11/3/2023

I pulled at the thread and suddenly find myself vomiting up memories

Quickly they come out of me

Brief, tangential

The scariness of the memories is not lost on me

They're clear memories that have lingered in corners

They're background noise

Constant but at times, like now, they're loud

I notice the challenge connecting my thoughts with my voice

The wire isn't severed but it's clearly damaged

I'm cold, I think?

The goosebumps roam my body

It itches as the cycle ends and begins again

I'm delaying

Saying it was hard

But you can't prove I said it

There's no record

Publishing it is harder

I can't take it back once I can see what I said

See what I thought, what I lived

It's a memory

A story in a timeline

Am I giving it more power?

11/3/2023

The train pulls up

Letting out a deep belly sigh

The door to the first cart slows down and stops right in front of me

I see my reflection for a split second before the doors open 

I look down the line and notice how long this train is

I let out a deep belly sigh

The train startles me as it calls out to me

It's time...

My heart beats in my head

It echoes in my fish bowl

He's marked on my right foot

I lead with it

At this intersection I chose forward

The hairs on my back rise as the door closes behind me

There is no going back

There is no unknowing 

10/31/2023

10/31

The day the barrier between the spiritual and physical world becomes perforated

When continuity is ruptured in the realm of worlds

Where souls in journey and those in transition can meet

I often wonder about the roots of my soul's existence 

10/30/2023

I hear the siren a few times on my way to work. The nausea is pretty prominent. I repeat, "There's no siren. There's no siren". As I focus on my breathing. It's been some time since it was this clear and frequent.

(Dream)

The details got away from me. There is some party, lots of people on a large property. I go find my sister. It's someone I know but I don't know why she's my sister in this dream. I go tell her that I got a heads up and they're coming for me. I'm about to leave, to run for it, but at the same time it's like I'm avoiding this. I'm delaying it. 20 helicopters show up. A grip of units peel into the property. Sending particles of dirt everywhere. The pale woman asks me if I speak English before directing my hands to my back.I comply.

I feel... I hear, the first click. I begin gasping for air as I fall to my knees

I'm jolted awake

My eyes scan the darkness for clarity

My chest is compressing into itself

I recognize my bed

"Fuck", I think as I recognize I'm in the middle of a panic attack

I mistakenly try to recall the dream

I feel the cool metal on my wrist

Sending me into complete terror

I want it out of me, off of me

I peel my clothes off, item by item

I'm sweating at this point

Rigid but trembling 

I find myself sitting up on the bed

Back against the wall in my underwear

I'm shivering

Unsure if it's a result of the panic or the cold air hitting my sweaty body

My face and head ache

My muscles feel tired 

I try not to pass judgment on myself

Try not to feel the disappointment and sense of failure

I spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling 

Couldn't tell you what the question was exactly

But my response was a begrudging... "fine". 

I justify the suppression of this one due to the risk. I know the cost of opening my mouth. I know the lengths they'll go to make sure nothing ever comes out of me. I rewarded them with my silence. They earned it...I ran, doing my best to never look back. The echoes petrify me.Like real sirens, unclear from what direction it's coming from. Only knowing that it's approaching and fast

My mental state was functional

Distant, absent but manageable

I was managing. I was numb, detached, and reckless with myself. Inviting more harm. I gave up my defenses. I see the lights first. My body tightens up for the fight. The sirens follows. When he approaches my window I accept it, but when he calls my name I leave. I'm just... gone. My name clarifies the danger of this situation. His words cut through me but the painkillers flow through my body. I feel nothing. I'm berated, humiliated. But not in this moment. In this moment, I feel nothing. Most of it I've forgotten. Least that's what I tell myself. My lawyer described the footage as "painful" to watch.

He slams me up against the unit. Bending me sharply at the hips. He stands behind me laughing as he gropes at my body. He locks the first one...These marks will linger for days. Traces of him will be left on my wrists, arms, and hips. I'm thrown in the back. Landing on my face.

