Beneath the Secrets by Angela
Red Alert. Our warning. Means things are really “bad” Inside. Full of pain. Need to shut down as much as possible. Those who can help us get through come to the surface and do their job. Rest. Read. Tv. Sleep-drugged. And it may mean memories are surfacing. Yellow Alert. Milder of course but look out. Don’t have to shut down yet we still may need to be protective and very aware of our needs. Cut down on obligations if possible.
Working with the tiny Asian woman we hit Red Alert. We tell her we are having trouble. We don’t hide it. Together we move to the kitchen where we can make tea for both of us. She is fine through this. We know we have to be honest in this work. Our clients must know what we are dealing with as well. If you are not honest with a survivor she will sniff it out very quickly. She develops good radar when she is abused. She has to. Trying to second guess her abuser, when the next hit is coming. What are his/her signals that tell her it’s time again. Read his/her body language. Monitor his/her words. Know his/her routines. Check his/her mood. Know which part of her is needed to get through. In fact, she could do a check list. This is all for the survival of her mind.
We see the other client as well today. Even she can sense something different in us. She says she can see the anger in our eyes. Yes, that’s a good way to describe it. When we go on Red Alert there is always rage behind it. and determination now, as an adult. The message to those who harmed us? You will not win now. You will no longer beat us down. You have had your day and now it is ours. You will pay, in some way, for what you did. That fire is so precious to us. It comes from quite a few of us. Gabriel (3). The Beast Within (1). Black Widow (3). Shall I go on?
The depression hits and it hurts something fierce. As a child, we buried ourself in layers and layers of armour against this, the hopelessness, the danger that sat just around the corner. We experience this again, now, in the midst of this recovering. Daily anxiety, terror, sense of doom. We hid it so well back then, didn’t we. Gave it to ones like me who knew nothing expect the dark door. Simple. That was it. A door I knew not to open. I told it to go away. I knew even then that Death was behind it. Some kind of dying.
I go play with my dolls, my ball. My jacks. The small pleasures. The ways to hide.
However .... we are adult now. It’s time to open the door. Inside someone screams, on and on but we have to ignore that. We have to find the courage to turn that knob. See into the dark. We squirm and try to wriggle away from it. Our resistance shows itself in restlessness. We can’t sit still for long. Start to read a book, then stop. Get up. Go watch tv. Then stop. Go wash some dishes. Then stop. Go to the store. Then stop. A day full of start and stop. The continual squirming. Please, this is so uncomfortable. Can we do this another day? No. It is time ... I hate those “wise” voices Inside. Leave me the fuck alone.
Our most treasured possession – our internal world. It is all ours. It is haunting and dark at times but still it gives us comfort and control. I feel drawn to it right now, wishing to bury myself in there.
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Memory hits and it hits hard. His blood red devil face flashes in quick bit images. Terror reigns. Acute. Nausea. Images felt not seen. We are watching a hockey game on tv. We spiral into it, down into the past. Near the end of the game our stomach is shaking, the body in shock. Cold. We wrap blankets around us and continue to shake. The game is still on the tv. Surreal.
And then, over the Garden, she appears. A Thousand-Winged Beast. She produces a hurricane with the whirring of her many wings, causes everything to bend and submit, debris everywhere. The wing vibration is the buzz of a huge bee. She is terrifying to see, to hear, to feel. Who is she? Gabriel answers but does not tell us whether she harms or protects. Embedded within her is a number, a code. 617. He will not tell us what it means though. After a time the wings slow and she begins to fade. Soon she is gone, leaving an aftermath of chaos and pure emotion. There is no room for thought, for figuring out the mystery. It simply is.
The tv is now off. Lance is here and we sit with him, still shaking and beginning to cry. Why can’t Phoenix (8) take this away from us? Let her carry our pain. Isn’t that what she is for? But no response comes. And then ... sssshhhh. One who calms us, softly whispering, it’s okay. You are okay now. Rebecca (1)? Bit by bit the crying stops, subsides in gulps. Breathing slows down. Soon we are calm. The storm has ended for now.
Memory fades.
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Working on a jigsaw puzzle Julia (1) turns around and smiles at Lance. He knows it is her. He can now tell the difference between her and Katy Ann (2). She is soft and unassuming, a bit like CF (1).
A feeling comes upon me and suddenly I start to dissociate. I am floating away and a deep sadness descends upon us. Grief.
Flashbacks and flicks too. The Time Traveller (2) has been busy again, retrieving bits and pieces from The Keepers of Maura (2). Some of it is not abuse. Some is simply the past and even that hurts so much. This is the Remembering too.
The Thousand-Winged Beast is not gone but still hovers near. And boxes marked 6. 1. 7.
The Children of the Thirteen (3), and we still deal with their memory. We cry and cry in Meghan’s office. It seems impossible to do our work with her. Flicks, flashes, images just keep happening, sending ripples of fear throughout. Scared.
We move out of the Garden now. Onto the next part of our journey, whatever that might be. We move swiftly through time, energy, life, the universe. Holding the rabbit dolls, our guts clenching with sobbing and fear. Patience (1) encourages us on though, to feel the fear and move beyond it. Our feet still on the ground. We are not lost but emerging so clearly.
Gabriel leads the way and out. Phoenix is in front, dancing, throwing handfuls of stars up and they sprinkle down upon us. She and Tir (1) dancing. Black and white revolving and moving. Yin and yang. Our new self becoming.
And so another gate is before us. Where it leads to, we don’t know yet. There seems to be a light coming from beyond it and someone whispers the word “crusade”.
Katy Ann draws another picture for the Garden Series. In the end, it will be the last picture, the last piece of the puzzle but she draws it now. There are other pieces she hasn’t done yet though. It was clear however that she needed to do this one today. An ending of some sort.
In the dark. We stand in a circle, our backs to the center, facing outwards. Waiting for the journey to find us. We are the beacon in the night.
Othel (1) says that maybe what we choose to believe about ourself is what makes us survive or die, what makes the difference in the quality of our life. If we believe we have a special purpose in the grand scheme of things then our will to live, our quality of life is based on that. If we believe we will never know anything but pain then maybe we will choose suicide or some kind of death. If we choose a god with power over us then we will surrender our lives to that god.
In the lostness, in the darkness, we begin to find our way home.
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