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Svasti: A Journey From Assault To Wholeness

~ Recovery from PTSD & depression + yoga, silliness & poetry…

Svasti: A Journey From Assault To Wholeness

Tag Archives: Loss

A short run

21 Tuesday Jul 2009

Posted by Svasti in Poetry

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

bothering, endings, final act, final bows, glitter, Greasepaint, Heartbreak, Loss, Poem, Poetry, Sadness, sonnets, unwritten scenes

‘Scuse my silence, I’m just

Over here dealin’

With a little heartbreak

Nothing that’ll kill me

But enough to knock

The words from my mouth

And the sonnets from my sight

Keep writing what I think

Happened, knowing it wasn’t

Like that, not entirely

Got a lot to say but

Nowhere to put it; the

Ninth act deleted

Before it began

Curtains drawn, no

Final bows allowed

I fear now, all along my

Interpretation was off

Making more plot than

The playwright conceived

My performance gaudy

Overdrawn and naught

But bothersome to

Other players, time wasting

And over-sharing barging

Through unwritten scenes

Now sitting in the wings, the

Show’s over, the run’s complete

Time to repaint the backdrops

And move on then, is it?

Hard to forget, don’t really want to

Greasepaint and glitter stubbornly

Linger, a constant reminder

Ever fainter, of shows past

Perhaps never to play again

~ Svasti

Next step unknown

08 Friday May 2009

Posted by Svasti in Poetry

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

Foundations, Gravity, Loss, Love, Pease, Poem, Poetry, Recriminations, Reparations, Sorrow, Spider's web

Tension and complexity

Create the spider’s web

No one leaves the whirlpool

As it swirls us to our doom

Gravity holds the satellite

To its planet, never leaving

The binding force is love

Previous beauty brought undone

Reparations, recriminations

Salving this path is not

Easy, there’s no clean

Cut to suture nicely

No balance, no simple

Answers to banish

Those unwanted tears

Do the strength of

Our convictions create more

Problems than they solve?

Love is no struggle, here

It’s our battle stations

Horrifically dragging us to

Something no one wants

I love you, oh I do, yet

I don’t know the way

From here, to that blissful

Commune of love we

Laughed about, before

The foundations trembled

~Svasti

So… I said it…

22 Sunday Mar 2009

Posted by Svasti in Therapy

≈ 20 Comments

Tags

Andre, Anxiety, Avoidance, Denial, EMDR, Grief, His name, House of cards, Loss, Therapy, Trauma, Trust

I need to come clean about something.

Actually, I don’t. I could ‘not’ write this, and not publish it either.

There’s a lot of ways I could keep this to myself.

But it would be against the spirit of my blog, in which I’ve truthfully (and often painfully) divulged much of my inner world goop. Always, always with the intent of de-clogging myself, and seeing more clearly what’s going on.

And so, I feel if I don’t get this out there, I’m lying. Mostly to myself, but sorta to those who bother to come here regularly, too. ‘Cept, if I didn’t, you’d never know. But I’d know that you don’t know. And that sucks.

So, yeah. I said it.

It wasn’t easy.

Going back a few weeks, this is my second last session in recent times. AN (my therapist) didn’t even know it was gonna be that sort of session.

Til I start talking…

You know, the reason I ended up coming to see you for EMDR therapy, was when H (my other therapist) uncovered my secret. That I never speak his name to anyone. H said she wasn’t sure how important it was for me to actually ever do it, and neither do I…

So what’s his name? AN butts in briskly.

…

[Radio silence]

And tears.

Could a red flag be waved more obviously?

AN says Okay. It’s time.

Nooooooooooooooooooo… I don’t think I can…

We start another EMDR pen-waving session. Me, stubbornly incapable of turning air into sound and forming that word. His name.

His fucking name. That stupid, meaningless word I’d allowed to assume such power. To mean other things. Become a symbol of terror.

Not saying his name it seems, became equivalent to wearing garlic, hopelessly attempting to ward off those vampirical horrors and fears, preying on my heart and mind.

Here on this blog, I’ve labelled him Andre. Where most other people I talk about have been given an initial only. Why? Well, he’s the main character of my story, right?

Right. Or is that denial? Avoidance? Being exceptionally cagey? Lying to myself?

It’s become so impossible to enunciate that I have violent psycho-somatic reactions. Coughing. Choking. Feeling like I’m about to die. An incredible sense of doom.

All of that, rather than speak that word.

Just a house of cards trying to cover for myself, willing to appear helpless rather than face it all squarely.

He was my friend.

He didn’t just take my safety. He took away my friend and replaced him with a monster. One of the few people I’d met down here that I could resonate with on some level. He was my friend, and he screwed it all up!!

I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I HATE YOU I HATE YOU!!

Swift-moving bile erupts from my mouth and body, scaldingly hot.

Can’t get that word out, not with all the grief and pain there. Sitting on the trigger like a trap.

AN asks me again, as we work through various emotions.

…

Still, nothing.

Mentally, I say it. Urge myself onwards. But no… nothing, again.

It’s dangerous. It’s scary. It means something… it means he wins. If I say it, I’m somehow bringing him to life again. And I’ve tried so hard to bury him, bury that night.

I’m powerless to command myself. Powerless. But it’s just a stupid name. Two syllables. Three letters. For fuck’s sake!

I can talk about anything else. Everything else. Just not this. Not this. Not…

Quiet now. I’ve sobbed til my heart is empty of tears. Raw raw, and fragile, and yet… false starts. Many of them.

His name is…

It’s…

I can mouth the letters silently. Only.

AN asks Does it start with a B?

No, it starts with an A.

That’s one letter. Only two to go.

But no. Locked into my seat in a small room with a kind but firm therapist, trying to shake me from my precarious perch. Gently, ever so gently.

My world right then, small and sharp. Pointed and painful. Dangerous, dark and terrifying.

It was coming. I wanted it to, but oh my god… the heartache, painfully beating like a foot trying to stamp its way out of my chest.

Like I’m talking to a child I say, It’s okay. Okay…

It’s okay… it’s only letters… its okay…

Why don’t I believe myself?

Just sitting and breathing now. And I can see, it’s just about courage now. That’s all that’s left. Finding a way to be unafraid long enough to squeeze it out. A little breath. A little sound.

His name. Its… its… okay, its… FUCK! Its… (wish my heart would stop aching), damn it, its….

And now it’s dead quiet in our room.

Its Apu.

AN repeats it a few times, loudly, so I can hear it, while I cry like a child. A child in shock, crying because the expression is entirely appropriate. Suitable to work through the pain. It’s shocking to say it. And hear someone say it. But somehow, its better. Already.

We finished things up, AN making sure I’m okay. And I left and went to a movie.

Then later, I wrote this…

And now you know. And I know you know. And again. It feels a little less covert. More real.

Still tender though, weeks later. Still hard to admit I’m okay with it. Even though its out there. And I’ve said it more than once now.

But guess what? I no longer choke (literally) when faced with those three letters. Not any more.

~Svasti

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