I'm connected to a bench on the floor. My spine shoots pain down my legs.

Soon two of them sit on me as my blood is drawn. They put part of my uniform on in the process so now I'm threatened to be thrown in with general pop. I don't say it but I'd feel safer in that cage than in this room of uniforms. One of them is very angry. So angry I can feel him even when I'm checked out. He watches me closely. His blood is boiling at the sight of me. He comes for me… Releasing me from the bench. He calls over his accomplice. My arms are restrained as he whispers, "I'm going to do the rape kit myself you lying bitch". The scent is here… I smell it off him and this brings me back into my body. My legs drag behind me as they carry me down a dark hallway. We're approaching a dark room. I launch my legs up against the door frame. Locking my legs. My wrists are twisting in and I want to give up. In a split second I make the choice-I'd rather die. So I fight to piss them off. Maybe they'll accidently go too far. I swing my legs back down, targeting one of their knees. He releases my arm and I elbow him straight in the face before the other slams me against the wall. I feel his hands trembling. He doesn't feel like rage… I swing my head back, rocking his balance. I begin to scream so loud I feel something ripping in my throat.

The sergeant returns upset by my troublemaking. He "okay-s" my release to a coworker.

I'm full of rage. Slow growing, but silent. I don't say a word. The stream of tears seem endless. I can hear the road below us. The thought is still very vivid for me.

"I'm done..."

I open the door and launch myself. The asphalt bounces off my body. After a few moments I notice the horror of breathing persists. A deep belly cry begins then it turns into a panic attack. I'm enraged with my existence. I punch my face over and over until he comes running to restrain me. I'm fighting him. I'm angry with any obstacle keeping me from relief. He holds me till the energy runs out then carries my limp body back in the car. I try again a few moments later with a razor. Again, he restrains me. I postpone my attempts till tomorrow

Fine…

10/28/2023

Yesterday I bought my first pair of jeans

To be more specific, I bought my first pair of unconditional jeans

No terms or conditions jeans

I’ve purchased several jeans in the last few decades but not one was free of unattainable standards or criticism

Sometimes the purchase was a reward for my commitment to restrictions

I’d squeeze my calves and relentless ass into this unforgiving fabric

Then I’d feel this sense of accomplishment and satisfaction

Sometimes the purchase was a punishment

To prove to some part of myself I was not enough

Wasn’t committed enough, beautiful enough

So, I’d shove the evidence in my own face

Tell myself how unworthy I was and here were the numbers to prove it

My jeans could only be purchased from the same store

The variation in sizes depending on brands was dangerous for me

It could send me into a deep self-depreciating spiral

It could tell me once again it wasn’t enough

Leading to more punishment

Punishment I was in control of

Punishment I could describe as fair

It made sense, it was tangible

I could predict it

Letting go of control is painfully terrifying

My emotions and body respond like I am to be met some sort of torturous death

I’ve avoided mirrors all my life

Doing my makeup and hair with handheld mirrors

Never having to face,…myself

Showering and getting dressed like I’m in bootcamp

I held record times…

Sometimes I still leave my apartment with things on backwards or mismatched for not double-checking

The feeling is like being pants and then shitting yourself on stage surrounded by 50,000 people

Except you’re alone

Over and over, it happens

Every. Single. Day. because how do you leave your body behind?

I’m stuck with this defective meat suit

So, you find ways to manage

Up and down my weight goes

Neither resulting in me loving myself

I never even “looked” malnourished

This also became a weapon, “You can’t even do anorexia, right?”

