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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: Sixth Sense

Involuntary actions – part 3

11 Thursday Feb 2010

Posted by Svasti in Learnings, Life

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

abortion, baby daddy, booty call, Chippy, contraception, Dreams, extreme mutual pleasure, kindergarten, Kinesiology, nightmares, portent, sexual liberation, Sixth Sense, surfer lover

[Read part 1 & part 2 first]

Did you think I wouldn’t go there? I know, I know… sorta left the story with a gapingly obvious question there, didn’t I? But the plan all along was to wade in, really. So don’t worry, coz here we are!

But before I could elaborate on this part of the story, I was lying in bed after publishing part 2 and… ohhhhh [the sound of stuff you never realised before but now see]! Reminded me of the time I broke the overhead light cover in the laundry last year because even to this day I’m *still* finding little shards everywhere. I suspect I won’t get them all until I shift EVERYTHING out of the laundry. But have you ever felt the need to move your washing machine once it was installed? Yeah, me neither… And exactly my point.

Before I go any further, I’ve gotta tell you about these dreams I had maybe ten years later. They seemed completely unrelated, even if they were terrifying. Of course, this is a huge hint that they aren’t unrelated, right? Because I’m not really going for that whole Sixth Sense he-was-dead-all-along twist [apologies if you haven’t seen that movie yet. Okay, not really because you should’ve by now!].

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

They started one night out of nowhere and weirdly. ‘Spose my sleepscape has always been awash with weirdness… realistic visions I could’ve sworn were actually happening, the occasional and incredible full scale movie in which I often had a starring role, horror scenes, vampires, flying, reptiles, alleged past lives and more. But also dreams of portent and that’s always been confusing, even to this day. Especially because I never really know the difference until after something I’ve dreamt has turned up and I get that oh yeah moment.

Even trickier is when fact and fantasy intermingle so it looks like one thing, but the message is important and not the visuals. Or vice versa. It’s never simple. And they don’t really give me an advantage at all. Fat lot of good that is, right?

Usually though, it’s not a retrospective message. Let alone many years later. And it definitely wasn’t pretty.

In my dream I was back in kindergarten, a place I remember well for some reason. Our cloakroom with the cool coat hooks in the shapes of animals or toys or ships, and the kid-size toilets tailor-made for tiny people. And the main area which was sort of divided up although it was really just one big space. The art area with easels and tables for masterful abstract kid-ling art. The story space with its huge rug and lots of room to sit next to your friends. The bookshelves. The spot where we’d eat our lunch and drink our milk. And the office.

We weren’t allowed in there except for official business and things like getting our eyes tested. And I was maybe four, and I was in there with my mother for some kind of medical check up. One minute I was sitting in her lap while she talked to the male doctor and the next… well, there’s no polite way to talk about a grown up being inappropriate with a child, is there? I felt like I couldn’t move, couldn’t get up. But my mother wasn’t there any longer. I was trapped in the office with this doctor and I… well, never mind…

I woke up distressed, crying. Was it real? Was it? Was it fucking REAL??? Oh. My. God. No… It couldn’t be real. I don’t think so. I’m sure it wasn’t. Unless it was? Fuck!

It wasn’t the last time I had that dream and before long I was a mess and completely confused. I tried to ask my mother a few delicately hedged questions without giving away my intent but to really explain properly, I had to spill. She was scathing. I mean, after all, I was asking her about stuff from a dream for crying out loud! I know that never happened, her voice tart and short, because there were NEVER any men working at the kindergarten.

So… that was it I guess? Except for the distress. I worried and wondered if this was some kind of repressed memory. I mean, I was a rather sexualised child in a way that apparently kids normally aren’t. What did it mean? Something? Anything? Nothing? No! I knew when I’d lost my virginity didn’t I? I’m sure about that if nothing else…

A friend suggested I go and see this therapist she knew. He was a kinesiologist and counsellor, and she had good things to say about him. If you’re not familiar with kinesiology then this all might sound a little strange. It’s a powerful practice and some especially talented therapists use it to help people tap into hidden emotional blocks, not just physical ills.

In this case, we analysed my very disturbing dreams using kinesiology to test my sub-conscious mind’s reaction to his questions. Which sure, can sound a little nutty but you really had to be there to understand. It was… impressive.

