Light

Sometimes I wake up in the early morning and it is as if there is a darkness inside of me.  If I stay in bed, it pools in my stomach, and makes me feel bad about myself.   It’s only when I get up, go downstairs and meditate that it eventually finds its way out of me.

It leaves in tears and though my open mouth.

One night I sat on the couch staring at the wood stove envying its hinges.  If only I could unhinge my jaw like a snake, I thought,  then all the darkness could leave at once.

Since being triggered in August at an ear doctor’s appointment, I have been dealing with the truth of a childhood  trauma I had repressed.  I still don’t know the details, only the clues from that experience at the doctor’s office and from the dreams I’ve had since then.

I’m doing so much better now.

With the consent of my therapist I’ve stopped seeing her, knowing that she is there for me anytime I choose to go back.  My life long dreams of being attacked by a man changed so that in them I was finally able to fight back and either kill or chase the man away. (In  the last  dream like this, I  was in a bookstore and knocked over a shelf of books to get the attention of the people around me and keep the man who was chasing me away. I loved that I used books to help save me).  And I’ve gone more than a month without waking up and feeling the darkness inside of me.

But I still get triggered sometimes by something I’ve read or heard or seen.  It causes panic attacks, depression or anger.  And I often don’t understand why I’m feeling the way I do.

It helps me to take walks, draw or sew,  meditate, dance and to talk about it.   I’m fortunate that Jon is an understanding  partner in my life, who is always willing to talk to me and help when he can.

I’m writing this not for sympathy, but because it’s the truth.  And although I may not mention it as often as I feel it, there are times where I have the urge to write about it. It feels too much like hiding or even lying, if don’t.

I also hope that it might somehow help someone reading it to understand themselves or a person they know, who has had a similar experience.

And, often it effects my art and my writing.  Almost always in a good way.

On the other end of the darkness I can come up with a new idea,  or go to my studio and find hope in creating something that another person seems to be able to connect to, to understand without words.  The other end of the darkness makes me want to find joy in the little things, the small wonders around me.

This morning I came downstairs and saw the dried yellow roses in the vase on my desk.  I wanted, almost needed to draw them.

When I made the mistake of placing the base of the lamp too high up on the paper, instead of starting a new drawing, I gave the lamp wings.  After all, it looked like it was flying.

Light I thought as I looked at it afterwards, in brightness, weight and awareness.  That’s what I’m going for.

There must be a goddess of light,  maybe it’s time for me to look for her.