?”
The worry is odd. I can’t feel the worry. I just know that I am.
The ball is blurry and hard to focus on.
The sounds around me seem far away.
I’m not crying anymore.
My face and entire body are numb.
There’s no feeling and no emotions.
Why?
“Look at my hands xxxxx”
The ball stops moving.
She calls me again.
“Look at your hands.”
I try but my head won’t move.
I try to speak- nothing comes out.
“Look around the room”
She has me find things I see, smell, hear, and feel.
“I can’t” I say.
I feel like I should be scared or crying but I feel nothing.
My toes twitch and I try to wiggle them.
Next, I try to swallow but the muscles won’t tense.
I know she’s speaking to me but it’s not clear.
I try to follow the guidance when I hear it.
Eventually my hands can move. It takes a lot of effort and my movements are slow.
“I don’t like it” I say.
She reassures me.
“Do you know what’s happened?”
Unexpectedly, the answer comes- “Disassociation”.
She asks me questions but it’s really hard to track.
Really hard to respond.
I feel disoriented. My voice doesn’t even sound like me.
I feel nothing. That’s the best part.
She’s telling jokes. I feel I should smile and I try.
Nothing.
Everything is NOTHING.
When the session ends, I don’t move.
I stare at the corner of the desk for-I don’t know how long.
When I stand my leg muscles feel stiff. I can’t bend my legs or move my joints.
I almost fall.
My body is gone for 4 hours.
Dissociation. Hmm? Means I couldn’t take it. Means… it was that bad.
I take the emotions out of a lot of things. I can turn that off but the body is something I’ve never witnessed. I was gone but also there. Inside the shell. In the hallow space that was left.
My mind is so powerful. Not even I could turn it back on. It wasn’t easy. I think about the experience all day. I replay it over and over.
The emotions don’t come back until the end of the day. When I’m in the shower.
The shampoo rinses down my body and again I am heavy.
The grief takes me to my knees and I’m sobbing. I don’t know what I’m grieving. I couldn’t explain what I’m crying about.
8/3/2023
I’ve learned to challenge the thought, “I have no time for that”. I take a deep breath and stand still. I let Her be my compass and she says, “Please”.
Every behavior after that is a simple task. No emotion- we are just moving towards the goal. Her goal is the pool. So, I’m at the pool. I’m reading and writing because that’s what I like to do. And we’re outside and spend time splashing in the water because, that’s what She likes to do. I try to do this when We need it. Sometimes, most of the time, I’m like I was before- moving too fast so I’m missing things in front of me.
I finished a book and am starting a new one. I’m content so now I play. I sit on the steps of the pool and take in the sun. I move my legs left and right, up and down. The breeze catches the sweat droplets forming on my forehead. I notice- I am still. A man comes through the gate. His presence breaks my focus but I notice,… that’s all it does. We smile at one another and he finds his own space. I notice my awareness of him as he moves around me but the tension in my body is only that- awareness. I’m not scared. I hold my gaze at the light reflecting off the water. If I blink, my pain will add to this pool.
Letting her hold my hand is changing me. Changing Us- maybe. I don’t recognize this kind of awareness. I’m able to play and take in the joy of it. Awareness always meant sacrifice. Play was sacrificed for survival. I needed to always be aware to survive. I’m not sure why there’s no sacrifice this time. I can hear my heart beat when I sink my ears into the water. The rhythm is unremarkable. I scan my neck, shoulders, and back- nothing. No tension, no tingling, no heat or cold. Nothing. My body is aligned with my mind. I feel happy… hopeful.
-.-
He lets her in with her three kids. I can feel the children. The excitement and innocence. They’re ready to play. I notice they look like me and feel good about the company. I can hear the mom try to keep her children’s screams of laugher down, “You have to be quiet”. I catch the women looking at my chest tattoo and that’s when I notice her tattoos. On her face, chest, and arms. She smiles at me and plays with her kids. I enjoy how she interacts with them. She’s patient, encouraging, and loving.
Then it hits me… I have privilege.
This pool is a privilege. A privilege I never thought I’d have and not in a “crushed dream” kind-of-way. It just wasn’t something someone like me could have. A pool wasn’t necessary. You know, a need.
I remember the thrill of breaking into apartments to use their pools in the summer. I was pretty good at jumping fences, walls, gates,…you name it. And if that was too hard, I would find a tenant I could befriend who would let me in. I was always good with things like this and never thought much of it…
We couldn’t stay more than a few hours and we had to be very quiet. Sometimes we would get caught and we’d have to run for it. If there were others in the pool we would try to fit in and pretend we belonged. Hoping no one would notice we really didn’t and call us out.
That’s something I’ve missed while I was caught up in the will to survive. I have privilege now. I’m in rooms I never thought I’d even get a peak at. I sit at tables with people who’d easily pass me up in a different setting, hell in a different outfit. I’ve infiltrated spaces I was told I didn’t belong in. Rooms so guarded and heavily monitored. I’m in.
So, what is the hang up with accepting all of this? What’s the story I was told and/or am telling myself?
