I'm trying to get back into the habit of updating. Life lately has been missing a sense of coherence and I think that's because I haven't been taking time out to record things? It helps remind me that this is all real-- that I do exist, that life occurs, that time passes.
On that note, I've noticed that the past few months of "numbness" have indeed taken quite a toll on my mental state. There's an odd combination of noise and emptiness going on in my head lately? It
feels like racing thoughts, but it's quiet.
I get it a lot on computers lately; I can't read much on a screen because then the noise gets too "loud" (feels like static buildup) and I have to stop. As soon as I stop, I have this overwhelming need to close my eyes and dissociate. Just unplug entirely, "fall back" in the brain, basically stop existing for a while. I know that sounds like meditation but it's weird, to constantly have this weird brain fog, and so to equally constantly want to just unplug from life. I
have been meditating more often lately, but I get so depersonalized afterwards that it's tricky; I
don't want to come back afterwards. We are working on this with the therapist now, she sees that we're an atypical case (we told her how grounding exercises often make dissociation worse, how body-scanning can be tough because it drags out the damaged alters and it's really rude/unwise to ignore them in such cases, etc.) so she is respectful of that. That means a lot.
Anyway, I still
cannot read without images. This may be contributing to my brainfog when reading lately; honestly I've been re-devouring the
Young Wizards series with no problem at all (I nearly forgot how beloved this series is to my heart), but the minute I start reading something "technical" or non-illustrative, that "must shut down" instinct kicks in. Is it overloading? Do I need a break? Or has my mental function changed so much that I can't go back to the way it does?
Everything is intuitive now, for me, it seems. I can't really
grasp anything anymore unless I conjure up my own understanding of it internally. As I said, reading anything technical or "opinionated" (like advice columns or personal talks) is virtually impossible now, unless I imagine accompanying pictures-- AND "listen" more than read. I noticed that too, today; I had to almost "unplug" from the very visual act of reading in order for it to register. I went more into automatic, just let the subconscious do the reading, while I "heard" the words and saw them be expressed. Does that make sense?
I wonder how this affects how I view movies and things. I used to not be able to remember movies unless I effectively wrote a book report on them as I watched, always taking notes. I think it's because movies move so fast, I can't always soak them up well? So it's better for me to watch things at home, on my computer. I can pause whenever I want and just
sit there for a moment, not even thinking, just letting the things I just saw actually
register. But, again, it's dangerous territory. I think it's another defense mechanism. I get
bad "fiction lag" from ANY media expression that I soak up
too well. It was traumatic, a few times in the past, we soaked up the wrong stuff. So maybe this "brain fog" is a buffer against that? Huh. It's a thought. I haven't had a moment of fog with
Young Wizards and I don't think we got any with
Dishonored either, once we were tuned-in to the game.
Oh geez. I almost said "once we set up Links with it." But THAT'S a thought, too. (Jewel's edging in, you can tell.) The earliest Links were
always a two-way operation, so to speak. I never realized that before. Links were
never simply observatory, the way I tend to do things. I like to watch, I like to go into the dreaming minds of other Worlds and just
look, not interfering. But Jewel, she would
walk right in, no matter WHAT World it may have been: if her heart saw it as worthy of Linking to, then by golly, she was going to go all the way.
…I think that's one of the missing links (pun intended?) of the Outspacer situation. Now that I think about it… all the people who ended up having
true resonance with headspace, were the ones that had been
touched by it first, via Jewel. She brought a piece of
us, of OUR realm, into theirs, effectively making a bridge, opening a door where there was not and
could not have been one before. It needed her intervention first. It needed her
permission, essentially. When there was a World we were fascinated by, a World we adored and treasured and valued, but did not
visit, no one could show up in headspace for long, if at all. And none of them could
stay. Those that did, had stayed around
her, first. And I wonder. I
wonder.
I'm going to have to list that out in my spare time, not here. No time right now. But I'm very curious now.
Today I tried to communicate with someone "astrally" or whatever you may call it. It was very interesting, and it made me realize/ remember a few things.