I spent the last 10 years trying to avoid jeans

In the era of leggings and yoga pants I’ve gone undetected

Especially with COVID

If someone notices my clear aversion to it, I simply note the fabric is bothersome and doesn’t feel breathable

People often offer solutions such as different brands or styles

I let the information slip

I feared being sucked back into dancing with the devil

I’ve kept two pair of jeans however, every once in a while, attempting to slip them on

I feel this is a reasonable size as it’s in-between my lowest and highest weight

Yet the last 4 years they have not gone past my thighs

Again, I’m caught with my pants down

I pull them off like I’m brushing off spiders crawling up my legs

Put them back in the closet

Food will become disgusting and incredibly appealing all at once

I’ll cycle into states of restriction leading to binging, potential purging, and then indifference until I can repress the obsession

I can delay it until the next slip, thought of my weight, comment on my body, or urge to try on these two pairs of jeans

I don’t weigh myself for this exact reason

Can’t even remember when that stopped

Maybe almost 15 years ago

I have it blocked off medical charts if needed

I write 160lbs on anything requiring my weight like my license

I watch myself search for things I can control

Things I can make sense of and seek safety in for brief moments

Convincing myself I’m better in these spaces

Even if I’m hurting myself, I’M hurting myself

I can beat you to the punch

I can hurt myself far more and better than you ever could

I learned from the best…

The cycle began around age 10

Prior to this my family still accosted me with comments on my body any chance they got

I just didn’t understand how food and exercise played a role in what it looked like...

Not yet at least

My mother taught me

She could “help me”, she said

I was standing in the dressing room with her

This new school was trying to look less shitty by requiring more uniformed clothing

Here we are trying to find tan and black Dickies pants

Dickies are made of another unforgiving material and sizes run up

Least for women-I was in between a 12 or 14 in women

I remember because my mother noted I was double her size, a 6.

Children clothes didn’t fit my thighs or chest quiet right so I was indoctrinated into this “size vs women” world as a child

I was standing in that dressing room in just my underwear and socks

I was humiliated as she scanned my body

Pinching and grabbing at the extra stuff

Highlighting the width of the waist band of pants I was about to put on

I wanted to cry

But I didn’t because I knew the response was 1 of 2 options

I infuriate her for making her feel like an asshole when she is trying to help, eventually leading to her striking me

Or she’d get off on the crying and laugh at how ridiculous I’m being

She doesn’t cry so it makes her better than me

I did my best to avoid these interactions with her

I did my best to be likeable

And how do you get the mean girl at the High School to like you?

Hate the person she most despises, … me

Exploring these memories often feels harsh

I question whether I recall them correctly

But then I have friends from childhood make note of me taking diet pills in fourth grade

Younger than my memories go

The feelings that arise in my body make it clear this is true

I imagine a 4th grader on Hydroxycut…

It’s horrifying

That child is me…

In this moment I can feel compassion

I can see why I am the way I am

Then there is just sadness because of how hard it is to undo…

So, yesterday I bought my first pair of jeans

On my period of all circumstances

I forgot my meds and prep this month so my inflammation disorder is out of control

Looks like I’m in my first trimester

I decided last year that I’d make an attempt to care for myself

My physical self, 1x a year… seems reasonable

I spent the entire month contemplating different options of care

Clothes? Jewelry? Makeup?

What does She want?

Here I am, few days before only realizing jeans was always it

I tell myself over and over that the number doesn’t mean anything

I’m struggling to prepare myself

I go into it consciously knowing I am risking exposure to a serious trigger

I walk into the store

Not a brand I’ve ever known my size in

I briefly scan the styles

Immediately filtering the tighter styles

I grab a few baggy options and stretch options

I close the door and take a deep breath

The mirror begins

“Gross” “Look at your cellulite” “You could be so much better” “Look at the spots”

I close my eyes

I try again

I try really hard

I slip on the first pair

I notice I misread the size. It’s a size 2

There is no way this is going past my ankle let alone a thigh

I can hear my heart beating as I think, “Fuck”

I return with more sizes

I decide to go with the larger sizes first

I think it could be easier to stop when it fits

Versus having to watch myself reach for the next larger size

The first one mostly fits

But there is this big gap on my lower back

I know I can’t go smaller so I reach for the stretchy style 

I rotate one time

Avoiding my face

“Ok, done”

I head directly to check out and exit the mall

When I get home I toss the jeans into the closet

One hurdle at a time

10/24/2023

She tells me with her 40 years of experience my mom is one of the worst she's known

I noticed the reflex of wanting to defend her

She's sick, yes

But that's only an explanation no longer a justification

She notes my experiences are compounded and traumatic

Unique experiences only leading to a unique result

But aren't we all?

