Conversation before the light work

– when I started this, when I went to the counsellor, I wanted it all to vanish. If I’d had a switch and I could have flicked it and erased everything up here and in here I would have. But now

– It’s part of me. It’s a big part of me. I wouldn’t. If it hadn’t happened I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t be who I am. It matters. It’s impacted on my relationships, on my life. I wouldn’t have bonded with certain people. I wouldn’t have had that break, the awkwardness – trying to explain. The tears. The. I wouldn’t have ended up where I did, met my wife. Taking it away, excising it, it would change me. And I might need changed. Hell, I know I need changed. But it made me. This. This thing shaped me. I can’t wipe it. I didn’t realise that at first. I thought this was about a fix, about a panacea. Not living with it any more, not putting it in the cupboard, pretending I can’t hear the noises. I thought that addressing this, confronting this. I thought it would be about deleting it. Like Total Recall. Finding some new memories, dropping them in. But I realised. I knew it didn’t work like that. But I realised that I didn’t want it to. That pretending it didn’t happen wouldn’t make me normal, wouldn’t make everything happy.

– My counsellor spoke about acceptance. But acceptance is wrong. The word’s wrong. Acceptance connotes assent, satisfaction. A degree of happiness. I don’t want to be happy about it. I don’t want to be happy that this happened. I don’t want to be satisfied with it. It was wrong. It shouldn’t have. It shouldn’t

– No-one should have to. No-one should ever

– I can’t accept it. I can’t.

– I told her the word was wrong. I preferred acknowledgement. Awareness. To acknowledge, to remain, to be, aware. That’s fine. I can live with that. It doesn’t mean I have to like it.

– There are other things too. The language. Victims. Trauma survivors. They’re not adequate. The connotations. They define you. You’re left in a permanent state, defined. The victim. Always the victim. It perpetuates it, your agency removed. You’re passive. It happened to you. It always happens to you. Always. But survivor. Survivor is wrong too. It defines you by what happened. That that is who you are. That your experience determines everything about you. You don’t want to be defined by that. That’s not who you are. You are more than that. You are much more. It’s an experience. Just an experience. We are experiencers. Neutral. No connotations. Not constantly harking back to something happening. You can’t avoid it. You can’t pretend nothing happened. But it’s not what tells the world who you are. And I know it overwhelms, that it, that it is why I’m here, why I was there. I know that these things matter. That it’s in my head. It’s there. Not all the time, never all the time – but it’s there. It sits there. And I couldn’t see before it. And sometimes what came after was obscured, hidden. It reached back, tore what was there before, clawed it, shredded it, until all that was there was. Just it. Sitting there. Squatting. Just there. Always there.

– I’ve not had flashbacks for a while, not had that violent transportation – the time travel – moving from here. The touch. The story. The sound. The smell. There was a time where I was jerked out of today – even for an instant. I would be aware of where I was quickly enough but I was transported. Ratatouille. I told you, I think. Like that scene in Ratatouille. Where the critic is served with the dish and as he tastes, as he smells, he’s instantly small again. The last time was a couple of weeks ago. It’s not to say there haven’t been intrusive thoughts, that it’s not been on my mind, that I’m not thinking about it. But the flashbacks have toned down. And as that’s happened it’s been accompanied with the memory dump, that thing between, during, sessions where thoughts emerge – people, places. When they come back to mind. As the distress in reliving lessens, as the flashbacks ease, it’s not obscuring as much. Some of the fractures are healing. Fragments are joining up.

– It’s slow. I wish it was quicker. I wish it was much quicker. I’d like to be back to whatever normal is going to be. But it’s moving. Things are moving. Forward. And then back. And to the left. But it’s moving. It’s change. Things are changing. Change is good.



About loveandgarbage

I watch the telly and read when not doing law stuff and plugging my decade and a half old unwatched Edinburgh fringe show.
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1 Response to Conversation before the light work

  1. Pingback: Some personal posts | Love and Garbage – some commonplace musings

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