Poop revelations, reiki and the last of the therapy sessions. Yup, it’s all happened and now I’m sounding these ditties to you, my readers.
So I had my last session a couple of weeks ago now.
I decided that the past kept creeping it’s way into my brain and effecting my life because I continued to nourish and feed it by repeatedly focusing on it week after week.
What happens when you stop water a plant or feeding a human? It dies! It’s a factual science and I believe the mind to be no different than the physical body. After all, the two work together, my illness is allegedly the proof of this phenomena.
However, I am quickly discovering that what is starved out is not quick to die. It withers slowly, thrashing about desperate for attention and reaching desperately for any scraps it can lay way too and so I am continuously in a battle of perseverance and surrender. It’s like the old method of letting a baby scream itself to sleep, along with the whole street, except only I am being kept awake in the night by its relentless neediness for love and attention.
But persevere I do.
Reiki proved to be a war itself. I quickly became physically unwell for several days after my first session and this puts me off continuing. The second time I was plagued with deep rooted and explosive emotional confrontation. It ruined my weekend away.
I have been having flashbacks also.
Small fragments of a larger puzzle appear in frightening formation. Teasing me and slipping through my grasp. It’s annoying. It leaves one with doubt and inferiority. Not to mention a gaping hole in the middle of the jigsaw.
It’s also ruining aspects of my life and of course myself. I am constantly being tormented by flashes of the dead memory, at the most inconvenient times. Yet I have no choice but so sit with it now. I have nowhere to go and no one to talk to now therapy is over. This is my war now and mine alone. I chose to be the champion of this fight and go out into the battle field alone in search of the cure to my bleeding wounds.
Maybe I am stubborn or maybe a I am trying to find a new perspective.
Last night my partner tenderly asked me if I should go back to therapy. But I refuse. Not just because of the cost but the audacity of my mind trying to win. By going back I keep the umbilicus open for it to leech from. I continue to feed the PTSD parasite and I am so sick of being its unwitting host.
I grabbed the last fragments last during a seizure last night and whilst in that void I was able to tear myself open and let myself bleed a while. It was all very spiritual for me.
I was overcome with crippling stomach pain in the night and that was followed this morning by they single worst bout of constipation the world has ever seen, I swear to every god known to man. I had a lot stored and a so a lot to release. So, on noting this, let me share with you the amazing realisation I had, in that horrid moment, where I literally thought I was going to die…on the toilet, butt naked!!!
Release is painful. Release is necessary.
I realised something from the unbearable toilet experience I had this morning! Letting go of ‘stuff’ is a lot like pooping.
Poop is stuff that once nurtured us and has served its purpose; dead cells that are no longer part of us.
Letting go in life is the same. We must remove what is dead and what is done and sometimes it is painful as hell and sometimes it is sudden and explosive and other times it feels quite good to let go.
So I decided, in that private toilet moment this morning, to ‘let go’ in a creative way and let me tell you, the release and purge was hard and left me shook but it’s best for my health; mind body and soul.
Tell me I am wrong about this somewhat odd notion?
Anyway, what happens to my blog now? Well, the title is still perfectly placed. More so than ever. I really am here with thoughts after therapy but with a whole new twist. It’s like discovering G&T with a cucumber instead of a lemon. It’s refreshing and new and a chance to consume a whole new experience.
Perhaps this blog will become my therapy now…