This is brought up because of this stupid pink movie

A movie I didn't even care to see

The annoyance is my resistance to yet another way I have to confront this.. thing

The thing about being different

The thing about being alone and not relating

Today I'm tired

There isn't enough in me to fight that reality

So I acknowledge the sadness

The reality of being surrounded by people but often feeling so utterly alone

I tell her I'm seeking peers

She reassures me they're somewhere around here

But a majority live off 5th and San Pedro

So it's just going to be harder to find now

She tells me it's not impossible

And that I am proof of that

Yet this statement isn't comforting

And maybe it's not meant to be

I'm seeking comfort in something that's never been nor will be comfortable

Often I feel the only difference is I’ve learned to hide my mess

Unless you watch closely, you’ll miss me

Prior to this I spoke with my other therapist

The loudest statement playing over in my head is about my contribution

Just because my experience isn’t the experience of most

Does not undervalue it

My experience can be of contribution if shared

It sticks with me because I think this sums up my internal conflict

How do I balance my existence with the loud backdrop of my history?

So I’m not lost in all the noise

I’m not interested in being the poster child for these types of stories

10/24/2023

When he spoke of his name

I felt he was telling my secrets

He explained the difference between the C and the K

The curtain unveiled the difference

I few years ago I would of dismissed this notion

The use of an E versus an A

It's a shocking realization

But it's true,

I got to be someone different

The E holds no mess

It helps maintain the distance

Since the A is the key that unlocks the door to darkness

It's the absence of light

Ironically so,

As it's also a spotlight

To something I don't want you to know

See the A is unique

It's specific

And if you can find me...

Then so can the darkness 

10/24/2023

When the air grows crisper

And the leaves begin to decay

I am alerted of anniversary dates

I've longed to keep at bay

Each year I mark the walls of my soul

Counting the distance

Hoping it’ll grow

10/22/2023

(EMDR Session)

I was found in a dumpster in the back of a shitty McDonalds on Beach

My real mother didn’t want me

My skin was stained from the garbage

My legs are shaking, trembling beyond control

I can’t place the patterns or rhythm

The intensity fluctuates

There’s rocking motions up and down

Then one thigh jumps up

The other follows

They open and close like wings on a butterfly

The source of this is deep

Vibrating my upper body

When she prompts me to speak, my voice breaks through the convulsions

It’s then when I notice my breathing is impacted

I can’t find the emotion

I don’t think is panic

This feels different but also familiar

The ball stops

We’re going to tap now

I begin my attempts at connecting with my thighs

The shaking is erratic

My thighs come up to meet my hands before my hands can come down

My face grows numb

I feel it in my cheeks a lot

They’re dead

My legs give in

They feel tired

Very heavy and tired

No emotion, just energy

10/19/2023

People often ask, "What would you have told your younger self? What would you say?"

I don't think there is anything I could of told Her

There isn't anything I could say

I'm not sure if even showing Her who I am could help

This version of me can see things are different

But this version of me also understands that it doesn't diminish the reality of having to live through what She did

I wouldn't want to invalidate that

I suppose that I would just join Her

I'd stop running for a moment to sit with Her

Not to say anything

Not to teach or demonstrate something

I'd witness the suffering of Her experience

And for someone as lonely as She…

It might just be enough…

-.-

Versions of Her sit in front of me

Which version in my timeline is needed in response?