I'm still too "obtrusive" when it comes to interacting with people, because I don't really
want to interact so directly and socially, so I end up "guessing" and acting really out of character. However. I've also noticed that such programming only shows up when I have to physically SPEAK.
I speak most clearly and effortlessly in sensations ("kything," we called it, remember?). I also feel emotions that way, as you know. But the point here is that, in physically speaking, I almost always slip out. I'm wondering-- is that due to vocal dysphoria? Physical jarring? Both? I guess we'll find out, as the T continues to work. Maybe it all does really boil down to paying attention to us, to our actual presence, not the masks we keep unconsciously throwing on.
In any case that's something frustrating. I feel obligated to talk in this household. The three adult figures here make talking mandatory, for different reasons. And we don't mind talking, we like communicating with them, it's just that… it's the difference between daylight and moonlight conversation. Those people we know, they can talk about some brilliant topics, but it's all too
harsh? Is that the right word? It's too hard-edged, there's a flat hard surface to it like linoleum. Night conversation is softer, grander. That's what I miss, that's what I need,
Talking to this person, imaginatively… I kept apologizing, because I kept saying the wrong words, I kept saying things automatically. So I just stopped talking, and sent feelings instead.
That worked far better, clearing up confusion, and making me appear far less threatening/ arrogant/ shallow/ etc. Now I was coming through with the words, honestly, compassionately.
I wish I could
be with people, more. That stuck in my heart more than anything there. I was sitting on the floor of that room, in the sunlight, this beloved human leaning against me as if I were a safe haven, and feeling torn in two, because this body kept calling for me to come back into it. I wanted to
stay where I was, as long as I was needed, just a silent presence. That's all I want. Not to talk, not to try and convince others to let me stay, not to support some sort of ego or image. No, all I want is to
be, with quiet undying love and support and admiration, a sort of guardian angel. If they wanted me to simply follow them in silence, not interfering at all as they went about their days, simply comforting them by my acknowledgeable presence… that would be enough. I would not mind. I wish I
could do that for them. But… with this projection, this level-splitting, this fact that I have to be in a body
and out of it at once, it's exhausting. It's distracting, it's limiting, and it breaks my heart.
Do you have any idea
how badly I want to be in the
same room as my daughter, as my partners? Do you have any idea how
joyous life would be, like that, to not have to
split to see them, to not have to battle the girls in this body just to have an hour alone with the ones I adore? It's crushing. It's too much to bear most days. it's
why I run, as stupid as it is, I said that last time-- it's the hope that if I run far enough away, there won't be anything left to run from, and I'll be free to do what it is my soul has been yearning to do since the beginning. Except… it doesn't work that way, the distance. The more I run, the less time I have to stand still with those who matter. If I'm going to run, I want them running
with me, through the woods, through the fields, through the cities. I'm tired of feeling cut off from them, from all of them and everyone else, and it only happens because I'm ultimately running from
myself whether I like it or not and I will never rest if that is the case. These old girls, these malevolent ones, they are STILL part of this soul, and I need to learn to stand my ground and work with this another way.
…I got off topic there, I think.
It's the feeling you get, talking at night, or without words. It requires,
demands a sort of total openness, an intimacy that I long for and fear more than anything, still, because of what used intimacy for its own ends in the past. And it's not a nice feeling, either, to be open around the wrong people, the ones who carry barbs or brambles or hot coals with them. It hurts, when the other person isn't willing or ready or able to match the sort of fearless fragile fluidity that is needed, to talk about things that match that vibration, or to not "talk" at all.
I guess that's how Chaos feels, lately. God that hurts.
I need to talk about this elsewhen, when I'm not struggling to stay awake. I've been typing too long already.
But about that astral bit. I should mention that I wasn't "human" during that time. It's often impossible to be, in those situations. It's a different sort of energy, and when I'm in headspace I tend to become less solid in form anyway. Kind of ironic, really.