But I can’t describe the indescribable. I can barely remember what happened there. We talked, he used the muscle testing technique. I cried. He asked questions and I thought of certain things. He tested again. And on and on as we narrowed down the result.

And it came down to this: hidden shame and fear about my abortion. Feeling I’d lost the respect of my parents and feeling out of control. Note: this is what I worked out via thinking of specific things. I barely told him anything because he told me he didn’t need to know the specifics.

It made sense didn’t it? I was in that very compromising position as a doctor and his medical team scraped the contents of my womb under general anaesthetic and there was no escape once things kicked off. Consciously I didn’t feel ashamed or upset about it but clearly I held that somewhere in my body.

And so life went on. I’ve never fallen pregnant again although there’s been a few times where I’ve wondered. And some of those times I threatened myself. Body, I’ve said menacingly, you remember what we went through before? Well, it’s not that I ever want to do that again, but so help me if we’re pregnant that might just be on the cards, okay? So… let’s not be pregnant.

Who knows if it was the threats or if I simply wasn’t pregnant in the first place but eventually the bloody evidence allowed relief to replace tension and it was all okay. Sorta.

The other horror and shame of course, came from not knowing who that child’s father was. That’s right, I can’t tell you. It’s possible that had I been able to get blood tests from known the known contenders I still wouldn’t have an answer.

In an ideal/less than ideal world I often wished it’d been Chippy. I liked to think it was. Sweet, loveable cute surfer-boy dude of the sun-kissed golden hair and sunny nature, friend of M’s sometime boyfriend and all-round hot thing. And a wild man in the sack. They’d come over along with N’s (my other best friend) boyfriend when M’s parents were on holiday’s, having taken M’s younger brother with them. Three bedrooms of an otherwise empty house choc-full of horny young things, no vacancies, sorry!

I’d sleep on the floor on a mattress in M’s brother’s room and that’s where we’d romp. Chippy in many ways was my teacher. From this sweet hearted sexy thang, I learned about Grown Up Sex where extreme mutual pleasure was assured. So that’s what sex could be! No in-out-and-over with my surfer lover… it was always fun and downright awesome. Literally a booty call and nothing more, thank goodness for my Chippy!

But he was far from the only one. This was a time of sexual liberation for the three of us, doing what and whomever we wanted whenever it suited us. We never saw a down-side until it happened to me.

As far as M, N and I could figure it there were three possible baby daddy candidates. Well kinda. We joked about it a bit before that fateful train trip, but never after. But let me be clear: it’s not like I wasn’t using contraception. I was, mostly.

There was of course Chippy – my semi-regular lover, some guy I’d picked up at our local nightclub (oh my, the days when I’d go nightclubbing!) who’s number I never bothered to get, and then there was… well, stuff I hadn’t told either of them and could barely tell myself. Not the full story. Not the real story, whatever that was…

[Read part 4]

~Svasti

-37.814251 144.963169

Procrastination to the power of 25

23 Monday Feb 2009

Posted by Svasti in Awards, Fun

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

25 random things, About a Boy, blog award, Butt cheeks, Catatonic Kid, Fake ID, Horses, Malicious Intent, Meme, molè, Muriel's Wedding, Santa, Sixth Sense, Sleep talking, Synchronised swimming, Tea pots, Toni Collette

Despite having plenty to do right now, I can’t even be bothered hanging my washing out (although I’m gonna, I promise, just not right now).

The lovely Catatonic Kid is writing again (some beautiful posts as always), and so she memed me (don’t care if that’s not a word, I’m making it a word). Which I reckon is somewhat akin to mooning someone… ‘cept without the butt cheeks.

And instead of vacuuming or sending out résumés (things I really need to be doing), I present to y’all my list of utter randomness:

