Rough night last night. Chipper peed on the somewhat irreplaceable chaise lounge and we are still not quite sure why. Still cleaning up and we still love the dear boy. But nerve-wracking and migraine off and on since then. Boo!
Missed counseling because it went massive at eleven AM so had to call in sick for the first time in … ages! I have been to counseling in all kinds of pain, but no go today.
In counseling on Tuesday, in addition to other issues, she clarified for me something I was mightily confused about — the location of my soul — I thought, it felt, as though it was grounded, deeply imprisoned, bound in chains, in my sex, in my roots, horribly so — but she said, no, actually your soul is more akin to your spirit, light, like the Mother Ship, floating and free above everything, within everything. And this may sound a bit pop culture, but she wrote it down for me, and it helps so much, and I’ll tell you why: We are not humans having a spiritual experience, we are spirits having a human experience.
That means that I’m not choosing at times to be spiritual moments, and epiphanies. No. I am spiritual all along, the point being to learn at all times. I like that much better, because my life and it’s trials make much more sense that way.
It is most freeing, but it also means that I have unavoidable body and sex work to do.
We also spoke about my heart and the imagery I spoke to you about, the cocoons hanging in the devastated heart. She said the heart can heal. I’m not so good at that, I said. I seem to carry so much loss with me. It doesn’t seem to go away ever. I mean, I’ve meditated, and felt a lot of emotional pain and there doesn’t seem to be an end to it, even though I’ve felt a release of some of it over time. I can feel love now. I have new loving feelings. New love has grown where there was numbness for some long long time there only sadness and loss and grief.
Then we talked about the statute of limitations in GA vs PA and other rightful states. How even though the folks at Penn State have a long road to recovery there is some justice at long last for them. The folks at 9/11 or the folks subject to natural disasters or wars or such things, not always the justice, just the trauma. Or when someone dies, or after a divorce. So much loss, so much grief. It’s like that. We talked about me being creative with this energy, as folks have been creative, like Atlanta has the Phoenix statue and 9/11 has its memorial. I need some sort of trauma memorial, privately. It’s not like I can publicly go and stick it in the ground somewhere — look, here I’d like to share my child sexual and physical abuse trauma memorial for all time. Rebekah’s Closet is kind of that but … not. It’s not nearly Vietnam Memorial like enough. Traumatic and black enough. See.
She said you could be creative with duct tape (that was used to cover my mouth frequently by one abuser) as I was opening the door at the end of the session. I almost lost it. I HATE duct tape. I see nothing positive and creative about duct tape in my hands. Except for other people to use for pipes and stuff. HATE it. Makes my skin crawl to hear those words. She quickly changed the subject lest we have to reopen the session. See.
Still have a headache, along through all writing this, but it’s like a cap to the back of my head. Should rest, and not overdo.
Well, should never have mentioned the point about the duct tape because now I’m mad. Oh, eff. Chipper awaits. Deep breath and I’m out. Take care and happy weekend!