The Terror Twins in the Valley of Rememberance
The Terror Twins are pain and fear. And Hel on a Harley! if they aren't one frack of a tag team.
I should define my terms. I've often opined that I need as many words for "pain" as the Inuit have for snow. So, too, have I discovered (experienced) many flavours of fear. It's a "diagnosis" of exclusion (and brevity is the soul of wit), so I can keep the semantic detour to the barest minimum. We can, therefore, rule out anything that touches upon even the barest frisson of pleasure...or release. So, too, shall we eliminate anything useful, anything warning or informative - the kinds of pain that tell one something's wrong, the kinds of fear that conjure anything remotely protective.
That leaves us with the mindless, the purposeless, the unendurable...except, of course, that The Terror Twins invade one's mind with a singularity of purpose, and one can do naught but endure.
Forgive my apparent vagueries. It's all part and parcel of my need to keep things in the present tense.
Apparently there are some pains so excruciating and some fears so mortifying that the only way to survive them is to eradicate them from one's mind. One creates a physical and emotional oubliette and pushes the aberrant sensations in.
Until.
Until what? Critical mass? I don't think so. I think the "until" is that (sometimes) mythical place called Safe.
It's taken some time, but I've found it.
So. Now. The UnForgetting begins.
Even the body remembers. It isn't all about gray matter and a sequence of events. Sometimes it's all about the sensations.
G had some interesting aesthetics. He favored some pretty ornate knotwork; he enjoyed some rather elaborate configurations. He called it Origami. He had a penchant for all things Japanese (had? maybe he still has...who knows?).
Origami, unlike the paper-folding art of the same name, is the epitome of pain and fear. It's excruciating. It's terrifying.
And I survived. I am here. I am whole. I am sane. I am more spiritual, and more creative, more loving and more senusal and ecstatic than I was when I met G at 17, when he started torturing me at 18.
And I am healing.
It seems that the road from Safe to Healing leads through the Valley of Rememberance.
One memory at a time. One fear at a time. One pain at a time.
One day at a time, I guess.
It's particularly hard on my hands and my feet...and my whole right side...especially my right knee, shin and ankle. My right knee and shin and ankle seem to have a mighty long memory. The pain is unbelievable...and yet I must believe, because it's only a memory. And I amaze myself, because the pain that makes me want to scream and cry now, as an adult woman, I endured in silence as a child.
In the midst of all this remembering, I have finally remembered that I am strong. I survive. I thrive.
Onward through the valley.
I should define my terms. I've often opined that I need as many words for "pain" as the Inuit have for snow. So, too, have I discovered (experienced) many flavours of fear. It's a "diagnosis" of exclusion (and brevity is the soul of wit), so I can keep the semantic detour to the barest minimum. We can, therefore, rule out anything that touches upon even the barest frisson of pleasure...or release. So, too, shall we eliminate anything useful, anything warning or informative - the kinds of pain that tell one something's wrong, the kinds of fear that conjure anything remotely protective.
That leaves us with the mindless, the purposeless, the unendurable...except, of course, that The Terror Twins invade one's mind with a singularity of purpose, and one can do naught but endure.
Forgive my apparent vagueries. It's all part and parcel of my need to keep things in the present tense.
Apparently there are some pains so excruciating and some fears so mortifying that the only way to survive them is to eradicate them from one's mind. One creates a physical and emotional oubliette and pushes the aberrant sensations in.
Until.
Until what? Critical mass? I don't think so. I think the "until" is that (sometimes) mythical place called Safe.
It's taken some time, but I've found it.
So. Now. The UnForgetting begins.
Even the body remembers. It isn't all about gray matter and a sequence of events. Sometimes it's all about the sensations.
G had some interesting aesthetics. He favored some pretty ornate knotwork; he enjoyed some rather elaborate configurations. He called it Origami. He had a penchant for all things Japanese (had? maybe he still has...who knows?).
Origami, unlike the paper-folding art of the same name, is the epitome of pain and fear. It's excruciating. It's terrifying.
And I survived. I am here. I am whole. I am sane. I am more spiritual, and more creative, more loving and more senusal and ecstatic than I was when I met G at 17, when he started torturing me at 18.
And I am healing.
It seems that the road from Safe to Healing leads through the Valley of Rememberance.
One memory at a time. One fear at a time. One pain at a time.
One day at a time, I guess.
It's particularly hard on my hands and my feet...and my whole right side...especially my right knee, shin and ankle. My right knee and shin and ankle seem to have a mighty long memory. The pain is unbelievable...and yet I must believe, because it's only a memory. And I amaze myself, because the pain that makes me want to scream and cry now, as an adult woman, I endured in silence as a child.
In the midst of all this remembering, I have finally remembered that I am strong. I survive. I thrive.
Onward through the valley.