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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: Pain

Thinking of you…

21 Wednesday Jan 2009

Posted by Svasti in Life Rant

≈ 22 Comments

Tags

Acceptance, Blogosphere, Community, Friendship, Group hug, Hermit, Love, Pain, Support

In my ever-growing bloggy network, I’m amazed by the range and number of people that I find – or who find me.

Who knows if in person, we’d be friends? But here, where we share so much of ourselves… in an environment that should by all rights, be cold and impersonal (and is anything but)… where I share things that matter and/or pain me the most… I’ve found a number of wonderful friends.

Unfortunately, there’s been a bit of a disturbance in the force, so to speak.

By that I mean, a number of my blog friends are having a something of a hard time right now. Quite a few, actually.

So this post is a little shout out love to some of the peeps I read regularly – who are currently in dire straits. All of the following could do with a little cheering on from the sidelines.

(If you feel so inclined, leave a message of support on their blogs. I know they’ll appreciate it.)

Clinically Clueless – otherwise known as ‘CC’ – recently had herself admitted to hospital for treatment as she hasn’t been doing so well. CC has survived so much, and she’s still fighting hard.

Tricia – here’s another woman who’s been through the wringer a few times. She recently posted a laundry list of the trauma she’s been through in her life. I’m sure its not all of it from what I know about her already. But its more than one person should bear.

Dano – lately she’s been struggling a little. But I’m very proud that her art will be included in an exhibition in her local area. Hopefully she posts some pictures!

Chunks of Reality – she’s had a lot of trouble just getting out of bed lately, and has recently gone for a job interview that sounds really great. Good luck, Chunks!

Michelle Tackaberry – aint feeling so hot about her messed up school schedule. There are other paths though, and I’m sure something will turn up soon to help you on the way to writing that book you’d like to finish!

Jaliya – who also had herself admitted to hospital to combat her depression and PTSD in recent times. She’s got internet access there, so she’s still posting occaisionally.

Immi – it wasn’t enough to be dealing with mental health issues. Some f*#ker had to go and smash into Immi’s car – (with her inside). Yikes! Physical pain, while it does heal eventually… freakin’ sucks!

Victor – was recently retrenched from a place he’s been working most of his life. And now, he’s at a cross-roads with no idea which path leads forward the best. I’m convinced all will be revealed for him.

If you should also be on this list – my apologies. In fact, I’m sure this list isn’t complete. Mostly coz of my terrible bullet-hole ridden memory… which ain’t no friend o’ mine.

If there’s one thing my Guru has said that I’ll never, ever forget, it’s this:

No one gets enlightened on their own

Recently, I was discussing with a friend the sultry attractiveness of life as a hermit. In some ways, it’s totally my idea of a good time. However, I do get that community is very important.

And that’s what we have here, in the blogosphere. Community, of a sort.

There are plenty of other blogs I read and comment on from time to time. I consider y’all a part of my lil blog community here, too…

A little message, from me to you

Even when you think you’re on your own. Know that you’re not… (I need to remember this as much as anyone).

Your thoughts of self-hatred, sadness, alienation, pain, sadness, anger, distress, anxiety – and more – plus any positive feelings you might be having… you’re not experiencing these without others who can relate. Who’ve been there too.

Pick a person in the crowd – you’re gonna find that almost everyone has experienced pain, loss, grief of some kind.

None of us are so different than the masses, even when one of those masses in a huge all-wheel drive car, and you’re on a push bike and the dude in the car thinks its a good idea to monster and yell abuse at you for no good reason…

Well, that driver? He too, suffers in some way. And if he could get over his anger, his need to defend against others so much… maybe he’d see he doesn’t need to give a poor ol’ cyclist a hard time. Or be so damn angry in the first place!

This funny old world we live in, where for some, its easier to reach out to complete strangers online than it is to check if your neighbour’s doing okay… all we really crave, each of us, is… Friendship. Love. Acceptance. Support.

