The Broken Seal

Soaring

Off the ledge

And gaining speed

I’ve jumped

And there’s no turning back

What happened to our promise

You jump I jump

I’ve jumped

Now where are you?

I had EMDR session number two today. Microscopic Mondays. Before we do anything at all, the ET tells me she read through my intake papers over the weekend and says “Boy, you are a survivor, aren’t you?” I smile lamely as though to look over my shoulders, wondering who she is talking about. She tells me I have been through a lot. I’m so uncomfortable accepting this strange form of praise that I find myself looking down at the floor.

She has turned the bouncing green lights off and given me the vibrators and headphones for today. We wonder if the lights had caused the searing headache I had for 4 days after our first session. My head felt like it was being spun by the temples on a pig spit. I’m convinced it was just a coincidence. But she takes away my lights. I’m okay with that. Whatever’s clever.

I didn’t “feel” like talking today. Do we ever? But I keep an open mind as I sit down on the purple couch. In our last visit we had chosen to deal with the bus accident, so she asks me if anything has changed during the week. I want to tell her “Yes! The clouds parted and I felt a huge weight lift off my shoulders and I am now regularly skipping and doing cartwheels.” But I don’t lie anymore. Liar.

But there is one revelation. I told her that I wrote about the bus, here on this blog, and had no emotions about it. I didn’t feel horrible typing about it and I could see it was simply one small drop on a large life canvas. She asks me to “tune in” and “go with that” notion that the bus accident was causing me no grief. I have my eyes closed, earphones on, pulsars in my hands. I can feel my face smiling but I’m not talking. Then I feel my heart beat faster. I’m pretty sure the tones have changed. But I know they haven’t. They’ve changed.

She says to me, “I notice you have swallowed a couple of times and you are pinching your mouth. Is there something going on inside that you want to say? Or that’s coming up for you right now?” I’m a natural born barfer, it’s all coming up.

I keep my eyes closed and ask myself the question.

She is clearly reading my face. My eyes are closed, but now they are welling up with hot tears. She tells me I am scrunching my lips, and asks what is behind them. I am nervously aware that I am wearing a white sweater, and should have planned better. Because by now black watery drops of mascara are rolling down my cheeks, tickling my neck and taking comfort in my sweater.

The subconscious is a tricky creature. I had no idea walking in here today what would become of my 90 minutes of air time. And here I am, crying in the first 10 minutes. Where is this coming from? From down here, you idiot. Get it out!

I open my mouth and become painfully aware of the silence in my vocal cords. It’s hanging out of my mouth like a pencil sketched thought bubble. I pop it. And tell her I can’t stop thinking about the boys in college. That their faces flash through my mind like cartoons. But not kiddy cartoons. More like the edgy, spicier cartoon drawings in old comics. Angular and sharp. Little lines being the difference between a frown and an evil laugh. The devil you know.

Some of them have no faces. They are just blurred figurines. Part of the scenery. The room is swirled around and around, the way onlookers see children flinging by on a merry-go-round. Colors and lights flashing. Warped music. I mention that it is like the “Take On Me” video by Aha. She has no idea what I’m talking about.

Crap. I didn’t expect to “go here” today. Who changed the channel?!

She asks me to open my eyes and come back into the room for a moment. She wants to know if I am okay, talking about this. I tell her “I think I have to talk about this.” She asks me what I need to feel safe. I shrug. She says I can pretend that I have a remote control and can use it to stop, pause, rewind. I tell her no. I don’t want that control. She says I can imagine the event on a movie  screen…but it’s far away, off in the distance. No thank you. Seen that movie. Or that I can blur the image. How do you blur what’s already blurry? I tell her no, I want to be right there, right in that dorm room. She tells me that at any time I can stop or back off, and I say okay. I put the headphones back on and fasten my seat belt. Jump.

Kissing,

The Cockroach

Copyright © 2012 Kissing The Cockroach All Rights Reserved.

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~ by Kissing The Cockroach™ on February 27, 2012.

2 Responses to “The Broken Seal”

  1. This is beautiful art made from a savage event. Keep writing. I know its helped me.

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