So yes, when I "relax" into my internal self, and let go of any projected form overlays, I feel "noncorporeal?" Like some sort of luminous shifty angel thing, kind of like Infinitii in my own way. Turns out this is indeed a constant, because lately I've been doing it more often and that form's overlay feels the same, effortless, every time. So it's
some sort of natural innerspace form, that's for sure.
It's wonderfully weird, though. It's all ghostly and white, almost smoky in places? Floaty, feathery, angelic maybe. Luminous, like a glow. Hard to pin down though. The only things I'm absolutely sure of are the fact that I'm at
least 7 feet tall, and I have no facial mouth in that form-- it's somewhere
behind me, but not on wings like Infi; mine is either on my back, or right in the
middle, like
this maybe. Lately it feels like I have "sleeves," like that of some sort of gossamer robe, something that makes my limbs look like underwater paint. I have no clue! It's not a form I can "settle into;" it's VERY floaty, perhaps by its nature. But it's there, every time I just relax into that side of me, that exact same shape settles in. It's just new to me yet.
On that note, I tried to find my "real name" intuitively because "Jay" sometimes feels off and "Jewel" does too, as far as a personal name goes. So I wasn't looking at letters, I was looking at feelings, and the immediate impression I got was that of a prism in sunlight, the light striking it precisely and sending a clear rainbow out onto the ground behind it. Like
this, almost exactly, with
this sort of bright intensity.
That's my name. The crystal, the color, the sharpness, the light. All of it, in that construction, is my
name, somehow.
I'm wondering if maybe some corruption crept into my name, though. Like it got associated with too many busted-up things, and I lost sight of the real color of it. This name, this rainbow-crystal name, reflects deep down in my heart, the
truth of me, the
reality of me, that shines in headspace the way I always should. "Jay" is a good name. It's a strong structured name, lending itself to geometry and prisms, clear crystal things that radiate rainbows when the light strikes through them. And the "Iridos" bit, that's the alien-angel bit, that’s the name tied to incense smoke and snow-sparkle and morning sunlight and
this. It's the "white" part of my name, ironically, how it feels-- it's softer, like tossed-about sparkles, whereas "Jay" is that sharp clarity of rainbows. It's all hard to put into words, as always, and in any case I'm thinking about it too much.
I know how
I feel. So do the ones that love me, they always know where I am, who I am. That is enough.
I'm currently compiling a glossary of headspace lingo, for the therapist and anyone else who may benefit from it. I notice I drop so much jargon that I'm always being asked to clarify, and sometimes it's tough to construct a definition on the spot without digging even further into our personal language.
It's funny; I don't even realize how many of these terms are exclusive to us, until I'm asked. But it's interesting. I just need to take it slow, so I don't get overwhelmed by the sheer amount of data.
There are LOTS of people in this System that are faceless but real. I'm feeling them again now. Again, the therapist asked us about that (God bless this woman, she's incredible). She was asking us, "who wrote this entry? Who says things like this?" and when I replied that I couldn't get names or faces, maybe just colors or certain aspects of form, she said that was fine. Go with that. But, then
follow it. Really
look. Ask. It hit me that I hadn't done so in many months, so I'm being mindful of it now; whenever someone formless appears, whenever I can feel someone overlaying or otherwise present that I don't recognize, I no longer brush it off. I look closely now, try to
feel who they are, different from the others residing in blackspace with them.
For example… right now, there's some girl who feels somewhat indigo typing 'with' me. I think. It's vague, it's always vague, but that is a solid sensation. The confusing bit is that she has the same hair length/ style as Jessica does, it seems? The color makes a world of difference, though.
I wonder about that too. Most of the faceless ones are broken pieces, unanchored impulses that aren't quite
people yet, old but too painful or detached to solidify. And, most of that painful stuff came from a time when the body
looked a lot like Jessica. That was not a good time, mentally. So I think these faceless voices
are faceless, and stuck, because they're
rooted to that appearance as a timestamp OR vibestamp? And they wouldn't know
how to manifest otherwise, because that's all they are, it's all they know.