To all of my friends: know that you have mine.

~Svasti

Extracting splinters

16 Sunday Nov 2008

Posted by Svasti in Post-traumatic stress, The Aftermath

≈ 10 Comments

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

(Next part of the story. Read on!!)

-37.814251 144.963169

The pain, the pain

24 Wednesday Sep 2008

Posted by Svasti in Spirituality

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

Bangkok, Brahma, Broken bones, Erawin Shrine, Ganesha, Incense, Ink, Loei, Mantra, Offerings, Pain, Pappy Ganet, Prayers, Puja, red eye, Senses, Sukhumvit, Tattoo, Thai tattoo

En-masse, the people of this world have an aversion to pain. Its part of the survival mechanism, is it not?

From my experience I think physical pain is easier to deal with than mental pain. That’s possibly influenced by the five times in my life where I’ve broken bones (eight in total). Plus the multiple sports injuries and operations (too many to count). Not to mention a bone graft. I feel like I can get to know physical pain. I understand what makes it better or worse. I can see when I’m getting better. Compared to years of depression and trauma, physical injuries are a cake walk.

Yet it’s amusing to think that I was afraid of getting a tattoo for years because I thought it would hurt.

Though perhaps, I was just waiting for the right one. I never wanted a rose or some arbitrary design I’d eventually grow to dislike. I hadn’t seen anything that got my attention until my Guru took his shirt off on our 2007 retreat in the US.

He had a huge Thai Singha Lion in the middle of his back and I was very attracted to the design, the style and energy of it. Very. Like, purrrr… over a tattoo.

At this year’s retreat word went ’round: we had a chance to go and see the man (Arjan Tong) who’d done my Guru’s ink after retreat. WOW!

There was a lot of interest but my Guru didn’t want all and sundry going, especially if it added to anyone’s idea of themselves as “spiritual”.

He surveyed those who put their hands up, asked questions where he thought people were kidding themselves.

I thought you already had a tattoo, he says. I say nope! He nods. That was the extent of his questions for me.

In the end there were two groups of five to go on different days.

It was important to bring offerings, not just money. In fact, we’d been asked not to pay more than 500 baht ($17AUD) so as not to risk insulting him even though it wasn’t a lot to us. But if we brought rice, flowers, fruit, sweets – that would be respectful and well received.

We took a Thai “red eye” bus overnight from Loei to Bangkok. Not recommended. There was scant time or room for sleep as we poured into a friend’s tiny unit to shower and change. And a little meditation and prayer. Aum namah sivaya.

Somehow we flagged a cab in peak hour on Sukhumvit and we were off to the outskirts of Bangkok. Somewhere!

An hour later (thanks Bangkok traffic) and a few wrong turns, we’d arrived. We wouldn’t have known we were there except for a tiny Thai lady who walked up to our cab and almost dragged us out, beckoning us down an ordinary looking lane way. Left turn into a two-man aisle.

Walking past the backs of people’s places, or was that the front? At the end of the lane was a red gate with a red embossed trishul.

Through the door, past people waiting, a sharp right turn and up rickety stairs.

Whoah! The room is alive. Its clear puja (ceremony) has just been completed with the offerings and incense spread under the wall to ceiling altar.

Puja offerings at the altar

In fact the whole room is an altar. My heart is running a mile a minute, the back of my skull feeling like it’s been removed and is expanding dramatically. Wait, I know this feeling from my meditation practices…

We’re sitting on the floor, remembering to take everything they offer us (water, food) as we wait, so as not to be rude. All looking at each other, knowing eyes: This place is off the hook.

The altar is made up of statues and pictures, carvings and images. So many. Members of the tattoo lineage Arjan is a part of. We wait in near silence.

The monks arrive, giving us incense to make offerings. Pray to your god, they say. Everyone who comes in does this too, and soon there’s twenty or more sticks burning at the same time.

Our eyes burn as the incense is pumped around the room by a fan turned on to combat the extreme heat of the day. These are only minor distractions though.