It isn’t really a decision

I'm becoming aware of the ways She enters

Without Her, there is no me

Without Her, I cannot meet others

-.-

The discomfort was rising

Insecurities wrapped up in anger

I couldn't formulate a thought

Not even an emotion

I was distant

Not because I wanted to be

Nor of their doing

But yet, there was a disconnect

I felt pulled from the circle

I struggled pulling myself back

Scanning my mind for the thoughts and emotions

Those that would pull me back into their worlds

And maybe that's just it

I cannot speak to something I've never lived

No matter how common

I couldn't fake it

10/17/2023

I'm mourning the loss of versions of myself 

Looking at the memories engraved on the tombstone sparks the cycle of despair

Grieving the belief I ever held these memories as memories of being loved

10/14/2023

The critic enters my mind

When my sanity falls behind

10/13/2023

The echo never seems far behind

Most days I can feel it's pulse

The shadow mirrors my every move

The darkness is me

Some days it enters me

10/11/2023

I increase the pace

Until the pounding in my chest makes sense

Hoping the endorphins drown out the noise

I want to be louder

I need to be

I find the numbness

I recognize it as it enters through my feet

There isn't relief here

But there's gratitude as I gasp for air

For someone with so much experience with drowning

You'd think I'd learn to swim...

10/9/2023

I itch

I'm highly aware

Then retreat back to ignorance

When it surfaces I ache for escape

Spending these moments seeking

And accepting any version of it

10/8/2023

I imagine She sits across from me

Her eyes are scanning my face

She's looking for my decrement 

I look to the floor

She fills the room with Her uneasiness

With insecurities and doubt

"I'm stuck", I tell Her

I'm trying to make the best choice 

I'm hoping I do

And I'm now more aware of how it impacts Her

The pressure is too much

I can only imagine Her hands

This is the only clear image ever

They're containing themselves 

And I think, "This is wrong"

But in this moment I do not trust Her hands to be safe in mine

And I don't think She does either

We don't reach for one another

We sit in silence

In the stuckness

Both relying on me to keep us safe

I'm lost in Her hands when she speaks

"You're going to leave me for him?"

It's a question

But also a statement 

It's history 

I notice the importance of the question and my inability to have a clear response

I feel it coming

The rage begins to rise

It begins to set me on fire

It spreads when I think...

"Is this flame meant for me, for us?"

I'm not safe

I'm not clear

Yet I'm the best chance

I'm the only option

I reach for her

Unsure of my ability to listen

To find courage 

To learn

10/8/2023

The tension roams my body

It lingers at my chest and in my throat

I open my chest

My attempts cause my body to tremble

No air comes in

My throat is so tight I can't swallow

The tightness will sever my tongue right off

His return has drained me

My body is difficult to pull along

All the aches I've learned to move with are suddenly in the forefront

Too much in my awareness

I wonder if I haven't progressed as much as I think I have

I've worked so hard and yet I'm pulled back so quickly

A couple words, few syllables

Root me back to a place I fought to get back up from

I'm exhausted wondering if I'll have to fight my way out this forest forever

Why do I allow him such power?

Logically I can argue

I can observe these thoughts

But the emotion, that's where I'm fucked

10/5/2023

She filled the room with facts

Facts about her life

She hesitates to acknowledge the suffering laced in these details

I hold it

I ask for more

She vibrates with fear

The energy reaches me with such a force it tears down locked doors

The intensity rushes in and awakens a familiar fear

It's reflected in her eyes... in her tears

It's communicated through her body

I remember

The world is a scary place from there

I recognize it and pull for more

Attempting to hold the weight of the fear with her

Giving her whatever ounce of stability I can pull from

The weight of the boulder digs into my spine

I pull for the fight

Having her lean the weight on me

This is how you heal

You get two good breaths

And you go back in to work

10/3/2023

Drowning out the noise is futile

The restlessness roams under my skin

Remembering to breathe, to swallow, takes a lot of effort

The city life below me is too quiet

My hands are beginning to vibrate

Panic is setting in

Tonight I lose

10/3/2023

(Dream)

Cutting him fruit. Serve it with tajin

I ingest warmth as I watch his satisfaction

The lights turn off and turn back on

The lights are still a warm hue

But the feel is different

There is a smell I can’t describe

He’s gone.

