“I’m Here” Proclaims A Little Girl Who Was Not Allowed to Be

Until I wrote this journal, I never understood, in such a clear way, why I had wanted so desperately for my life to be over. After the first or second year in therapy, I remembered that when I was 14, I attempted suicide. I wanted someone to run me over. (I didn’t try and slice my arm like my mom did when we lived up North.) I was walking down the middle of 7th avenue wanting a car to hit me. It was late and dark outside. I was crying very hard. My dad had just had sex with me again and I was feeling so dirty and wanted it to all be over. One man opened his car window and called me a crazy kid and yelled go home you stupid kid. If only he knew why I was doing what I was trying to do. On this night I decided as I cried out to God, I’ll show them, I’ll show them all. I will get an in-curable disease and then I will find a cure for it. Then someone WILL see me. I forgot that I had made this conscious decision. And then I began to write this journal and re-member and understand why I manifested Multiple Sclerosis. As I wrote in my journal each morning I stated this intent, “I am open, my unconscious mind is completely conscious, I am extremely prosperous/wealthy and I am full of love.” The memories will continue to come for me and I am strong enough to cope now. I no longer have the need to dissociate from parts of my body. I take the memory trauma to my therapy sessions to release it. I go into the trauma feeling through my body, deep into the tissues through awareness of my breath. This leaves me feeling exhausted yet more whole. When I was a little girl, I used to look into my eyes in the mirror. I would leave my body through my eyes and go into the eyes in the mirror. My mirror eyes would then look back out into the eyes of the little girl outside. I’d go back and forth until I disappeared. I discovered that this was magical. Many years later, I realized it helped me stay alive because I didn’t have to feel what was happening to me. By becoming totally amnesiac, I was able to survive. May 26, 1989 My dreams were mixed last evening. There was a dog in one dream and she was being chopped apart. In the dream I saw the dog I have now, but I know it wasn’t her because I was little in the dream. I can't remember the entire dream because it was a horror sort of dream. There was a man and I think it was my father of origin. I was wide eyed in the dream, almost bug eyed with terror. There were two parts of me, one part that helped the man skin and a part that did nothing but watch in terror. He took the left leg and hip off and threw it onto the fire to cook and it still had all the hair on it; that moment I was present and looked at the dog. The dog was alive when the man did this and the dog looked at me with so much sadness. Before I became present I had a sense that I was helping the man by skinning the parts that he gave to me. It's as if a door opened last night and this memory was released, or maybe it is a sign of what I will be getting myself into as I make this journey into this story. At this moment I give myself permission to stop whenever I need to. The sign being chopping the animal in me apart and throwing the pieces into the fire, hair and all. That would be the gestalt way of looking at it. I acknowledge the dance of avoidance I do as I prepare to journey into the past that I have run so hard to get away from. And yet, I'm pulled to acknowledge that little girl who was not allowed to be. June 1, 1989 The deeper the water the more still it becomes. There is so much pain inside of me, so very much pain. I've been so very busy in the material world. The more I hurt, the more work I tend to do. Yet I've not been as attached to my material work of late as I normally am. I feel distant, not as focused, as I usually tend to be. My eyes burn with the tears that I still need to shed. I should be happy, well I am truly happy for myself and all of my accomplishments but I don't stop hurting. What can be justice for the cruelties that were done? When my mother said she'd fix it so that I would not say those things again, well, she put me in the closet, a little closet that was dark. I was told I'd stay there until I learned never to say ugly lies again. "But they weren't lies ‘Reace! They weren't lies they really did those things to me". Mother left me in the closet for a long time, so long that the only thing to drink was my urine. I curled up in the corner vowing never to share again and now as I share on paper I can hardly see. The tears are interfering with my sight.