So much deep shit is coming up, and it's coming up so hard and fast and from places so far down I didn't even know about them. Feels like it's coming up from the places where the fire that kept me alive back then was burning, the places where the fire was burning and I didn't even know, but thank God.
I am sitting on the porch of my new home. This home is amazing. There is a little garden that I can do whatever I want with, but gardening isn't really my thing, so I'll probably just let it be. It's filled with echinacea and some tall purple flowers and sunflowers that have passed but which will be amazing next year. The kitchen is green and very sweet and there is a huge fucking dining room and the living room looks like an old lady's parlor. I feel overwhelmed by how wonderful it is and also by the immensity of the task of putting it together, of filling it with furniture and with myself.
Right before I came up here, I saw this body-based psychic, and she said that there's some stuff happening for me now around letting my whole self be seen, be known, letting it take up space. She said that making this home really mine will be part of that. Making it a place I can fill.
For the last month and half or so that I was in New York, things got really fucking hard. Hard in the way they get sometimes--life or death hard. And something that happened in that time, which I think is something that's always happened but which has never before been named in this way, is that I disappeared from my closest people. I went inside what I was feeling, and though I reached out in need--of comfort, of care, of support--I did not share the darkness I was in. I assumed as I always assume that no one wants to know. That there is beauty in me, but that the darkness isn't part of that, and so I keep it hidden.
And that being gone, that distance I created, it hurt some of my closest humans real bad.
Here, in this new home, in this solitude and emptiness, I am digging into shit that's so old I'd've thought it'd be gone, buried or burned or dissolved by now, but it's not. Maybe it's my Saturn return bringing it up, I don't know. But here it comes and it comes hard.
I am finally naming how that one horrible, broken, breaking human is imprinted on me forever. I said earlier today that I feel defeated. I feel like I've been fighting and fighting to be rid of him and I just can't get him gone. JRoss said, "Maybe it's not about getting him gone. Maybe it's about accepting the imprint." He broke me open with that. Here I am, imprinted. Here I am, terrified all the time. And maybe that won't ever change. And I am still going to be here. And I am still going to love hard and hope that something about this imprinted person, this wounded, broken person who will not heal in the way she wanted to, hope that something in me just is deeper and more beautiful 'cause of that imprint and hope that there is love for me even so.
I don't even feel angry. I just feel so sad. I feel forever burdened, bowing beneath the weight of this stupid thing I did when I was a kid that will now last forever.
Obviously, in the past years there have been major healings, major breakthroughs, major lettings go. But there is something that will not leave. And I think Jules is right. I think I have to just integrate that something into all the rest. I think fighting it, trying to "get better" is exhausting and painful and damaging. I think real healing might come from integration more often than I realized.
But, damn. It is so hard, so painful, this feeling forever afraid. Like I have to be so sorry or so ready to be sorry. Always stepping back. Always making sure there is a safe path out the door. Always feeling like the other person is angry, and if they aren't angry it's because they are repressing their anger because they think I am too stupid or too sick or too weak to hear the criticism they want to give me about whatever I am doing wrong.
It's much easier when I am alone. When I am alone, there is no one to fear. But I do not want to be alone. I want to be with humans, and the one in particular. And I do not want the sweet and gentle humans in my life to feel the way they feel when I cower, like they have given me some reason to cower, because it is not and will never be any of you I cower from.
I think this integration might come from feeling the fear and choosing to live in the face of it. Choosing not to cower, not to duck, not to back up or apologize. Choosing to say, okay, yes. There is a chance this moment could turn unexpectedly, and that that could be terrifying. But there is also a chance that it will not, and so here I am, choosing to be fully in this moment, fully in it and alive.
I think I have to hold onto the truth I know more deeply than any other truth--even if things in some way get terrifying, even if some force tries to reach inside me and extinguish the fire, I know I can live through it. I know I can live through anything. I know there is something in me that is hotter than anyone's grabbing fist. Maybe that's the imprint.
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