One of Arjan’s students – a Thai man named David – speaks to us, helps us prepare. His English is excellent and he also talks to us about his own meditation practice.

An hour later Arjan himself appears. There’s no rushing this. His eyes light up when he sees our offerings, particularly the rice. He takes his snuff, makes his preparations. This is a ritual folks!

We all jostle nervously – most of us want to go first, deferring to each other. The order changed again. We are all a little bit afraid, but it was something we want regardless. I’ve been told it’s gonna hurt like crazy but I don’t care.

My eyes feel as large as saucers, the back of my head and my spine are expanding. No longer limited to what I generally consider the bounds of my body.

I end up going third. I kneel, placing my money in the polystyrene offering plate decorated with orchids. David and I talk about what I want – not that its necessarily what you’ll get! David translates Arjan’s words back to me – we’ll give you a lovely figure design, everyone will love you. No, I want to have love for all beings, I protest. Well, when you love everyone, then everyone loves you.

I lean forward and hug my knees to my chest. I have to stay as covered as possible. Three men stretch my skin, pulling it taut like a canvass. Arjan draws freehand to guide his work. Then takes the long old fashioned spear and dips it in ink. I relax. He starts and I think – this isn’t any worse than pricking your finger when sewing. And I’d done plenty of that!

This wasn’t pain, not really. But even when it felt a little sharp at times, through breathing it was possible to relax that and remain in the moment. Guruji had spoken to us about zoning out, and I didn’t want to do that.

Smelling the incense, feeling hands and the spear on me, seeing nothing externally as I closed my eyes and meditated, hearing Thai conversations of Arjan with the men around me and the whisperings of my fellow yogis. Tasting the sweat rolling down my face.

David is instructed to give me a mantra to repeat silently until Arjan is finished. When he’s done Arjan prays over his work, tangibly putting some serious energy into it. I turn and bow. I’m given another mantra that I now must do before each meal, three times a day. Every day. Good thing I like ritual!

The remaining two people in our party have their tattoos done as well. We’re all ecstatic!

We bow our thanks when the last of us is done, and farewell the now very crowded room. This time we get a cab to the closest BTS station and train it back to central Bangkok, which is much faster.

I can feel my tattoo. It doesn’t hurt and it barely bleeds, unlike western ones. But it pulses warmth and energy. It radiates and opens. There’s a sense of bliss. We go and visit Erawin Shrine (the wish fulfilling Brahma) and the Pappy Ganet (Ganesha) shrine before finding our hotels for the night.

I know some of my friends had the same experience as me – that it wasn’t painful at all. But others (including the guys) found it almost unbearable.

And I wonder. What is this thing called pain? Why does the same experience cause different levels of suffering for different people?

Is it just that some people have had more dealings with pain, and therefore their tolerance increases? Is it transferrable? Because I’ve had so much physical AND mental pain, does that mean that things phase me less and less? I don’t think I’m less sensitive, in fact I think I’m very sensitive. But perhaps I am less-so in some ways?

Does it also mean its harder for someone to reach in and really touch my heart?

~Svasti

-37.814251 144.963169

Ground zero

22 Sunday Jun 2008

Posted by Svasti in The Incident

≈ 21 Comments

Tags

Anger, Assault, Black eye, Broken glass, Confusion, Fear, Memory loss, Pain, Panic, Violence

An atomic bombConfused and a little disturbed, I couldn’t work out why he was shouting at me.

We’d just had dinner. A slamming pumpkin soup I made with sweet potato and a little ginger, paprika and rosemary. He checked his emails on my computer and later played some tunes on his guitar, plugged in to his mini amplifier. It was all very chilled.

He’d come to see me as a favour to his ex, who recently bought my old car. She still owed me a bit more money and this was the final payment.

Everything was going pretty smoothly, even though Andre sort of mentioned the fact that we weren’t seeing each other any more left him sexually frustrated. But I let that comment slide through to the keeper.

