New forms of pain
“Perhaps the greatest faculty our minds possess is the ability to cope with pain. Classic thinking teaches us of the four doors of the mind, which everyone moves through according to their need.
First is the door of sleep. Sleep offers us a retreat from the world and all its pain. Sleep marks passing time, giving us distance from the things that have hurt us. When a person is wounded they will often fall unconscious. Similarly, someone who hears traumatic news will often swoon or faint. This is the mind's way of protecting itself from pain by stepping through the first door.
Second is the door of forgetting. Some wounds are too deep to heal, or too deep to heal quickly. In addition, many memories are simply painful, and there is no healing to be done. The saying 'time heals all wounds' is false. Time heals most wounds. The rest are hidden behind this door.
Third is the door of madness. There are times when the mind is dealt such a blow it hides itself in insanity. While this may not seem beneficial, it is. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and to escape that pain the mind must leave reality behind.
Last is the door of death. The final resort. Nothing can hurt us after we are dead, or so we have been told.”
So I stepped through the first door, and I slept. And I dreamed. I saw Leah, because of course who else would my broken psyche try to seek solace from? I spent much time in that strange Penn Station that is not at all Penn Station that has been created in my dreams, and lives there now. I slept. And I dreamed.
And now I'm sitting. And I'm breathing. I'm waiting for this to start feeling like... anything. I'm waiting for the anger, and the rest of the pain. I'm waiting to feel like a person who is experiencing new and painful knowledge about the past, instead of feeling like a mannequin come to life, not quite a person, seeing the world through a haze of unreality. Although, tell you a secret, I'm hoping none of those things will happen. Some (very silly) little part of me believes that I can intellect my way through this, and become well and whole again without the exhausting emotional explosions. I know. I said it was silly.
I've wanted to know for years what happened to me when I was younger, because it's become very apparent that something did, and that something left the markers of an abuse victim on me. But I had no memory. None. Not a clue. Interestingly enough, I know now, but I still have no memories. None. I just... know things. I know that there are things that are true, even though I don't remember them. Even though I'm sure my sister and my mother don't remember them. Wiped clean, washed away for protection. They've both always been very good at that. So... I'm the only for whom this is true. It's very tempting to believe it's not true. Although if it's something I made up, that probably says something even worse about me... but at least that would only be about me. Nonetheless. The way it happened, the way it came bursting out of me like a dam had broken... I can't quite bring myself to believe that I'm wrong, no matter how much I want to.
I don't know how to proceed from here. I had hoped writing about it would help, but I can't actually bring myself to talk about what I know, so it can't really help, can it?
So I'm taking the advice I was given by the person I know who has the absolute most knowledge of these things. I am sitting. Sitting with this new knowledge. And breathing.
First is the door of sleep. Sleep offers us a retreat from the world and all its pain. Sleep marks passing time, giving us distance from the things that have hurt us. When a person is wounded they will often fall unconscious. Similarly, someone who hears traumatic news will often swoon or faint. This is the mind's way of protecting itself from pain by stepping through the first door.
Second is the door of forgetting. Some wounds are too deep to heal, or too deep to heal quickly. In addition, many memories are simply painful, and there is no healing to be done. The saying 'time heals all wounds' is false. Time heals most wounds. The rest are hidden behind this door.
Third is the door of madness. There are times when the mind is dealt such a blow it hides itself in insanity. While this may not seem beneficial, it is. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and to escape that pain the mind must leave reality behind.
Last is the door of death. The final resort. Nothing can hurt us after we are dead, or so we have been told.”
So I stepped through the first door, and I slept. And I dreamed. I saw Leah, because of course who else would my broken psyche try to seek solace from? I spent much time in that strange Penn Station that is not at all Penn Station that has been created in my dreams, and lives there now. I slept. And I dreamed.
And now I'm sitting. And I'm breathing. I'm waiting for this to start feeling like... anything. I'm waiting for the anger, and the rest of the pain. I'm waiting to feel like a person who is experiencing new and painful knowledge about the past, instead of feeling like a mannequin come to life, not quite a person, seeing the world through a haze of unreality. Although, tell you a secret, I'm hoping none of those things will happen. Some (very silly) little part of me believes that I can intellect my way through this, and become well and whole again without the exhausting emotional explosions. I know. I said it was silly.
I've wanted to know for years what happened to me when I was younger, because it's become very apparent that something did, and that something left the markers of an abuse victim on me. But I had no memory. None. Not a clue. Interestingly enough, I know now, but I still have no memories. None. I just... know things. I know that there are things that are true, even though I don't remember them. Even though I'm sure my sister and my mother don't remember them. Wiped clean, washed away for protection. They've both always been very good at that. So... I'm the only for whom this is true. It's very tempting to believe it's not true. Although if it's something I made up, that probably says something even worse about me... but at least that would only be about me. Nonetheless. The way it happened, the way it came bursting out of me like a dam had broken... I can't quite bring myself to believe that I'm wrong, no matter how much I want to.
I don't know how to proceed from here. I had hoped writing about it would help, but I can't actually bring myself to talk about what I know, so it can't really help, can it?
So I'm taking the advice I was given by the person I know who has the absolute most knowledge of these things. I am sitting. Sitting with this new knowledge. And breathing.