  1. As a child, I used to act out cereal commercials at the breakfast table. Y’know, pretending to be one of those kids eating Coco Pops on TV and talking about how yummy they are (especially when the milk turns chocolatey).
  2. I shouldn’t be allowed to sit too close to anything made of sandstone, coz I might just have an orgasm (I have a seriously weird fetish for the stuff).
  3. I have two common recurring dreams, always a little different of course. One is about sharks and swimming with them, unafraid. The other is about vampires. Usually I get to become one and then I have super powers, like the ability to fly. And that rocks.
  4. The beguiling Malicious Intent (you need to request access to read her blog) recently awarded me with a blog award. Many thanks, MI!! *blushes*
  5. I’m feeling a little embarrassed about the recent spate of blog awards I’ve received. Is there somewhere I can donate them for charity? Actually, if you feel like it, go pick one up from my awards page and tell everyone it’s from me (I’ll back your story up). If you want it, it’s yours…
  6. I collect tea pots. Sorta. I’m kinda against accumulating too much ‘stuff’ which conflicts with my desire to collect tea pots. So I only have four. Which isn’t too bad. And I use them all, since I’m a fan of brewing large pots of tea.
  7. I was a synchronised swimmer for around nine years of my life, starting at age nine. Yep, glitter, sequins, gelatine (used to keep the hair out of your eyes when performing), wearing make-up in the water – all of that.
  8. Synchronised swimming, whilst looking rather camp, actually requires a great deal of strength and skill. Not to mention the ability to hold your breath for long periods of time. So don’t diss the synchro swimmers!!
  9. Gelatine, made of horses’ hooves or something revolting like that, actually makes one’s hair very soft. So, each time there was a competition, we’d all looked forward to washing our hair at the end of the day for our ‘hair treatment’.
  10. Speaking of horses, I always loved them but was never allowed to have one. Dang! I had a horse poster above my bed for years and used to imagine he was real. A lot.
  11. I once sold Toni Collette (of Muriel’s Wedding, Sixth Sense & About a Boy fame) a futon, when I worked in a futon shop. It was for her mother’s house. She was super-nice and very grounded. It was before she was super-famous, although she was definitely well-known by then. I decided to play it super-cool, so I didn’t gush, didn’t say hey, aren’t you… (I knew it was her when she handed over her credit card).
  12. When I worked out Santa wasn’t real I used to ransack my parents’ bedroom just before Christmas. One year, I found three albums and knew mum and dad would give us one each. So, I dropped hints about the band I liked, and received the one I wanted (teehee!!).
  13. I used to make fake ID for myself and my friends. That was back in the days where a birth certificate extract would suffice! I found a way to fuse together blue and white paper (like the real thing) and with a bit of white out, a typewriter and the school photocopier… I’d run up very realistic looking birth certificate extracts.
  14. As a result, my friends and I went to way too many nightclubs in our last year of school. One of those times, I passed out drunk in the toilets. My friends thought I’d gone home and left without me. I had to make my own way home at 6am or thereabouts.
  15. I was a vegetarian and/or pescatarian for oh… a good nineteen years of my life. I do eat meat now, but prefer white meat to red.
  16. Although, when it comes to wine, I much prefer red. Almost exclusively. Mmmm, one way to my heart is with a very nice bottle of red!
  17. Something else you can feed me if you’re trying to seduce me is molé. Oh god, how I love, love, love molé!!
  18. Whilst my hair is reddish-brown, I haven’t seen my natural colour in years. Before I started dying it, my hair was often described as ‘strawberry blonde’ – whatever the hell that means – and its been various shades of red ever since. Right now, it’s kinda natural-ish but I’m getting a little bored with that…
  19. If you come to my house, I’ll ask you to remove your shoes. I’m anti wearing shoes inside that you’ve worn outside, getting who knows what all over them. Eeew! I’ll offer you slippers or socks to wear instead, so your feet don’t get cold.
  20. My parents never, ever respect my take off your shoes rule, even when I ask politely. Neither does my sister.
  21. I’m incredibly visually oriented. Often, things I want to say, write or do appear to me as pictures, way before they become anything else.
  22. One of my many skills includes the ability to raise my right eyebrow independently of the left. It’s something I practiced for years in front of the bathroom mirror. My mum can do the left and the right, but I only ever learned one side, damnit.
  23. Speaking of skills, I’m very flexible. Have been all my life. I can still do the splits and most of my joints hyper-extend. When I have my leg straight and not over-extended, it feels bent.
  24. I thought I’d outgrown my sleep talking habit, but in Thailand last year sharing a bamboo hut, my room mate reported my nightly mumblings each morning. Apparently, sometimes you can have a conversation with me while I slumber!
  25. I’m fairly certain I know what I’m gonna write my first book about. Hooray! But it’s still a baby seedling of an idea, protected from anyone else for now.

P.S. I’m one of those folks who’ll happily pass on a cool email, but remove the imperative to do so or else bad luck is coming. So, if ya wanna play and haven’t already done so… then go for gold! 😉

~Svasti

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