It's tricky to talk about, this theorizing. (Now Sherlock is moving in, curious-- move back buddy, this isn't a topic for tonight. get info together and we'll discuss this later.) All I know is that it
helps, so much, to have faces to match these states. I guess that's what it's like, having D.I.D. It may be weird or unusual, for it to be personally
normal to break into pieces with their own names and jobs, but it is how it is. We function so much more coherently and happily that way. It's like self-knowledge, laid out and color-coded. How do I explain. It's a way of seeing and healing ourself all at once, all together, like a blueprint laid out, or pieces of something to construct. You don't lose the pieces when you build the whole; they stay individualized, but they have a specific job that keeps the entire thing together, that keeps it operating as it should, no matter how small that job may seem. What I'm saying is that I want to take this whole thing
apart first, see every single piece that makes up this self, this soul, instead of just going about life with a premade finished product and not knowing every little gear and spindle and bolt that went into it, and where, and why.
This is getting oddly close to poet mode. Forgive me, I'm writing this entry entirely out of chronological order; it's easier that way when interruptions can't be avoided and I keep remembering things about other topics.
As I said, though, let's continue this train of thought later. This and the Outspacers, remind me if I forget, need to be investigated further. It's exciting. Airport actually holds some of that feeling-- it's the excitement of
exploration, and
finding, even within. It's the feeling of having something great and vast, the feeling of that layover in the Colorado airport, of being able to wander around and look at everything, except this time we're using that observation to actively understand something, something about the "airport" itself. Like a treasure hunt! It's fun, it's not a job, it's not like a puzzle. It's… it's like in the MBTI, the "Ni" function. It's seeking patterns, connecting existing ideas, all to aid what we are working on. We find what we need and we use it.
Sorry, I'm rambling and that's going to continue until I close this topic. Let's move on, or move back, as it were.
The daily events of today were pretty great.
I had to get up early to go to bloodwork with my bro (Diamond), so he drove us to the hospital and I got to just relax and look out at the snowfall. Now he is a huge fan of the current rap/hiphop/rnb scene, so he brought the new Ne-Yo album to play on the road. Well, although I'm not a fan of the fact that the whole bloody thing focuses on relationships and fooling around, the music is REALLY good. Also Infinitii fell in love with "
Integrity" as soon as it started so I'm looping that this evening.
We got to the hospital and made everyone's day a little more interesting, haha. TW for squicky bloodwork stuff in this next paragraph if you're sensitive.
So it turns out they had students doing the work today, and I guess since I have such low blood pressure and I had to fast 12+ hours, that didn't help with the work. They could not get the needle into the vein apparently? That was… interesting. I'm used to sharp pain, I know what dull pain is like, that's all tangible. But that needle was
weird. There was no
pain, per se (possibly because of that numbing stuff I assume they rub on the skin beforehand), but I was still wishing I had a bullet to bite from how it
felt. And the
sensation was almost psychological, really, borderline intuitive. It was more of the sensation of there being a needle in my arm, moving about, for a full minute or so, that "hurt." But yeah I almost passed out from the pseudo-pain and that was not cool. They took 6 vials or so too!
Anyway. I got out of there okay, my arm just hurt terribly and I was weirdly feeling like crying from exhaustion? So I sat down in the waiting room and went back to
Deep Wizardry and about 5 minutes later, a woman comes out and tells me my bro isn't feeling so hot so it might be a while. That worried me, was he having the same problem? I got my answer a few minutes later when they suddenly page the freaking
rapid response team because apparently he passed out and they thought he was seizing. Yeah that wasn't cool. So I ran back there and he was awake, saying he was highly disoriented but okay, as all these medical people run into the room. Then our mother follows them, saying "I heard the page and remembered you two had to come up here today" so there she was. Honestly I was laughing, but it was tempered by that weird exhausted sadness which I couldn't quite place, and which my strangely aching arm was exacerbating.
