Part of healing from the ME, involves confronting the emotional, psychological and physical pain of abuse. After 6 months of therapy, I have reached an end, of one kind. Here is my farewell to a part of myself, tormented and another to my therapist.
Walls white, clinical in a room sterile. Ticking clock, ludicrously loud in silence still. Chairs, two, strategically staged in a middle. A middle of what seems like no where. A space, strange. Deliberately strangling air, choking.
Hands and feet, small waiting in anticipation, new. Unfamiliar unfamiliarity clawing at familiarities, familiar. Battle, defeated by the world once known. A child and I, trapped as one. Our being crushed by one another. Neither surviving, survivors. Both delicate victims of a war, ancient. Dowsed in a desire to live, yet living not. Life forces drained by each other. Death, destined for one, weakest.
Week, after week, a passerby. A tug and war, between her and I. Her tears, tears mine. United in our fears. Enraged by each other, times a many. Slowly, we open a door, new. Steps tentative. One step progressive the other hindered. Stand still, we do. Gazes ours unrelenting. Unwilling, unwillingness, will us to remain. Seduced by tones, sweet of a world another, relent we. Dreams romantic plant seeds in a heart cold, once.
Indians invasive, intrude on calming calmlessness. Shoulders, tiny tremble in the wake of a threat, pending. Waters murky, soaking feet, fragile. Boundaries blurry blurred, again and again. Child fearful fearing a fate destined.
Voice of reason, reasoning in an ear, deaf. Noises, old, rushing back and forth. Amongst the hazy haziness emerges hope, unanticipated. Wings purple of a butterfly beautiful, beckon her closer. A dance intricate between Indians and her. Waters muddy, clearer than clarity itself. Imprints, small in sand warm.
Her and I, united. At times in embraces warm. And in others, a distant safe. Moments those, passed in an air of acknowledgement respectful. Friends not always, but foes no more. Fingers, of a child in a hand, rough with age. Together, stand we whole. The self, almost in pieces complete. Fragmented no more.
One, we are. Walls, once clinical, home of a kind now. Unfamiliarity, a familiar blanket, reassuring. Feet, solid on ground temperamental. Voices chaotic, no longer tearing a soul, damaged. Toxic, toxicness returned to sender, ugly. Reason, a reasonable friend, well, almost.
A door, closed other.