Therapy.
I began therapy in July 2020 with the person whose dialogues with me, are the subject of this blog.
And I would have stopped in October 2020 though it was almost too late.
But my feelings for him? I don't see it as about rescue or even need. I am loved, I know that. I don't need love as such, indeed a relationship feels like going into a war zone!
It was just him...his sense of humor, how he moves.
And it certainly wasn't about therapy.
I'd had enough of theory, I'd lived the practical and discovered that I could not think my way out, no degree of awareness or understanding could transform the lightning fast speed of the physical grip of panic.
The therapist's re-parenting strategy didn't fit for me, I'd had good enough care-givers. His questions aimed to reveal my blocks, struck me as unkind, I'd read too much by then, I was beginning to turn against any concepts about the importance of development.
Did training to become a therapist end my marriage?
I believe it made me more able to put my feelings into words, I believe it made me more aware of the void where deep connection should have been.
Without it I might have stayed compliant and complicit.
But the damage was done before, and I think he was going to leave no matter what I did. He'd done it before. And she had the right story. I believe that my husband fell for her in 2015, and it was catalysed by my son's distress - and her texts.
Then, he gave away what was mine, my security, love, pleasure, reassurance, friendship.
All the way through those awful years when my son was heading into psychosis I imagined that I was loved, and that was enough.
But in truth he'd already gone. And he physically left the day after I received confirmation that I had been accepted at college as a trainee.
I take that as proof!
Not sure what it proves though.
Anger was healing.
Realizing that I was justified in being angry allowed me to trust myself again.
But he had already psychologically gone when our house was being smashed, or if he was here he made things worse. But when I needed him the most - he didn't answer his phone. I was in danger of being killed.... Slowly as the truth of this sunk in, I realized that I had done it all alone anyway.
November 2020.The void of space is infinite and the starlight burns my skin. The pain I experience when I leave college and my husband isn't waiting for me takes my breath away. He has gone. I genuinely don't care if he is alive or dead now. From my own, agonized point of view there is only the infinity of space above me, the cold air, Mars above the moon. Mars - always with me on this journey. My rage is incandescent. I leave the classroom, say goodbye to people, I face the black path down the hill. I fill the void with music. Puscifer on my head-phones is the only difference, the only thing separating me from the time-slip, event horizon of frozen memories. There is an elsewhere and I can't get there until I have finished my course...And this is how it is.
What helped me?
Against the therapist's advice I began Wim Hof method.
Nothing could touch my panic, no thoughts, no breathing techniques, nothing until I decided to stop trying to escape, and to turn around and face it. I don't believe panic attacks can be thought away, they need to do what they do - And so I began the WHM. My therapist advised me not to. But I felt that it wouldn't make any difference if I caused a panic attack. It seemed better to know I'd caused it, and to be safe at home when it happened. And so I began. I experienced flashbacks, but I kept breathing. Again, that knowledge that I chose this and that I would gain control, meant I wanted to continue. And there were also the indescribable moments of peace, and being able to sleep at last. I don't know how long it took for the panic to wear out? A few months perhaps? Anyway, definitely one of the best decision of my life to begin this.
I still Hof - breathwork and cold showers!
Therapy ended on the 23rd May 2022.
And if I put it into words
Without expectation, without hope of response.
So I evoke the last memory, I let my mind draw me spirit and soul, through the dark passageway, noting as I enter, how the stone step has melted under so many footsteps.
Turning my mind towards the third place, neither inward or outward; slicing time into smaller and smaller parts, moments to instances. To allow the froth of hope and fear, the proximity of win lose to become a slip stream, rather than jagged rocks, a layer of confusion.
To burn without being consumed.
Kit's choice leaves this memory unsealed.
The pain of it leaking out and under the illusion of solidity.
As I walked away from Kit the velocity of the fall began its acceleration as I in this world closed the two doors, walking through the narrow passageway turning my face towards the sun. Wishing its fire would burn the arrow from my heart - and yet the arrow embedded still. remains.
Whatever I have said, whatever you have said, my feelings remain. Not because I chose this, for this thing arrived and remains unbidden, un requested. Not because it makes sense, it makes little sense.
Yet, nor would I choose to destroy it.
You are a difficult, prickly person, Kit and there are plenty of reasons for me not to like you. Regardless, I fell in love with how you move, with your intelligence, with how you are different to me. I miss you.
Nothing about that can change.
Comments