Nevertheless, my bro recovered quickly, and then he and I and the mother took a lift to the 8th floor to visit my grandfather. I didn't mention it here, but Wednesday night he got so sick-- couldn't breathe, couldn't walk, racing heart, sweating, etc.-- that we had to call the ambulance to come and get him. I remember staring out the window at the paramedics flashing for about ten minutes, not sure what emotions to feel and frankly too overwhelmed to feel any, watching the red lights strobing over the fresh snow. I remembered that almost exactly 4 years ago that day, I had been outside with similar lights flashing about me, as I was led to a waiting police car. I didn't remember much of that whole time period, and it didn't matter. I just hoped my grandfather would be okay.
Turns out he was, or at least is. Once they got him some oxygen and he got some rest, he was as bright-eyed and witty as ever. Honestly, when we walked into the room to see him, even though his body looked old and fragile and tired, he was all lit up with energy, smiling and laughing and saying he was happy to see us. It was amazing, really-- how it struck me, that dichotomy of things.
It tugged at my heart, hard, on Wednesday night, to see him sitting in that kitchen chair, gasping for air and unable to talk, obviously scared but already at that point where you're so
tired that the fatigue kind of drowns the fear and leaves you feeling very dissociated. You just… fall backwards into that weird white-numb sensation, that feeling that
something is wrong and I am scared, like fluorescent lights at night in the ER. You fall into it and you just close your eyes, breathing, unable to
feel it anymore because it would be too much, too much fear on top of the sad sickness your body is feeling already. He looked just like that. I stood by the washing machine and just looked at him, and it ached, for him to suddenly
look like he was 93, for me to suddenly realize that
he could die any day now and I was just…
I never knew my family, as a child. We didn't communicate well. I didn't start to know my grandfather as a person until… geez, four years ago? Very recently. And within the past two years, with me stuck at home and without a job due to mental illness and medical concerns, suddenly I was spending more time around him and my grandmother than ever. Suddenly I was mature and compassionate and willing to listen and able to understand, and they just opened up to me. They started talking to me as a
friend, not just a family member, and despite the rough patches (still some prejudiced words, still some angry days), it's been an overwhelmingly positive experience. I love them both
so much, when it comes down to it, when I really look at it. But it's so
new. Heck,
I'm so new, what with all these memory resets. Every day is new. So when the paramedics helped him onto a stretcher and I was faced with the fact that
he might not come home, I felt like I was losing something I hadn't even had the chance to
hold yet.
Sorry, this is something I've never talked about before so it's blurry.
As I was saying. He looked well, it did my heart good to see him smiling and resting in the sunshine, joking around as always, talking to us. Despite my condition I smiled and laughed too, genuinely, but almost selflessly-- temporarily forgetting myself and just plugging into his mood.
We couldn't stay long, so we left and took the lift again (first time in my life I haven't even hesitated getting into elevators, lately; thank Kit), but when we got to the car my bro asked, "hey did you want to go to Wegmans?" So I said yeah, sure, why not? I can't drive anyway, and I brought my wallet in the hopes we'd be able to swing by there.
We got another 15 minutes of driving in the snow, which I unfortunately don’t actually remember (probably because of the music; the lyrics were making me dissociate), at least not until I stepped out into the parking lot of the place. The sun was shining beautifully through heaps of white clouds, dazzling with snow flickering gold, and I just smiled up at it, transfixed and joyful. I needed that, I really did.
Genesis showed up and teased me about racing (he
always races me to the doors) because I couldn't run, so he'd win by a mile. I smiled and said "don't you dare," after which we entered the store and Gen immediately switched gears to being as protective as always. He's not like Laurie-- Laurie gives orders, Genesis frets about. But the amount of care behind it is
tangible; that means so much to me.
I stopped by the scented oils on the way out, put some vanilla and frankincense on my coat. Then the cashier covered the 12 cents I didn't have (seriously I emptied my wallet and was still short) and gave me a big smile as I left, too. Little things like that mean so much.
…Oh yeah. Almost forgot to mention.
