Thursday, May 09, 2013

The giraffe

So I’ve been thinking about what happens when I eat, how I leave my body, how all the energy goes to my head, the first thing I notice is that my chin lifts up a bit and head leans back. And then when I think about it I just feel so sad, so hard to stay in my body, I try the breathing awareness practice from somatic therapy but it’s too hard to do with all the time. Too exhausting. So I try to focus on one or two things, maybe the feeling of my feet on the ground or the weight of my pelvis on the chair or just breathing into the back of my neck and that’s what makes the chin lower, but then right away it’s back up.

An investigation: a realization. How hard it is to eat, still, even though I do it all the time. When does Nathan ask if he was behind me, my father, how do we get to this place? I don’t know because I didn’t write it down right away. Was he behind you a lot, Nathan says.

When we were playing and I was in his lap and I felt safe and that’s when he raped me and what’s the point of feeling safe if that’s what always happens? And then I’m sobbing sobbing sobbing and sobbing so much sobbing on the phone just from breathing into the right places, the places in my body where everything gets stuck, sobbing on the floor of the bedroom in the place where I’m staying in LA, sobbing during this phone therapy session.

Another session, today: how those times when I would go to a trick feeling so exhausted and somehow I would go deep into my body, out of my head, right, out of my head were now I’m realizing I mostly reside, still, after all these years of trying, trying not just to be my head but then still, here I am again. And then when I would leave, I would walk outside in the air suddenly so fresh and I would think oh, I love it here. Or, rushing into a cab on the way there thinking how, how am I going to do it? And then afterwards, another cab, looking out the window and thinking oh this is so relaxing.

What was there in that transformation and then I look up at a bottle of something on the top of the refrigerator in place where I’m staying in San Francisco, this terrible place and it’s a bottle of some kind of oil or vinegar but specks of something sticking to the side and suddenly there’s that incest flashback feeling but why, why now? I don’t want to look at it.

What is it? Death, dead bodies, guts, blood, why now?

And I still don’t know, exactly. But, by the end of the session I can look at it again, I can go up close and read the ingredients: balsamic vinegar, olive oil, canola oil, roasted garlic. Garlic — it’s just garlic. But I still can’t look at it. So I hide it behind a piece of paper.

How to be able to talk about these memories, all of it, how to talk about it I figured out long ago but how to talk about it while feeling it, without going to that traumatized place, that place of re-traumatization. Somehow we get to the comforter I had as a kid, all the animals that I liked so much because they didn’t hurt me: the giraffe so tall but it could see everything but no one can touch it, those cute hippos in the water, alligators so friendly, the mice under my bed, these were my friends. They knew what was happening, I didn’t have to explain, I don’t have to pretend that I was okay.

Then there was the scary blue blanket, navy blue, that eventually we have to get rid of because it was filled with faces, eyes, monsters, it wanted to suffocate me so how do I go back to those cute hippos, this resource, at one point I went back I mean at that point when I went back I looked for that comforter, the one with all the animals, but it was gone.

There were sheets too, now that I think about it, and those are gone too but that’s not the point, the point is that childlike excitement I feel when I think about those animals so soft, everyone gets along, no one wants to hurt the others, we can all feel and maybe even heal.

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