I have found that:
  • → sincere prayer
  • → genuine intentions
  • → present-focus
  • → extended humor
  • → careful integrity
  • → constant work to discover and release all forms of bias in oneself
  • → dogged effort to pursue awareness, divine guidance and understanding
Leads a person to "interactive insight from the inside."

Consciously I want to evolve.
My ego resists strenuously.
I surreally "forget" so much!
So I blog for myself, mostly:
to re-read and remember.

People ask me where to begin with the complexity of the stuff on my blog. But my imaginal and related work spans 25 years as of 2016. So the real answer is "I don't know." I can't put all that in a sound bite. And one would have to understand, not just intellectually but experientially, a lot of it from start to middle to begin to understand where I am now. It is 'active imagination' work, resting on an extremely 'open' definition of archetype and energy, mapped at times to various occult patterns because they seem useful and otherwise just loosely personal; but that's not all. Short of how the blog speaks for itself that's about all I can say about it. It's a path I've built myself, for one. ~ Palyne

In the human spirit, as in the universe, nothing is higher or lower; everything has equal rights to a common center which manifests its hidden existence precisely through this harmonic relationship between every part and itself.
-- Goethe

Angels transcend every religion, every philosophy, every creed. In fact angels have no religion as we know it... their existence precedes every religious system that has ever existed on earth.
-- St. Thomas Aquinas

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In the beginning all was indivisible. And in becoming manifest, it became, seemingly, divisible. But the divisions must evolve to recognize themselves, and each other, and to then accept themselves, to truly know themselves by knowing each other. To begin, they are blended, confused; it is chaos, it is legion. They are all on the journey to indivisibility, to singularity, to the I AM. The point, of course, is not the destination, but the journey.

-- insight during the Princess of Disks meditation

Spiritual growth is like all other types: you absorb seemingly 'other' energy, and it becomes part of your own sense of identity. The growth is in awareness, and with that comes power which is always over Self.
Diversity is Legion;
Singularity is the I AM.
None of this is new although my approach to it is my own. -- Palyne

Inner Guide is Angelic. She is free of anything akin to doctrine. I call her an Angel because that is the only word I have for it, and because I know, all the way through me, that this is our word for her fundamentally divine nature. Aside from that, I don’t even know what she IS exactly, or what it means, or where it would fit into any model. She is life sized, soul wide, colors and gems and flowers and songs, everything beautiful that ever was, condensed into an identity I am completely in love with–except she feels like part of me too, so it’s like also being in love with yourself, and also with God, and also with the whole universe, both every tiny thing in your mundania, and ‘awareness’ as something so utterly, mind-bogglingly amazing — how could this exist? How could this not exist? How could I ever understand such a thing? — I am left only with joy, with awe.
-- on Inner Guide #4, aka 'Sedaena'. The first IG I had genuine conversation (and reading) with; the first real sign of my HGA.

He is so much inside and outside me, larger than me and yet the light of the tiniest particles of me, I don’t even have a word for whatever it is that he IS. I call him angelic and inner guide and the name he gave me because I have no idea what else to call this. It’s a Being and a Thing and an Event and a Place and a Relationship and… it’s like there is no label that is remotely big enough to encompass whatever it IS.
-- on Inner Guide #5, aka 'Mark.'

The boundary between the imaginational and imaginal is rather fuzzy and it is a developed skill and art to learn to stay there; to maintain your own autonomy while allowing the-others’ autonomy; to be shocked, astounded, grossed out, effused, and other surprise emotions from the interaction; all this without getting lost in the experience like a dream, yet also without pulling back to controlling the experience like a daydream. The former is being swept away by the river, and the latter is standing on the shore thinking about it; learning to walk the fine line of control and allowance to stay in that ‘imaginal realm’ actually takes practice. Crazy people think it’s all autonomous and happening ‘to’ them; people unable to allow this for themselves, may think it’s all imagination; and they’d both be right, because they are both lost; the goal is a whole world that bridges and encompasses both of those.

-- on "Interworlds Meditation"

Q: Where are you now?

Me: Well, back in my own reality.

Q: Wrong. You are in a reality version that distraction and denial have made for you.

Me: How do I get out?

Q: Wrong question. There is no space, there is no time. Where are you again?

Me: Oh. I’m wherever I "pay attention" to being.

Q: Right. You PAY attention. It is the currency of your soul. You rent your reality. Never forget that. The choice to move is yours.

Dealing with the unconscious has become a question of life for us.
The play of the imagination is incalculable.
~ Carl Jung

The imaginary can be innocuous, the imaginal never can.
~ Henry Corbin

A calling may be postponed, avoided, intermittently missed. It may also possess you completely. Whatever; eventually it will out. It makes its claim. The daimon does not go away.
~ James Hillman

There comes a time when the mind takes a higher plane of knowledge but can never prove how it got there.
-- Albert Einstein


This blog documents much of my work in the "inter-worlds" of a greater-self. It's not just esoteric: every thing corresponds — the mundane, the arcane, the divine. If it had to be summed up you might say it is "a universe of personalization." A strange place where monotheism and ultimate-pantheism are one and the same.