When we first arrived at the 8th floor, my mum and bro took off somewhat faster than I could walk, due to stitches and bloodwork fatigue. A burst of sadness welled up that I didn't want to bury again, but this time someone put an arm around my shoulders. Surprised, I realized that since I was now out of "social interaction" range, headspace was plugged in, and
both Chaos and Genesis had showed up to give me some brief support. I smiled, with equally profound relief and affection, and thanked them, assuring them I would manage. Chaos still insisted in liquefying and wrapping himself about my upper half almost like armor, helping me feel more protected and cared-for than I had in ages, and Genesis' presence alone (smiling at me, with visible concern) was something so familiar and golden that I found I didn't even mind my arm for the time being.
It was so strange. The fatigue, the odd sadness, none of it went away with them there… but it found an outlet, somehow. Somehow, those feelings felt recognized and
allowed with those two nearby, and although I had no idea how to express them, I could feel them slowly evaporating from my bones nevertheless.
I can't cry, not physically. When I do, it stops after about 3 seconds because it doesn't
translate my actual feelings correctly. But… being in headspace, I can radiate that emotion, release it, feel it. I haven't done that in a while. So I'm very glad that today, I was reminded of just how
comforting that is, a deep deep relief like resting after a marathon, or coming into a warm quiet house after trekking through the ice all day. Maybe that's a side effect from effectively stopping therapy for 3+ months that I didn't really notice. In there, I could
feel, in there, WE could talk. At home, on the road, outside, we couldn't. We
never could. So now, suddenly, to be around each other again, to have a therapist
acknowledge us and
BELIEVE in us too, for us to feel
real again in the outside world… it's… it's like coming home, really. It's hard to put into words.
All of you here online, who talk to us or just let us know you read, you have been a literal lifeline during these times. When everything else condemned us to nonexistence, you were lights that didn't go out, almost incomprehensibly, but unquestionable even then. So thank you, thank you as always, for that.
Therapy. I haven't wrote about that lately yet, have I. Let me see.
Smaller bits first. Yesterday we spent the whole session doing a meditative exercise, for the sake of learning better ways to cope with sudden triggers. By learning how to practice mindfulness in a safe, calm environment, we would eventually make that a go-to response in less calm situations. It takes repetition, really-- you need to replace the old habits with new, positive ones. It takes time. We're very good at it by now, actually, from our own experience, and our therapist knows that too. However. She
also knows that as a D.I.D.
and trauma patient, our case is more complicated than most. Sometimes, things are triggered to the point where mindfulness may be difficult because someone else just switched out and doesn't want to go back-- damaged alters want to say their piece, no matter how angry they are. And they do NOT like when someone tries to "be mindful"
over them. They came out into the body for a reason, so don't you dare push them out, basically. But that's kind of what I said in our previous entry, too-- how I am willing to be patient and listen to those alters.
That's mindfulness, applied. It's not letting those powerful but dangerous emotions shake me up. Then again, it's easy for me. It's not, for those who are anchored to it. Sorry, this feels tangled. We're going to be working with the therapist to better help
those alters deal with trauma reactions. We're on the right track.
So we did a meditative exercise and that was cool because all of Central gathered around to listen to it. Leon was paying the most attention really, because he's been the target of the Tar/Plague lately (especially with the floating voices) and he's determined to overcome their influence. Julie was really into it too, I remember. However, the most notable thing to me was that, since the meditation focused on the breath, it ended up calling up the body map. In "feeling" the breath enter the body, I kept getting visuals of what that would "look like" translated to a literal location in the inner space. It was like an ocean wind, entering a window up at the top of a shoreline cave, which opened up into a large cavern-- the lungs in the bodymap, I suppose. But KYANOS resonated with the whole "air" thing, and so he was floating around that area. It was strange though, because the area was obviously "floating;" it wasn't a fixed location nor was it stable… but Kyanos felt equally nebulous. He keeps getting pushed upwards in age, and here, he looked like everyone else in Central, like an adult. His eyes felt glowy? Like they were all one color, and alight. His halo also felt different, which I can't quite explain, and his wings keep feeling like they're stained glass now (there are all these extra colors "behind him" in his overlay, which I can't see, but I'm supposing that’s it?). He didn't speak to us, but he was alive, although foggy. I'm glad for that.