I hadn’t seen him for a couple of weeks until this night, a Thursday night. I ended things because I knew it wasn’t going anywhere. I think we both knew that. So when the ‘car drama’ happened, it seemed like a natural break.

He looked a little sad, and whilst I can’t recall exactly what he said (memory loss issues!); he brought up the topic of the ‘car drama’. Somewhat apologetically I think.

My response was something like: You know, I should have listened to my gut instinct. I don’t really like doing business with friends because money often causes problems. I shouldn’t have sold your ex the car.

Then the shouting began. Don’t ask me what the content was. It just sounded like loud white noise ringing in my ears.

Now – I don’t like shouting. I never have. I’ve always been sensitive to outright bursts of anger. I find it very draining and upsetting. I don’t mind having disagreements, but shouting puts me off-balance.

My first response was: I think you misunderstood what I said. I just meant that money and friends often don’t mix well – and look and what’s happening here. Please stop shouting.

But he didn’t. He got meaner. More cutting and insulting.

Please leave my house, I said.

I recall feeling composed at this point. I was telling myself how well I was handling the situation.

Asking him to leave just made him angrier. He made no effort to do as I’d asked. He just stood there shouting at me.

Please leave, I repeated.

He began taunting me. Why don’t you call the police?

I have no idea why I didn’t.

Except, my innocence about people and their motives is rather child-like. I tend to believe people are who they present themselves as. This is despite plenty of evidence over the years that most people aren’t that honest.

So, even though he was mad for some reason I couldn’t fathom… I thought he was ‘just’ mad. I didn’t expect the situation to escalate. And I thought I could handle things – that I was handling things.

From this point on, my memories aren’t coherent. I see snapshots of things that happened, but I have no idea whether they directly are connected to each other or not. Perhaps there was something in between each flash, but perhaps not. Also, the conversations below are all ‘approximate’ because I just don’t remember what was said. I have more of a general feeling of the words used only.

I know I kept trying to explain that I wasn’t accusing him of anything, that I was talking about the whole ‘friends/money don’t mix’ thing. I also know that he wasn’t listening; he just kept shouting at me and refusing to leave.

He hadn’t put his shoes on yet. His shoes, guitar, amp and a small bag were sitting in the hall. I decided that if he wouldn’t leave, I’d start moving his stuff outside. Possibly not the wisest move, but my therapist thinks I have a history of taking unnecessary risks…

I grabbed his shoes and his bag and opened the front door, ferrying his belongings to the driveway. When I came back in I felt, rather than saw, a shift in his attitude. I went to pick up his amp.

Before I could, he grabbed me by the shoulders and threw me against the wall. The flat part at the base of my skull hit the plaster with a crack. My vision went white for a few seconds.

Don’t touch my instruments! he thundered.

Well get your shit out of here and just LEAVE, I demanded, in shock. And how dare you touch me, get your hands off me!

Now we were both standing in the hall, the front door was wide open.

He was taking cheap shots, attempting to use things I’d told him against me. Trying to upset me. No wonder your mother… I can’t remember the rest. Only that in the face of this maelstrom I remained strong.

You don’t know what you’re talking about, quite clearly. My parents love me.

Things were very tense. Stressful. Extreme.

I slowly inched him towards the door. I was getting desperate. The verbal abuse continued. More nonsense. Menacing nonsense.

The very next thing I remember was afterwards. You see, I didn’t know it had happened til it was done.

He looked at me with intense anger in his deep brown eyes, staring defiantly.

The world was surreal.

WHAT JUST HAPPENED? WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME? WHY IS HE LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT?

Then I started to feel the pain.

My black eye courtesy of AndreOh. My. God. My face… Did he? Hit me?

I didn’t see it coming. I didn’t even see his arm move.

What the hell did you do? Did you just HIT me? Why would you do that? You fucking PRICK, I was crying.

He stood there silently then said, Go on, hit me back. Go on.