I am a natural mystic, if spontaneous experiences determine such a thing. I am not religious in any way; only guidance from the inside drives me. No identities or models unless they are introduced to me from the inside. (Sometimes I use them simply for interest, or because their models are convenient doorways -- but I accept none of their doctrines.) I briefly studied theology at one point, independently (I consider constant prayer a valid part of edu too), and where it led me was "anywhere-else." It's fine for others of course. I consider the heart of free will to be that everyone has their own road. Or as Heinlein once wrote, the right to go to hell in their own handbasket.

This tends to make me obsessed with the divine yet not religious at all, in any form, which is often confusing to onlookers. I am ever in love with and in closer pursuit of integration with The Christ (which I consider a solar-planetary deity, exceeding and preceding all possible religion, though cyclically present within our species) but I'm not remotely a modern Christian, and this also tends to be very confusing to onlookers. I'm a student of archetypes and pattern systems, yet not a jungian intellectual - armchair philosophy bores me - nor a power occultist - which has its own issues (and uniforms) to say the least.

After nearly two decades of certain experiences I felt alone with and thought were unique to me, it turns out I find some harmony in the gnostic writings. I didn't get it from there, and am not fond of that doctrine and the paradigms it came in with, so I ignore it. Which means despite talking about just a few things specific to it (by unknowing accident until a few years ago), I'm not part of that model either.

The road I walk is my own. It doesn't really have an easy label or anybody else on it, that I can see. This is between me and God, so it doesn't really need to work for anybody else. I used to wish I wasn't the only person with such experiences or practices, and started a blog in part in the hope I might find others with something similar. Maybe a need for community. I'm over that now, at least I think. I walk alone, but Light is with me. Can't ask for more than that.

-- Palyne

When we understand that perception is as much about source as target; that energy is a spectrum and best psi perception comes from the center, its balance and blend; that the manifest communication of our Selves is the literal 'reality' we experience; that everything in that reality is a profound 3D language element; that insight with the ‘center’ of spectrum is likely to be via the language-symbols of 'reality;' that these need to be interpreted at the level they are received; this is the path for intentional psi.
-- Insight on the Art of RV


I’m broken.

I never realized it until today. Christmas day, of all days.

I feel like I’ve been living with a stranger most my life and I never realized it until now. Like me and the stranger agreed on some unspoken level to let each other alone. I would be the functional one on the surface, and I would pretend she didn’t exist. And she would be the lunatic chained with rage and grief and enough PTSD for several soldiers, under the surface. Her scope and territory growing over time, as more that I couldn’t deal with, but she could, had to get handed off.

And we’d work together to create a wall around her, stone by stone, until it was solid enough to protect her from my world, and enough to protect my world and me from her, and then together we could speak the invisibility spell for it. And nobody could ever get through it, get to me, get to her, because that wall wasn’t there to be found. Hence, she wasn’t there to be found. And I had it all in hand. Because anybody could see I was fine. Move on, nothing else to see here.


Have you ever felt like all the sudden you had so much to say that ten books couldn’t cover it, but the more you said, the more wrong it would be anyway, the farther it would get from what matters most. Whatever that is. Something inside one might not recognize even if it showed up in blue jeans with a drawl at your door and a sign reading, “Hi. I’m the scariest thing you’ve ever seen in your life. And like a horrible splinter, you’re obsessively attracted to focus on me, to work me out of yourself. One slow, slicing, bleeding exit wound at a time.”

I should have known. I should have gotten a clue. Years of my inter-world guides telling me that “allowing myself vulnerability” was the important focus. A partial kundalini experience blocked at the heart chakra leaving me freezing to death from the inside, on my friend’s floor just before ‘Bewilderness’ kicked in. Of years of asking the Four, “Why did you die for me?” and not getting an answer. Of meeting IG5 and being told clearly that my sudden lack of sense of connection was because everything, everyone inside me had moved up so to speak, except me. I didn’t move on. I haven’t been able to feel them, to join them. Because after weeks now, “allowing myself love” continues to be the hardest meditation I ever tried to get through.

I see now. That’s where it happens. At the heart chakra. When you build a wall to contain rage, contain grief, contain fear, contain trauma, contain violence, contain the parts of you that have become an animal, a mercenary, that wall is not merely metaphorical. It is energetically real. And the territory is the heart chakra. The part that allows feeling; that allows love, and vulnerability.