We did realize, though, if Kyanos does want to see if he can become the Sky holder in Central, he
has to go to the Spectrum Room and step into the slot, into the beam of light. If it takes him, if it lets him stay, then he'll be a Centralite too. But that's not guaranteed. Same with Eros, actually-- he's not official either, he never stepped into the Cerise slot, we don't know if the System will allow him there.
So that's likely why the both of them are "foggy" lately; until they do attempt to Centralize, they're effectively
not holding a solid slot. So that is GOING to mess them up somewhat. We'll have to do our own meditation tomorrow, take them both up there if possible, see what happens. I want things to move forward for us.
Oh, and guess what? Last week, the Tuesday before surgery, we were listening to our iPod in the waiting room (to drown out the radio) and our therapist saw. She must have commented on it, because I ended up telling her that it had somehow lasted 5 years, 2 cross-country trips, and a winter locked in my mom's car and
still worked, albeit not without its problems. She then started talking to us about how she had received an iPod shuffle as a gift but could never figure out how to make it work in the first place? I tried to give her a brief explanation, but she said no matter, she didn't need it and would be happier just giving it away to someone who did. I said that'd work, and the subject changed, and we spoke some more. But a minute later she turned away from her coffee, looked at me, and said "I was serious. Would you want it?"
Yeah, that happened. We thanked her profusely and said sure, if she wouldn't mind, we'd gladly adopt the thing. SO as of Thursday we now have a little iPod Shuffle (named Leo) which means we can FINALLY listen to new music, hallelujah! Poor Razia's been unsyncable since 2012, after all, and we've found so much new music since then. I think Leo's going to carry nothing but headspace-related music. It'll work.
As for therapy on Tuesday… Sherlock says we were discussing the mother, specifically the "ugly stuff" we wrote about in our entry on January 27th. We actually printed that entry out that morning and so we gave it to her, she said that would help. It was interesting, because I (Jay) ended up fronting
totally (a feeling which I miss greatly) and trying to explain to her the phenomenon of "positive pain" in our System, basically the whole childhood mixup of "love=pain," where those who physically harmed us with rage were viewed with ardent affection, whereas those who were never physically harmful
but got caught up in "romantic love" caused us horrific "dull pain," the sort that felt like spiders in our skull, the stuff that demanded it be bled out on some level, lest we go mad from the pain. Kind of like how that needle felt, today.
Two awesome things happened on Tuesday though, surrounding that love/pain point. First, I only started talking about it because the therapist referred back to our Tuesday conversation, and how I kept repeating that yes, I was terrified of the mother and she made me angry and the like, BUT I also kept insisting that I had no reason to dislike her, or even feel negatively towards her in the first place. She asked why? I had no idea how to explain it, but right then Laurie (upstairs) loudly comments "because you've got a bad case of Stockholm Syndrome." I couldn't help but laugh; not just at her typical unflinching bluntness with that rough topic but also because she was effectively talking at the therapist behind my back. So the therapist asked what was up, and through a sort of happy-sad smile I said that Laurie apparently wanted to talk.
"So let her!" the therapist amiably replied, as casually as if she had asked me to dial a phone number.
And
immediately the channel kicked in. And oh my gosh I FORGOT what that felt like. Dear Lord. If you guys don't know, the instant a headvoice is given PERMISSION to front, and they
want to front, an "open channel" kicks in that gives them freedom to do so, immediately. It's like suddenly the body is parallel with Central, instead of below it, and it's
open, like a door or a Star Trek teleporter even, for them to just walk into and be there instead of me. It's utterly indescribable, and although the sensation may vary wildly depending on who is fronting, how, and why, the core feeling of
total openness and clarity does not change. So that was incredible enough, feeling that snap right into me as if there had never been a numb period in the first place.