Andre is incredibly strong, muscular and a martial artist. I’m also trained in martial arts, but my inner voice was screaming at me not to respond. DON’T BE CRAZY. HE’S MUCH STRONGER THAN YOU ARE. DON’T DO IT!

But somehow I clumsily slapped him, with almost no strength in my arm. Yet the earring in his right ear fell out, onto the carpet.

Good. Now you can’t complain to the police. You hit me as well. And geez, I hardly touched you. If I really wanted to hurt you, you’d know about it. I could smash your fucking head in if I wanted to. And I might just do that some time… he mumbled in a low deep growl.

I focused on that earring even though I was shaking and crying. I needed the situation to change. I wanted the shouting to stop. I wanted him gone, but I didn’t have a plan. I was totally winging it.

Your earring fell out. It’s on the carpet. Pick it up, and get the FUCK out of my house!

What? Is this a joke?

No. Get your fucking earring and leave.

As he bent down and grabbed it, I used all the power I could muster to physically push him backwards, out the door, and I closed the door in his face.

Only I wasn’t quite fast enough.

The door that Andre brokeHe regained his balance and leapt forwards, his guitar slung over his shoulder. The head of the guitar smashed one of the glass panels as he put his shoulder into the door and forced his way back into the hall.

There was more verbal abuse, screaming, shouting, threats of further violence. Words that are lost to me, drowned out by shock. Drowned out by the ugliness and anger in Andre’s face.

In desperation, I remembered something. A strategy. A way of breaking the energy of a confrontation.

So I started screaming at the top of my lungs. HELP!! HELP, SOMEONE HELP ME. HELP, I NEED HELP. SOMEONE PLEASE COME AND HELP! I’M BEING ATTACKED!! SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME! HELP, HELP, HELP!!!

Directly over the fence from my front door was a block of flats, no more than three meters away. There were multiple tenants, some of whom must have heard me. I was also living in a split residence with neighbours who always complained about the slightest noise. So they must have heard me too.

But no one came.

The night was dark and freezing cold, and my screams were lost in the chill blackness. Not even an echo remained. And no help came.

Inexplicably my screaming seemed to break the spell and he walked out. I slammed the door. But he didn’t go away. Instead he stood outside yelling abuse, making threats. Terrorising me a little more.

JUST GO AWAY!!

I was in tears, pain, shock, distress and fear. I was terribly confused. My body was shaking non-stop, which lasted the rest of the night and much of the following day.

I was still trying to work out what just happened. Why it happened.

The rest of that night’s story is told here: Those eyes – or – don’t step in the glass

*********************************************************************************************

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ground_zero

The term Ground Zero may be used to describe the point on the earth’s surface where an explosion occurs. In the case of an explosion above the ground, Ground Zero refers to the point on the ground directly below an explosion (see hypocenter). The term has often been associated with nuclear explosions and other large bombs, but is also used in relation to earthquakes, epidemics and other disasters to mark the point of the most severe damage or destruction. Damage gradually decreases with distance from this point.

~Svasti

Those eyes – or – don’t step in the glass

07 Saturday Jun 2008

Posted by Svasti in The Incident

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

Assault, Friends, Pain, Shaking, Terror, Violence

Kitty, don’t step in the glass, be careful. Don’t cut your paws. I’m so sorry for all the loud noises. You must be scared.
Oh fuck, its freezing. I have to fix the door, its letting all the cold air in.
Oh god, my face is BURNING…

He was gone by then, I think. But I’m not 100% sure because my hearing was off. Between the shuddering and shaking of my body, the flood of tears streaming down my face, the deathly silence in my flat, my haggard breathing and the pain in my body – I wasn’t really hearing properly any more.

There were only two things I could be sure of right then. I needed to board up the broken glass in my front door to stop the cold getting in and vacuum up the shards of glass in the hall.

Every inch of my body was shaking violently. My face was a mess of fiery swelling that seemed to scream at me, creating a buzzing in my ears. I was alone with a cat who was very worried about me. I was terrified.

