Tags
Assault, Broken heart, Bunnings, Extracting poison, Moving home, Pain, Post-traumatic stress, PTSD, Repressed memories, Trauma
So… perhaps this is what it was all about?
[Imagined conversation with imaginary surgeon dude]:
“Okay Svasti we’ve just gotta take your heart out of your chest for a while. We’ve just spotted another infection and we need to get it out. But sorry, we’ve got to do it right now and… we don’t actually have any instruments with us. So what we’ll do is just rip your heart out of your chest, locate the piece we need to remove and then, it would just be easier if we used our teeth to cut it out. It’s gonna hurt but trust me, it’ll be worth it.”
Whatever, friggin’ Dr. Surgeon! Go ahead and just don’t mind the screams from my aorta whilst you do your thang. So that’s why I’m having a little trouble breathing right and why this incredible tower of rage continues along its merry way? Geez, give a girl some warning next time…
Shit, shit, fucking shit. Stupid-assed crap fucking brain! Why oh why did you choose right now, huh? Why? WHY? Right, because I didn’t have enough going on, what with the moving house, and trying to settle my cat and find the scissors and a clean plate for dinner and shave my legs for Monday. Not to mention my washing machine, which, somewhere between being moved into storage all those months ago and arriving here – has stopped working.
Then ofcourse, there was the trip to Bunnings. I must’ve thrown away my rubbish bin (that’s a trash can for you Yankees) and somehow I lost my broom. And where the hell did my doormat go? Anyways, I’m driving back in my hire car and I realise I’m not gonna make it back by 3pm so I call and they’re cool with me bringing it back in the morning. When…
So. What happened that night, after he’d left, Svasti?
Shit. Shit! Oh, crap. I guess that one got repressed and hadn’t bothered to show its face again til now. Right now in the car driving back to my new place with a brand new broom and flip top bin.
After I caught my breath, after I was sure he’d left and I’d called the police and they’d blown me off… He sent me a text message. “Hey, I’m really sorry about that. But thanks for all of your love”. Furious and sad and scared I fired back:”Don’t you EVER come near me again or I’ll have you arrested you fucking PIG!”
He thanked me – what the fuck?!! He threw me against the wall, punched me in the face and when he finally left after all the shouting, aggression and threats of further violence… he thanked me. WHAT THE FUCK?!!
What was that? Like he lost the plot, smacked me around and thanked me like some sort of prostitute he paid for rough sex? Like it really wasn’t such a big deal, what happened? He thanked me??!!
It’s only small isn’t it? Just a few seconds or minutes…
So why did this cause my heart to be ripped out so roughly? Why is there this big gaping fucking empty space in the center of my chest right now??
I. Don’t. Understand.
Yet.
I’m hurting. I’m hurting. I’m as mad as a cut snake. I’m furious, gulping large breaths of tears and hot fiery heavy oxygen causing pain on the way in and out… There’s no music soundtrack for this. I feel like puking. Am I wearing leaden weights all the sudden? I feel like screaming. I’m trembling, damnit!!! I don’t know what this means yet, I don’t know why it hurts so much. I’m livid, then I’m numb. Then I’m bawling. I’m not okay. I will be okay. But I’m not okay right now…
If anyone sees that surgeon dude, tell him I want my heart back please. I’m off to… unpack some boxes…
~Svasti
Svasti: A Journey From Assault To Wholeness 