Speechless ~

This is an extremely difficult area for me, which I have tried to write about many times.  Each time I've found myself going over and over certain details.  Each time I've found the task overwhelmed me and I've set it aside.  

Amidst the wreckage is such a tangle of difficult emotions, paralysed blankness, numbness, panic, amnesia...  I can feel myself going under with mental anaesthesia as I sit here.  The screen on which these typed words appear seems to float some distance away from me, blotches of its illumined face wavering about independent of its present solidity and that of the desk at which I sit.  I can feel the chair firm underneath me and at my back and the out-turned feet of the chair underneath mine.  It's good to remind myself of these physical signs of my existence when I start to feel this strange sensation of somehow dissolving ... into what? 

But I'm much better than I was - about all this.  There was a time when I used to feel physically sick, nauseous thinking about it.  When I did speak of it I fought against waves of fright, and would find myself starting to tremble.  It would take me a long time afterwards, maybe half an hour, to stop shaking.  

So, it's an extremely difficult area, and the reasons for this are complex.  While I've sat here typing I've repeatedly deleted what I've said about it.  I'll try to talk about some of the major aspects in a number of separate parts both to make sense of them for myself, and also to offer some thoughts which may be useful or at least interesting to others with similar experiences. 

Suffering of a deeply personal nature often seems to be accompanied by strange and incomprehensible taboos about speaking of it.  I must exert myself to break through these if I am ever to free up the pent-up, compressed, enraged, violent, desperate, vulnerable, weeping, grieving, disoriented, occasionally brilliant, fun-loving, laughing, talented, damaged, shredded person I really am.  Those parts of me anyway.  Without doing so I'll only be living a half life, or less.  While it has been necessary to withdraw into silence for a time, for years, the seasons of my inner world have turned, prompting me to persevere in expressing much more of myself, to begin to open up again. 

In the ashes of my discarded past there has been laughter and enjoyment, which serves to make the loss of the whole more painful.  Even at its best life is a study of paradoxes, and in this aspect of my life especially so.  Here goes nothing...

To go to the next article click this link:
Don't ask me to forgive (this) 

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