This morning I woke up early and took a chilly bath with Epsom
salts and essential oils of clove, eucalyptus, and rosemary. I didn't
think those oils would blend well together when I read about that
particular combination that is now a favorite of mine. Lately I've been
writing, what else is new right? I love the Orient, but don't know much
about it so I pulled a few things from books, chatted with some friends,
and figured out a way to work a few of my Aussie pals into my current
work.
This morning I couldn't wait to go to the chiropractor. I met him
back in January, and he's changed my life. Tuesday he told me I looked
rough. He said he's known me long enough to feel comfortable saying that
so I shared the story of my girlfriend coming over and us bawling our
eyes out on the couch in my TV room. Red leather coach, old quilt,
sobbing women who are old enough to realize that men can cause more
problems than being with one can solve.
My therapist double booked me the other day, but I was glad when I
got to go home because I was Exhausted. I was telling my chiropractor
that I felt as if a piece was missing, and if I could only find this new
bit of information out, my life would dramatically change. He told me
that at least I didn't play the victim card, I gave him a strange look
because often I feel like a victim, but he said I avoid gluten and dairy
and that made me realize that I can be mature when it comes to my
health.
Today my therapist wanted to do this new thing with me. I started
crying when she asked why I was so angry. There are times when I am
articulate, but as soon as I cross her door I feel like a tongue tied
emotionally stunted robot. My life is me going through the motions, wake
up, eat, sleep, pretend that life is worth living, you know the gig. So
I'm really skeptical when she wants to try this experiment where she
moves her fingers in front of my eyes.
We start with a memory of my mother beating me with a thick leather
belt when I wouldn't practice my piano music. The piano was in our
dining room and I could see the roses on the wallpaper, the curtains she
had dyed to match and the piano that she had refinished standing next
to our family sized dining room table where my dad threw a plate of food
at her and walked out after complaining that she was a shitty cook.
When she asks, I rate this memory an 8 or 9 on the pain scale with 10
being the worst memory I have and zero being a good memory. I can see
my mom's arm out of the corner of my eye and I can't get away from the
slash of the belt that comes down over and over and pretty soon she's
done, but tomorrow I can barely move because my backside is so badly
bruised. At school I went to the guidance counselor that we made fun of
and I squirm with shame when I remember having to expose my bare butt so
they can see the extent of the beating.
My therapist keeps going through the memory with me. I can feel the
hurt and rage in my chest building up and now I'm crying like I rarely
cry. She sticks with me and asks what I see. I can see the room, but not
my mom. Her fingers flash before my eyes and suddenly I see a book with
this story in it sitting on a cofffee table. As I watch a whisper of
smoke drifts through the air, and soon flames are licking at the book I
haven't written.
The next thing I see is my parents standing in fire, flames surround
them and they're asking why they're being burned. God says nothing, but
points at the book on the coffee table. My therapist asked what else I
saw and then there was a beach themed room that has walls of Caribbean
green and bright white accents. I go back to the memory. Now all I see
is the piano. It's just a piano. There's nothing significant about it.
We keep going, I see a calm scene, nothing much to it, but I'm at
peace there. I can see the wallpaper and the carpeting. I hate
carpeting, but this no longer bothers me. Ugly carpeting can be torn up
and I tell my therapist that I'm back in the dining room ripping roses
from the wall and laughing at the thorns that do no damage. My therapist
asks me who is in control and I say that I am. I am and I am confident
of this, but it takes a while before we get down to where I can think of
the beating as a zero point in my life.
She hugs me and I pressed the back of my hand into her and I'm still
crying, but there's a part of me that knows that this is healing and the
tears are releasing decades of trapped emotion. This is the missing
piece. My therapist tells me to let go, I fall forward and she starts
naming body parts. My neck, back, wrists, knees, heart, everything that
hurts is a product of years of not allowing myself to relax because I
never knew when the blows would start falling again.
On a related note, I've been reading the artman2003 saga and I
would like to take a moment and publicly thank him, and the many others
who have posted brutally personal and intimate details that they would
rather not be sharing with others. Long ago I was thin, but I was still
sick. I'm so much better than I was, but I've surrounded myself with
weight for a variety of reasons and made excuses about why I couldn't
get rid of it.
I'm by no means cured, or even well, but I am changed and for the
better. I no longer believe the finger moving thing is bullshit. It
worked for me, possibly it wouldn't for you, I'm not here to compel
anyone to find a therapist who specializes in this type of treatment, I
can only share my experiences. I've wanted to look like someone else
ever since I saw myself in a mirror. I wanted to be stunningly
beautiful, and wickedly smart, dazzlingly clever and at times I can be
witty, however today I realized that when you throw off chains that have
bound you since childhood you're going to be an ugly and out of touch
prisoner who blinks at the new world that lies just beyond the bars of
bondage where you've been in captivity.
The sun scorches my sensitive eyes, it's so bright it hurts, I'm
humbled by the power of its rays, but when I look up, the sky is cloudy.
I'm naked, exposed, vulnerable, incompetent, I don't know where to
start, my kids deserve better and I meant to give it to them, but I was
stunted and selfish, and sorry that I didn't realize this about myself
sooner. I need people in my life who tell me the good about myself so I
can say yes, I am the things I don't want to be, and yes, there are
still people who love me, care about me, and want me around.
I'm going back to therapy in two weeks. This morning I bought a
cookie for my therapist on a whim. I don't have much money, or rather I
am conscious of how I spend it, but I love to treat people, and since
she's given me much, and dropped her rate by 75% so I can afford to see
her, this is a small way to repay her for her generosity. I went on a
tweeting spree and got a neat response from someone who was excited that
I had a life altering event. Nothing has changed except for my
perspective, which is what I needed to challenge all along.