First, I grabbed the dustpan and swept up the big shards of glass. Then I think I grabbed the vacuum. All the while, an icy blast was pouring through the jagged gash in the door. How was I going to fix that?? My brain had trouble coming up with anything… and then I remembered some thick artist’s cardboard I had. Got the scissors and packing tape and the chill winds were stopped.

I can ring the police! I rang the police. Something I didn’t think to do until after he’d gone. I don’t know why that is?!

Hi [sob, sob], I need to report [shake, shake, sob] an assault [shake, heave]

Okay can you tell me what happened?

Yes, [sob, sob] my friend was over for dinner [sob, sob] and he went crazy and he hit me [sob, sob] and threatened me [sob, sob]. Can you please come? [sob, shake, shake, shake]

Is he still there ma’am?

I’m not sure, [sob, sob] I think he’s outside [hyperventilate]. He was still there just before yelling and making threats. He broke the glass in my front door. I’m really scared. Can you come over?

Have you got the door locked?

Yyess… yes I have.

Do you have a security door?

Yes…

Okay, lock that too

O-o-okay [sob, shake, shiver]

Right, did anyone else see what happened?

No… it was just the two of us here [sob, sob]

If he’s gone there’s probably not that much we can do for you tonight. We can’t really arrest him for assault because it’s his word against yours.

Are you serious? You should see my face! And my door! [shaking]

I’m really sorry. You should go to the magistrate’s court tomorrow and take out an AVO. Do you know what that is ma’am?

Yes…

Good. And can you call a friend to come over tonight?

I… I guess so…

That’s good. If he comes back, call us again and we’ll come straight over.

Oh, okay. Bye…

I found my house keys and listened at the door for a while. Was he still lurking around? It was silent outside but that could mean anything. I took a deep breath and opened the door so I could lock the security door. Okay, good. My heart beat a little faster, but it didn’t compare to the ruckus going on in my face.

He’d only hit me on the left side of my face, and thrown me against the wall. My cheekbone throbbed and vibrated. The back of my head ached where it smacked into the wall. I couldn’t feel the rest of my body – just my face. The heat, the pain, was spreading up to my hairline, into my scalp and down my neck. And I couldn’t stop shaking or crying. I could barely catch my breath as the shock set in.

I don’t really recall the moments in between. Only fragments of that time, when I was trying to figure out what to do.

The policeman had said to call someone. I didn’t think to call my sister – she lived a very long way away. There was no question of calling my parents. I knew from experience they aren’t emotionally equipped to deal with a crisis.

But I’d only recently moved back to Melbourne and I didn’t have a lot of friends here yet. But I started calling anyway. Who was in my phone? Who did I know here? Did I know any men I could call? I desperately wanted to feel safe, to be around a male who wasn’t going to attack me. Who else?

I called M, an ex lover who is a very sweet person. I got voicemail – Help me, can you please call? I really need to talk to you. I called K – we’d met through a mutual friend in Sydney. Voicemail again. Please call me back if you get this message. I really need to talk to someone.

I can’t remember who else I called. There were a couple of people I think. But not many, because by that time already, Embarrassment and Shame were starting to rear their ugly heads.

Suddenly K rings me back.

What happened? What’s going on?

Through the unrest of my trembling and teary voice, I try to explain…

You remember Andre? That guy we met? He was over here tonight and he went nuts. It was like he was suddenly a different person. He made all these threats and then he hit me. I’m so freaked out, I’m so scared.

I’m coming over. I’ll be there as soon as I can.

Thank god.

K comes over, prepared to stay for the night. She’s tiny in stature compared to me, but her hug was the most comforting experience I could have asked for. She takes charge, making endless cups of hot sugary tea.

M rings back too. He and his girlfriend are nearby, just on their way home from something or other. Although he offers to come over, the fact that his girlfriend is with him makes me say no. I can’t have a complete stranger come to my place and see me in this state. I’m already so ashamed that this thing has happened to me. M thinks I should leave, go and stay at K’s place for the night.

