The lightning bolt.

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Every so often the pain of it takes my breath away. A sensation of being crushed, unable to breathe in, and too exhausted to breath out.

As if I'm trying to hold back a river, trying so hard not to drown.

Reading my notes on the philosophical underpinnings of psychiatry just now, the trigger word was positivism. How positivism privileges objectivity so that the subjective truths of distress and panic wrapped in metaphor and sensations can be dismissed as brain chemistry...Or in Kit's words, how a statement such as 'my love is like a red, red rose' makes no sense when viewed through the lens of logical positivism. 

And I feel right now as if I'm standing on a seesaw, trying to find the balance point as each side of my conflicting views of what happened, seeking understanding of what was actually happening, battle for dominance.

He said something about a rose, something about logical positivism...

https://thecoronaborealis.blogspot.com/2023/04/8th-november-2021.html

Again I felt as if he was close making us incestuous brother and sister. Or closer still as if he was Abelard and I Heloise. As if by remarking upon the red, red roses (fake poppies hanging from the bookshelf behind me during a zoom call) as if speaking of love, incidentally, inadvertently, simply a glancing blow... that knocked my mind out of orbit. Sending me spinning. Expecting that I too would be willing to hold the lightning bolt and not cry out...

It breaks my heart every time I remember his invites to engage. 

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