Everyone is

The air feels damp

I notice I’m tied up

I look up and the room is different

I’m not alone

I see 4 people on a wood plank

Side by side

I hear a cranking sound

The plank lifts

I hear her scream and watch her tremble

As it lifts I see they’re being pulled by a metal bar through their septums

This and their ankles raises them

It doesn’t hold. Obviously, I knew this

It rips through one of their noses and it all falls

The metal bar snaps through one of their heads

Making them unrecognizable

The other vomits all over the others

Her nose is ripped off too

I’m calm as I watch

I feel no cold, no heat

Even knowing that I’m next

I feel a presence behind me

I awake

I manage to jot this dream down before I

return for more.

This is the only one I can hold onto today. I ruminate about it.

The sadistic nature of my dreams always shocks me.

While awake I struggle keeping the shadows at bay but unconscious, they feast on my mind...

Ruminating on them always brings great discomfort. My mind quickly moves to repress the images, narratives, emotions...

I fight to keep this one.

The emotion is the most disturbing part. This is what sticks out.

The warmth I initially feel is brief. It quickly disappears. It almost feels like that’s the dream and what follows is the reality.

When I’m transported into the new room there is no fear in my body. I’m watching and observing every detail like it’s a movie. Hollywood props. I don’t like scary movies when I’m conscious but in this reality I’m numb to it.

I know I’m next and there is acceptance about it. I’m clearly trapped. Tied up and I have no other choice but I’ve accepting the circumstances.

I’m fixated on the pain. Almost eager about it. Eager to feel something. Even if it’s pain. Maybe it’s the only feeling I deserve.

The presence behind me is hard to describe. It’s something in the air. Absolute danger fills every particle in that space and overwhelms me.

All day I feel this sort of distance from myself and my life. Like I’m not quiet awake and it takes a lot more energy to, show up. To process things. Today, it’s my default.

I notice tension in my jaw at my desk.

I stand up and pace around. Trying to move this tension around my body. I use my right hand to grab my jaw to massage it.

I can smell him. My brain pulls it forward.

First, backwards... then it plays the tape.

I’m up against the wall with no where to go.

He’s gripping my face so hard my teeth begin to slice into my cheeks. My mouth fills with iron.

My stomach aches. My chest is getting tight.

I take a deep breath.

I can feel the heat off his breath. It’s making my face hot. I’m crying and pleading to be forgiven for existing. He pulls my head back by my hair. I’m locked into his eyes and I can’t find any life in them. I accept it- Death.

He presses the metal against the side of my head. The thought enters my head as a wish. I stop fighting and hope he keeps going. He’s angry there’s no fight. The metal spits the skin on my head and I fall to the floor.

He thinks I’m pretending but I can’t move. I have no force. No desire. I can smell the rage off of him. His skin reeks.

The scent changes. It’s that smell from the dream. A smell I imagine only prey can identify. A smell you only know until you’ve smelt it. His pores communicate what I am and what I am to become.

He’s heavy. So incredibly heavy. His weight alone bursts blood vessels all over my body. The pain is intolerable but I don’t move. He whispers I’m trash and his. I don’t argue. I agree.

Then there’s this switch. A switch I think he seeks to find. He wants the fight.

Suddenly he isn’t so heavy. Suddenly I’m not so heavy. I fight to keep just one more piece of myself. In the end, possibly only making it worse for myself and loosing it anyways. The rage can’t be stopped. I can’t be soothed.

He’s going to have to rip me apart... and he does. He always did.

I oscillate between acceptance over something I will not stand a chance at winning but also can’t help but stay in.

The clock on the wall ticks. My mouth fills with saliva that tastes like metal. The clock tells me it’s time. The clock tells me it’s coming. The clock also reminds me to find the rhythm…