September, the painting continues, slowly.
The cat watches.
She finds ping-pong balls irresistible, which makes for amusing noises on wood floors.
Really should just cut down the remains of the sunflowers.
Hoping I can use them to hold down leaves on the north side of the 'lawn'. Give the worms a chance on that side, since all the leaves were blown off last fall.
First therapy session today. Very strange. Talked a bit, recapping of one's life is always a challenge. Ended with a guided imagery, me calm, in a safe place, and (with permission) she tapped the sides of my knees. I burst, exploded in sobs from nowhere. Uncontrollable, choking violent, wracking keening. Rather like that vague ache you take to a doctor, and they put a hand there, and move you so, and you are in agony. "Well, there's your problem." Yeah, I think this is the way through. Really going to be rough.
Like when the dentist cleared that abscessed tooth.
Where was my safe place? In the hot tub in Lava Hot Springs, on a cold winter night with snow all around, dark with bright starts, train whistles blowing, steam rising. Floating in the hot water, weightless and warm, wood soft with age and algae and water. Far away and with only the wind and quiet sloshes in the mild silence.
6 comments:
The house I live in has that same minty green trim! I didn't choose it, but I love it. Especially in gray winter.
I've felt that wrenching grief after being touched in bodywork---never had a therapist who used touch at all. (it's been decades since I was in therapy--I sense everyone was afraid of using touch back then---all the emphasis was on keeping very, very clear (even rigid) boundaries).
Fresca,
It's called "Monet's Garden." Feels very tropical to me.
I've had that in massage a couple of times. This touch is a version of EMDR. I've intellectualized and rationalized that early emotional abuse... . Yeah, obvious now. Never approached it from a pure emotional stance, don't know how I could have. Now that I'm in such a safe place, it's on.
best of luck, zhoen. i'm going in for a third go in a week - first session was intake, second session was a therapist who knew exactly what i ought to do because it had worked for her, and my guts were screaming that this was wrong, wrong, wrong, so now i'm going in for a third "first" go and hope this one at least read my synopsis so i don't have to tell my damn story all over again.
still, each time i come back, i know a little more about what ails me.
yesterday i thought i was back to being myself, last night i was proven wrong. this morning, i'm back at working things through. but i really believe it's worth it in the end.
so - hang in there. you'll come out the better for it. but you already know that.
pc,
Rooting for you right back. I feel so fortunate that I feel I got the right therapy at the right time. Which doesn't make it easier, but I liken it to surgery. When you need it, it's the thing that works, still gonna hurt, bad. But on the other side is healing and function.
Don't cut the flowers down to the ground, leave 6 or 12" to help capture the leaves.
Ping pong balls were always my cat's favourite. The slightest tap sends them flying.
And as much as hopes and wishes can help you through your troubles, have plenty of mine.
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