i meet with a grad student who tells me not to take split-level poetry because all the under-grads write about is date rape – so i don’t tell him about the drunken carride from two strangers, later finding an earring twisted into my shirt, or being turned away from four Korean hospitals because rape is not an emergency.
i read an article on how to snag a man which suggests that women think about something naughty when out because women won’t pick up on it, but the men will – so, i imagine licking pre-cum from a cock, which provides a lascivious revolt against public decorum and not undamp panties.
but, in the unwalled house of my memory, these situations sometimes mix – and the salt sours, the armor rebuilds, and the currency of reality cripples.
In Bernie Siegel’s book, Love, Medicine, and Miracles, he reports that his research has shown that most cancer patients have suffered a significant breach in trust at an early age.
“I will slice your face with a razor blade/
and watch your smile fade.”
- The couplet I often recite in my head when I’m feeling cornered, scared, and angry.
I informed you a little while ago that it seems like repairing my relationship with intimacy, trust, and sex is probably back on the agenda. Yesterday, after my work at my shamanic journey group, this was made pretty apparent.
And luckily, one of my great friends in attendance told me afterward that our mutual friend is having a hugely positive experience with a therapist/healer around similar issues. I plan to contact her today.
In fact, I’d referred the same friend to my own “intuitive” (read: psychic), and it’s just humorous to me that me and this group of women have this rolodex of woo-woo witchy healer folks. And damned, if I’m not grateful for it.
For those unfamiliar, shamanic journeying (according to my novice understanding) is pretty much an intense meditation, but there’s a drum, the sound of which is purported to help induce a dream-like state—it’s like a guided meditation, where instead of listening to someone’s voice tell you to follow down a path in the forest, you sort of follow the drum, and make your own path through the forest. I’ve been journeying for years now, and find it to be one of the best and quickest ways to access internal information—however uncomfortable that information may be.
Yesterday’s overall message was that I have to repair my relationship to trust. Yuck.
It’s like trust for me is a broken port, and until it’s repaired, there will be glitches and sparks and melted fuses.
The thing about sexual trauma is this: you want to show people (the right people) the wound, you want to share about it, you want to exorcise it, you want to talk about it in order to heal from it, to release it and move on from it. You want to expose it to fresh air so that it heals instead of festers. You want to bring it into the sun and let the forces at work do their magic to create something beautiful out of something horrifying.
Because of the nature of sexual trauma as a secret, and the prevalence of people dismissing it as exaggeration… You also don’t want to share about it. You are ashamed to bring it out, to tell anyone, to share about it. You feel that to mention it is to invite revulsion, rejection, dismissal. And perhaps, you have experience to back up that fear, and so you remain locked up tight with it, and it will continue to burn a hole in your heart.
The longer you hold onto it, the more painful it becomes, until it becomes something so immense in your heart and head that you can’t imagine that you can actually share it with other people, because it will overwhelm everyone, including yourself.
This, is why god made therapists. Healers. And friends with rolodexes.
The arrows toward healing this next came from “going in” to my meditation with questions about my recent fatigue. Over the last month or so, I’ve been so fucking tired, and my western and eastern doctors can’t figure it out, except that my eastern doc said, “You’re energy center is depleted.” Well, yeah. But why?
The information I got last night was that I have been fighting this, this knowledge, these experiences, this anger, this sorrow, … well, for years. I’ve been avoiding it for just as long. I’ve been fighting dealing with it, but it’s there. Believe you me, apparently, it’s there. And somehow my awareness has cracked open about it. Somehow, I am aware that I am exhausted from this fight, from this constant battle to suppress, dominate, and deny.
Some veil has lifted, some curtain shifted, and I am finally able to experience the exhaustion.
And if I want to get healthy, then I have to heal it. And if I want to heal it…--well, as I mentioned earlier, I’m more than a little ambivalent about doing so.
First things first. Call my friend who’s working with someone. Get that info.
Second thing? Ensure that I approach and treat myself with the most radiant compassion and care that I can muster, cuz,
We’re gonna need a bigger boat.