I have been mildly berserk for several days now. I have had the neurological disease—lack of coordination, poor fine and gross motor skills, and for a while there yesterday, the stunning but always entertaining inability to speak English. Unfortunately, all this trouble has also lead to the harming of my body. All of which leads me to the conclusion that I am in trouble. Actually, I have been in trouble. I now know a great deal more is going on than I’m aware of.
ONE BIG PROBLEM IS THAT I DO NOT KNOW WHY ALL THIS IS GOING ON.
Okay, I do know that I have been upset since seeing the movie Philadelphia. I do know that I am upset about what is going on between Leslie and Adrian. I do know that I am upset about the stunning number of abusive boss to subordinate relationships that are blossoming in my office. I am current even upset that JB died of AIDS in my wheelchair the night before last. Okay. Okay. Okay. I am also upset about my daughter's seventh birthday, but why?
My counselor, who is known for knowing about this sort of thing, does not think I am merely mental, suffering purely from poor brain chemical interactions. She is certain I have been triggered into some memory backlash. She is certain that my troups (alters by any other name) are riled up, stirred up, reacting out of the past, and thinking even now they are experiencing the past.
All I get from them is anger, more anger, and a stunning number of ways to hurt myself without using weapons. Here, it is very important to define weapons. Is jumping off a bridge using a weapon? We have already determined that biting and scratching is within the bounds of no weapons. But is raising the car off the floor and dropping it on your hand using a weapon? And, let me just say that not using weapons, i.e., only those body parts that god intended be used to alter an environment, can still make really horrid wounds.
I know it is important here for me to carry on about what they are angry about...if I knew. But I am not quite ready. I would also like to add that I have been shaking/convulsing on and off for three days. Today, I noticed that my eyes are not focusing on distance well. Of course, my head hurts, and I haven't a clue as to which drug is doing what to me which in itself makes me angry. But now to that other venue…
* * * * * * *
They ask us why we're angry. As if we know. As if we can think. The roar is deafening. No one can hear anyone speak. It is too loud. It is the noise of 25 years of rage. It bounces from all the walls and corners, crisscrossing itself until even pictures are muted.
I (One Blink/John Thomas/David) can say there was killing, meanness, anger, and blood. It was unforgiving. There was hurting that never quit, couldn't quit, and can’t quit now. Everywhere we look we see it. We know it has not stopped. We know it will not stop.
Usually, that pain in the butt one makes us not look too closely, because she knows that we will leave the planet and take her with us.
But, resolution, what is that? We do not know. The killing and hurting is continuing. We cannot stop it. We only know how to be a part of it.
That woman she pays money to says, "It is not happening now. You are remembering that which was but is not happening in this reality, right now, for Joceile. You are remembering.” It does not feel that way to us. We are hurting. We want to hurt back. We do not understand how we can stay here. We want to hurt back. But that woman and Joceile do not want us to hurt back. But staying here is not tolerable. I (One Blink/John Thomas/David) can still hear the screaming. I hear it now. It makes me want to lash out and hurt. There is only one person I am allowed to hurt. It would be the corpse I live in.
There is nothing new here. There is no reason to go over it again. That woman thinks there is something. Something about more meanness that I am remembering but my experience is that it's happening now. I feel it in my body. It hurts. I am hurting. I do not feel safe. I feel imperiled and now that I have written this, I feel more so. So that stupid corpse I live with will take a pill (“Another one?!” I say.) and crawl off to bed hoping to stave off the nightmare that does not end. Hoping to keep talking and walking and being a productive member of society. But that is only one side of her. The other side lives here and takes control when one no one else can.
I hate you.
L'Claim.
* * * * * * *
"So, I am wounded," I say. "Isn't that enough?"
"It is never enough," they say, "as long as blood flows.”