1. I don’t deserve anything good or easy. I deserve to suffer and struggle.
2. I didn’t earn this. It’s luck and luck fades.
3. Someone will take this from me when they find out who I am.
4. There’s no time to enjoy it because if I stop to tie my shoe I’ll fall behind.
But there is a fifth story.
5. Accepting this privileged means I’m a traitor. It means I’m ungrateful and ashamed of where I come from. So ashamed I fought to leave it. What a betrayal. It means I’m just like the people I felt envy of. Those in the world of trust fund babies, silver spoons, and nepotism.
Am I like that world now?
No, there isn’t a way I could be... My story was different. It just is. I wasn’t born into privilege. I was born here, making me American. Least that’s the idea but my relationship to that word is distant. It’s not that I’m not grateful but if I say this out loud that’s all that’s heard. I’m grateful for this privilege. It’s granted me things my ancestors only dreamed of. It just doesn’t work in every room. Other descriptions are louder when I walk into certain spaces. Other aspects of my identity are marked and often not to my benefit. But I’m not ashamed. Least I never was…
I earned this privilege and its new to me. There is shame that the others at this table can tell I’m not “from here”. Yes, I have shame and I have shame about having shame…
That’s the loop. Trying to hide parts of myself at this table is the real betrayal. That’s what makes me the traitor. That’s how I abandon those of us born with little to no privilege. I try to negate the meaning of the infiltration. I reaffirm a glass ceiling that we all strive to break through. So why isn’t this easier to accept? Is the narrative of “not belonging” so strong I don’t need people to tell me anymore? Why do I continue to feed the narrative of marginalize groups?
It's scary to be standing here. I can resist it or move forward. I’m a compilation of different stories and versions of Xxxxx. All good and bad. All needed and valuable. Clearly- they got me into these rooms. So why can’t I be all of them? She, is teaching me that.
I’m in… breathe… let’s see what I can do with this access.
7/29/2023
(Dream)
I didn’t want to look at it again. I didn’t think I needed too. He’d cross my mind for only brief moments. Like a breeze passing by. I didn’t think I felt anything. There was just this concluding bitterness. Deflated all the interest I had to be curious about love. The shock turned into grief, into questions…
The hope consumed me. It transformed me into the version I needed to be to have that hope fulfilled. To meet the demands of the journey. The journey wasn’t known but I believed I found someone to discover it with. The parts of myself invested in the journey left with him. They faded with him. The story could have gone many ways…
He's standing in front of me. Expecting me to let him back in. He shows no remorse and no accountability. I recognize him but at the same time I don’t. He is also no longer the version he needed to be for our story. Those parts have left him too. Even though it hurts to let it go and trying to force a different ending is tempting. I know it’s gone… I have to let him go because we cannot move backwards. We are now different versions and these don’t intersect. We aren’t going to be the loves of each other’s lives. There is no “meant to be”. There isn’t really a reason for some stories ending. Sometimes they just do and you let it go.
I awake in grief. Sweating and gasping for balance.
7/28/2023
I’m beginning to understand.
I know it to be true.
Simply because I feel it to be true.
I’ve refused to reread old chapters.
Claimed I knew them so well I could recite every detail.
Yet, this excavation has proved I’ve known nothing.
I’ve known the story assigned to each detail.
That’s it.
The story helped me survive.
Suffering was the cost.
This time, the story doesn’t cost me a thing.
In fact, I’m receiving- no longer giving.
I can see Her. She keeps coming back.
I’ve fought to pretend not to see her.
She scared me.
And maybe she still kinda does.
But in the way of real admiration.
What a force.
Yes, She’s messy.
She’s dark and ugly.
Even crazy.
She needed to be and for once…
I feel grateful She is.
She got me out.
I owe her my peace.
I will no longer deny her access to what she fought for.
And I will no longer deny my access to Her.
Sometimes you need mess.
Sometimes you need the dark and ugly.
And sometimes you need a little crazy.
Life’s just not that black and white.
5/28/2023 Her Return
(EMDR Session)
I enter the bathroom to find Her.
My eyes can’t find Her face.
The tightness in my chest is hot.
My body is numb with fear.
We know she’s coming.
My throat and my jaw are tight.
So tight I feel a cramp coming.
I bend down and search for Her hands.
I extend mine and She places hers right on top.
It’s so small…
Soft, meaty, and brown.
“What do you need to say?” I ask.
She screams, “I didn’t do anything!”
“It’s not fair!”
“Why is she so mean!?”
Her words loosen the lace on the corset around my throat.
Her small hand is warm and it’s shaking.
What a brave little girl…
“It’s over” I tell Her.
“We survived”.
She runs into me, thoroughly embracing me.
Her body…feels so small.
I’ve come back to tell Her we are strong.
I feel safe and I know She does too.
I am safe for Her.
My hands are bigger and I’m much stronger.
I’m capable of protecting Her.
I stand up.
She grabs my hand.
“It’s time to go”.
We walk out of that restroom together.
I lift Her tiny body and sit Her on my lap.
Her hand resting on my hand.
We watch the movie play again.
This time I whisper in Her ear….
“This is the hard part but you have to keep watching because she’s not done.”