What have I done with my broken heart up to now? I GAINED weight, lost control of my blood sugar, lost my creative edge, lost my sense of humor, lost my song. I say enough! He has taken enough of my soul. I have given away enough. I have squandered too much. Let this bell ring for healing and peace.
I feel like such a fool. It hasn’t been two months since I felt like I was in love and now I can’t even imagine how I could have felt that way. What a fool I have been. How stupid of me to wait to speak to him every day as if it were the highlight of the day. How stupid to wait for him to smile. What an idiot I was. What a fool. What a sorry sop to listen to him sing the chalisa as if he were singing about our own love instead of sita and ram. Stupid me. I am a true fool.
I felt alive and creative. I felt valuable. I felt wanted, not in a sexual way, but in a wholesome, I am so glad you are alive- way.
It felt true but it was all a lie, wasn’t it? How did I not see that? I am the one who is so intuitive! How did I not see through it?
I feel like I never want to speak to him again.
I also feel like I’m not real, not creative, not valuable. I feel like a piece of toilet paper stuck on the bottom of someone’s shoe as they come out of a truck stop bathroom that quickly blows away when they step outside into the New Mexico Wind.
Shri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram, Shri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram
The dream was a jumble of garish colors and blocks of geometric shape. There was the rectangular bed of an 18 wheeler with a cow in the front seat and i was trying to pull in to get gas for someone but they only wanted two dollars worth and i thought it was a waste of effort to pull in to such a tight spot for two dollars worth of gas.
There was a girl in the seat and she was pregnant but she was returning the baby for a cup of black truck stop coffee which I thought was horrible. Once again, I was trying to drive the truck from the back seat which made me feel very much out of control.
Then I was in elementary school to drop off a kindergarten boy. He was uncomfortable in his new clothes. The pants were pinstriped and stiff-starched. They were the color of an afternoon in 1942.
Of course, in between the school and the truck stop there were large blocks of strange art and cows and random shapes. Confusion.
I really want to be clear, to be focused. But this is my mind.
This is where I have to start.
Not too long ago I was dreaming of a graduation from school. I said goodbye to a mafia type gang of bad guys. I thought I’d be moving to a school that was a little higher up. But no, here I am in a truck stop parking lot looking for two dollars worth of gas while a pregnant girl returns her baby for a cup of black coffee. Yuck.
There was another scene wedged bewteen the truckstop and school. It was a motel room atop the truck stop. There was a sleezy guy there and I was looking for a clean bathroom. There weren’t any. All the stalls were backed up. There is that 1942 color again…the same sick sepia that says your life is over but you are living it again.
Nightmare! Now do I get to wake up?
Now do I get to wake up?
“How could she write about such shameful things?”
“Some things are better left unsaid; better to leave THOSE monsters under the bed, dear.”
I guess it is time to examine my motives for writing this blog in the first place. What do I hope to gain? Fame? Validation for my pain? If I write about my experiences will it somehow make them easier to bear, but why the hell would I write about things that would make me look bad? Why would I write about anything that would make me feel ashamed of myself?
It’s because I am writing for Truth because I have been told that the truth will set me free and I believe it.
Shame burns. It feels like I’m a vampire and I’ve walked into the sunlight. The thing I wrote about demons is embarrassing and it takes a great deal of courage to leave it as it is.
If I can sit with the shame and pray while I feel it I can be healed from whatever causes the shame. Exposing the problem to the light is a good thing no matter how uncomfortable it may be.
I learned how to sit with shame when I prayed the sorrowful mysteries of the rosary. When Jesus was stripped of his clothing and shamed for being ‘just a man’ he suffered humiliation. He didnt have to. But there is grace to be found in being able to suffer humiliation for a greater good.
I am willing to suffer the humiliation of people finding out that I am not perfect for the greater good of reaching others who might be suffering in the same way. There may be someone out there who is perfectly delightful and creative and loving and full of hope and joy and good energy but who is also plauged by some secret fear or dark worry, and I want to be a friend to that person.
I am tired of the ‘demons’ making us cower and hide in fear. It is time to throw off the covers and stop being ashamed of who we are and what we have to deal with. Chances are that there are solutions for the problems we face that seem shamefully insurmounatble in secret.
I don’t know what the ‘ugly faces’ were that used to fly at me when I was a little girl. I don’t know if they were memories or parts of myself or what they were. And I don’t know if the parasites that I deal with now are real or not. It doesn’t seem to matter if they are real to anyone else. They are a problem for me and I need a way to deal with them that works for me.
So far, the Reiki that my friend gave me has worked better than any other treatment I have tried. He gave me Reiki with the instructions to be extra gentle with my skin and kind to myself. He didn’t call me crazy or freak out (in front of me) even when I showed him the video–the proof of parasite.
What have I learned?
- That I write for Truth even if it means I have to suffer a little shame because I believe the truth will set me free and I want to be free.
- That freedom means I get to use my experiences to help other people know they are not alone—that we are all more alike than not and that we are lovable.
For years I thought I was being possessed by demons. I’d lie awake till the sun came up, clutching the covers to my chin and watching for the ugly faces that would come flying at me from the dark. Horrbile, bloody faces of girls with matted hair flew at me faster than lightning and vanished before they hit mmy own face. I was terrified.
I thought I was being possessed because the bed shook. When I realized it was the pounding of y own heart that was shaking the bed I began to think maybe I could find a way to get control of the situation.
I don’t know how I knew this, but I decided that the only way to get rid of the ugy faces was to love them. So one night, when they started to fly at me, I held my ground. I looked at them and said over and over, “i love you. I love you.”
They turned into my own face and then disappeared. They have not come back in that way since. But they did come back as parasitic devils that have tortured me for almost 8 years.
I know the parasites are real, but I can’t get anyone to help me. They are hideous; they look like devils or stupid clowns or worms and bugs or hairs that twist and turn and snap.
If I ignore them they fall off of me and I feel like a walking contaminant. If I try to remove them I have a bloody face.
My doctor saw one for herself and she said, “it is exactly as she describes it.” That made me feel good because it meant I wasn’t crazy. She referred me to a doctor in Albuquerque. But now they are saying they wont see me unless my doc can prove I have parasites! She cant prove anythinng and that is why she sending me to the experts! I swear it is fucking stupid1 I am sick of al of it.
I am not even trying to make this a polished piece of writing. I dont have spell check on thhis tablet and i dont have my computer here and i dont have a way to get to a computer till january. But i need to write.
I need to write even if no one reads
My face is a bloody mess It is better after a friend did a reiki treatment. I will ask for another if he wouldnt mind.
My heart is still broken and I dont even know why.
Do I have to love the parasites?
Omg I did it again.
I told someone I am irritating because I’m smart! Gasp! What an ass! And I didn’t mean it like it sounded.
What I meant was:
I may be high energy and emotional and you can put over there in the cry room and give me paint and let me take naps and have snacks. I’ll grow up and all is well.
But that is not what I said.
I said, we smart people can go do our weird stuff and co m e up with relativity and then we will all be happy.
I am sorry-! So very sorry.
Thank you Kali for chopping my ego down!