He and K talk whilst I sit and shake. M thinks it would be good to get out of the place where it all happened. K is just worried. M hangs up and I talk to K about it. But I don’t want to go anywhere. I just want the world to open up and swallow me. So K says no, let’s stay. Let’s not flee the scene.

We talk for hours I think, until K needs to sleep. By this time she announces that I’ve warmed up a shade or two, and don’t look so pale and grey any more. I guess that’s a good thing? So we both get in my bed – so reassuring – and turn off the lights. But as soon as I shut my eyes, all I can see are his.

Not so much the colour or the shape. But the look in his eyes, right there at the back. It’s like he was saying, What are you going to do now? I’m the one with the power here. Don’t defy me, girl. Don’t even try.

His eyes didn’t look like my friend’s eyes. Gone was the gentle musician with the heart of a poet. Gone was the warmth and caring. It was a cold, soulless look. It was alien and deadly.

And now those eyes haunted me and stole any notion of sleep or tiredness. I got up, letting K sleep.

I sent my sister a text – Call me in the morning as soon as you get this. I need you to come over.

I sent Andre’s ex-girlfriend a text – Please call me when you get this message. You need to know what Andre has done tonight.

I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was numb throughout my body, except for the constant reminder of my face. Throbbing, aching, keening. I had no idea of how to spend the time until morning. Closing my eyes was not an option, although I tried – but every time, his eyes were there, waiting for me. Scaring me silly.

Every now and then, waves of tears would erupt, and each time I would shake non-stop. The sort of shaking you have when you’re really cold, chilled to the bone. Only, I was warm. The heater was working hard and I was wearing many layers of clothing.

Eventually I found some solace watching episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (of all things!). It carried me through the night in a state that felt oddly dissociative. Heck, who cares – Buffy and her friends kept me from losing the plot too badly.

(To be continued…)

Hola! Namaste!

27 Tuesday May 2008

Posted by Svasti in Introduction

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Assault, Domestic violence, Pain, Recovery, Trauma

So here it is – my first post on a blog I’ve been meaning to create for some time. Without further ado…

I’ve labelled this journal of mine – “Svasti: A Journey From Assault To Wholeness”.
I’m not sure if this will change, although the “Svasti” part of it will stay. Let’s just call it a working title for now.

“Svasti” is a Sanskrit word meaning “blessing”. Sanskrit is the root language of all modern Indo-Aryan languages and these days, its mostly used by scholars and yogis. I chose Svasti because I feel strongly that all experiences in life can be viewed as a blessing, even if the virtue of a given situation is not immediately apparent. Take it or leave it!

And yes, I was assaulted. On the 29th September 2005. I’ll refrain from telling this story in my first post, but I will say that it was a single incident. It was someone I knew, and it was completely unexpected.

Despite this being an isolated incident – attacked by someone I thought I knew in my own home – it has had an enormous impact on my life.

I did get help at the time, but like many people who experience trauma I think I did my best to suppress most of the pain. For many reasons, it’s no longer possible for me to do that (suppress things). It’s time for these things to come out, to resolve.

My reasons for creating Svasti are as follows:

  • Chronicle my own path, step-by-step, out of a rather nasty trauma
  • Handling and overcoming post-traumatic stress disorder
  • Finding ways to trust again – both myself and other people
  • Regaining confidence in my own judgement
  • Following my counselling process
  • Most important of all: Getting to a place where I can be in a relationship again

A beautiful thing about the human race is that everyone is different, and how we deal with trauma is very individual. So I am not suggesting that my experience is the same as anyone else’s. But if perchance, someone reads my words and gains insights about dealing with their own emotional pain… then great!

If nothing else, Svasti allows me a creative outlet for my inner world. And my goal is to eventually reach a place where this assault no longer has a negative impact on me in any way.

Wishing you many blessings,

Svasti
xo

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