But here's the other thing. Laurie
likes to talk to people. She's
strongly tied to me energetically in the first place, being the Core Protector. And I
love her, which makes it worse. So, when that gate opened up, it also immediately linked the body-space to her, to walk in, and whenever that happens while someone is already
in the body-space, you get tangible co-fronting until someone leaves.
LAURIE HITS LIKE A TRUCK. You have
no freaking idea. This is why everyone who knows her well compares her to a thunderstorm; her energy kicks in like a blaze of brilliant force right in the middle of the chest, a veritable
punch of glory, integrity, power, and confidence. It surges up the back and arms in upward arcs, something like violet feathered curves made of light, reminiscent of the arms of a galaxy. But every time it hits I end up
laughing, covering my mouth because I can't stop smiling and I'm admittedly trying to hold her off, push her back a little, because the strange
joy of her BEING there is almost too much for the body to bear. So I get flooded with violet lightning and she's grinning back at me, playfully pushing the energy even more, "come on kid, let me talk." But I can't, not now that I've stayed here this long, I didn't move out of the way fast enough and now I'm inebriated and the ecstasy of it, all sharp and broad and fearlessly
luminous, has rendered me incapable of imagining anything else. Then suddenly I feel
her in it, bones and muscle and force, and I realize that this isn't just energy, it's a
person, and that total intimate entanglement of
being that such a direct co-fronting causes becomes too overwhelming for a therapist's office. Suddenly Laurie's back upstairs, arms up in question, asking me what the hell I'm doing, but the entire body is
buzzing and my hands are shaking uncontrollably and I'm still laughing from terrific awe of it all, trying to drown the emotions that I still can't admit to myself, let alone someone outside.
It's ridiculous, really, if I may change the topic momentarily, again. I've pinpointed it as the BIGGEST problem currently, the issue keeping me "locked out" of top functioning, the one thing keeping us from operating as constantly and smoothly and closely as we did during late 2011, early 2012. It all narrows down to my
still being unable to sit alone with my most sincere emotions. There's
shame, too much shame, and guilt, and self-loathing, and fear.
Is this right? Is this real? And when my heart screams
yes, yes you KNOW it is, then the outside influences kick in to reinforce the lies. "You should be ashamed of such behavior," of such feelings, of such
softness. "Life is hard and you should be too." Fear of closeness, fear of admitting that life
doesn't have to be that way… fear of the barbs, and brambles, and coals. It's so sad. I wonder how many people are only afraid to be soft because they
tried and were stung too hard, were frightened by how inhospitable an environment they found themselves in. But… you have to look at both sides. For every one person that sharpened themselves into points, there is one person that softened their edges out. Like Laurie.
…That's hope. Dear God is that a lot of hope. I feel like laughing again, from the perfect irony of it. Geez.
I've been seeing lots of yellow swallowtail butterflies lately, image-wise, so I looked them up.
Resurrection, butterflies symbolize. Surrender to great change, to being completely broken down and reformed, to massive transitions and renewals that may appear fatal or impossible at first. A metamorphosis of faith.
And the yellow, the yellow is hope, and courage to me, and optimism and joy.
As for swallows? Well, did you ever see swallow tattoos, on sailors? After so many nautical miles, they'd carry that bird upon them-- a testament to their experience and skill, as well as a sign that they survived such a long and perilous journey. But swallows also symbolize love and care towards family and friends, and the loyalty of the one who will always return home to them… even after years out on the sea, as it were.
…That's the part that got me.
Butterflies, oceans, death, rebirth, hope, family...
how much more perfect can you get. …and Spotify just started playing "His Eye Is On The Sparrow." Thanks universe, for making it even better.
There is too much to type. Good heavens. See, this is why we need to update daily.
I don't have time to revise and/or review this tonight so I apologize if there are any unfinished sentences or sudden shifts in topic. These entries never happen linearly.
I really do need to sleep. It's almost 2 in the morning and tomorrow is church.
I love all of you readers, I really do.
Enjoy the snow if it's coming your way; I hope you don't get buried. (Send some this way!)
Have a lovely early morning, as always.
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