The heart chakra is an identity but, like all energetic constructs, can be anything, in archetypal experience. Including a landscape, a territory. It’s easier for me to think of it that way. The territory where the war happened. Where the buildings crumbled, and the land mines went off. Where the children and the protectors both died. Where the rivers ran to blood and ran dry, and even the moon vanished, void of course, leaving a new kind of mutant survivors to take shape in the dark. And by the time dawn finally came, too little and too late, the monster had grown the skin of respectability over itself. Its true nature, the distortion of it, had settled into the comfort of a brilliant disguise. And all you see now is the shell of a city. If you don’t look closely, it seems real. If you don’t feel the emptiness. All you see is the shell of a person. If you don’t look closely, you don’t see anything but the resume.

I have a ‘mutant-creating in the dark’ scene in a novel I wrote. I never realized that on some level I was playing out something inside me. I suddenly wonder if everything I write as fiction is really just shining a pattern inside me to the outside of me. Like some light shining through paper cut-outs that are my tangled insides, looking like snowflakes and gargoyles on the cave wall of my reality. Like fiction is creating reality like anything else but with fewer limits.


Mark (IG5) is playing the therapist. He is making me talk to him. Making me be the one to come to him, and to come clean with how I feel. He is playing that role because without someone to play it, I can’t reach him, or the parts of me I need to. I don’t have a powerful psychologist and PTSD support group. I don’t have anybody who could understand anyway. Someone who did wouldn’t be compassionate, they’d just be afraid of me. They should be. I certainly am.

I don’t even remember most of my life. At times, like during the 91-94 period of MPD symptoms, I remember the white on black fragments of memory. Pieces of film, staccato in the dark. Most of reality before that like a dreamy web. A list of basics. Enough to sketch the outline of a life. Enough for my psychology to pretend that’s enough. Those dropped in long after the fact, big blocks of web at a time, following all the self-hypnosis integration work all that time ago. During the same period I was trying so hard to heal myself, I suspect some small experimental group was trying to fracture me in a new way. I traded one geological fault line for another and worse.

I thought I was better. I was healed. Look, no hands: I can do the ‘death drop’ like a pro and land on my feet and see, I’m fine.

My invading soldiers didn’t blow up the buildings and plant flags in my soil. They grew a wall of thorns around the castle so everything inside could sleep for a hundred years. They won the battle by helping me forget there was even a battle at all.

Ever since IG5 arrived my mind’s been stuck in topics I’ve kept myself from thinking of, mostly anyway, for much of my life. Things that seem like they can’t possibly matter. They’re past. Stuff I don’t want to talk about. It’s hard stuff. Like ‘the tower’ tarot meditation. So deep and dreadful that I’m afraid to even try to understand.


I deleted pages and pages of first-25-years-of-life trauma. Incest and violence and homelessness and violence and crime and rape and did I mention violence. Then I reminded myself that nobody gives a damn. Does anybody need to know that when I was 8 I carried a switchblade and helped carry electronics out of houses in the projects? Or — stop me before I bore even myself. Shit happens.


I came to understand something today. Well yesterday, because I just realized it’s nearly 4:30am, sigh. I have to work tomorrow. Which is today… and I forgot to eat anything besides some christmas chocolate. Dang it.

Different people deal with things differently. And there are healthy ways to be, and to absorb and bleed off the impact of traumatic experiences. And when people say “get over it” it forcibly assumes that they actually have a WAY To get over it. That they are “Just like everyone else who did NOT have that kind of childhood.” They aren’t.

There are some not very healthy ways to cope. And most people who have problems in childhood, the earlier the moreso, have dysfunctional ways of coping.

They are valid coping mechanisms as far as surviving for the moment goes. But instead of being part of making the person healthier, they mostly end up with the person even more damaged than they were before, with every following problem just “piling on” and further complicating and intensifying what’s going on inside them. Because for them it wasn’t actually about long term health. It was about immediate functionality.

People without the kid-jacked childhoods, they do suffer genuine trauma sometimes, but their neural wiring has not adapted already to ways of immediate-coping, where it’s not merely “recovering afterward” at issue like for most people, but “compensating to stay functional even while it’s happening” because survival may depend on it. Coping in the moment shortcuts the seeming need to ‘adjust’ later by coping for the long term. Because once it’s over they’ve already stuffed it down inside, and they have a variety of biochemical, neurochemical, psychological adaptations that are already kicked in.

And here’s the thing about the “get over it you whiner, you’re adult now so move on” theory that you hear everywhere. The only people who move on from trauma are those who are able to actually deal with it functionally. And most people with messed up childhoods have never been able to deal with it functionally. What they’ve learned how to do is keep it down so they can be functional on the surface “despite” its presence buried in their bodies and souls.

They still deal with it simmering under the surface. In chronic illness or patterns, chronic self-medication in various ways, other chronic issues. It’s not gone, it’s tossed in the pot and as long as the fire isn’t high, it doesn’t boil over. You only get the vapor and the occasional little leak of that stuff into your life. Until something turns up the heat and then all the sudden you can’t seem to stop thinking about some event that happened 35 years before, before you finally get the goddamn lid back on and sit on it and keep it from making a big bloody mess all over your life.

And if they never run into something that tries to force-clean their heart chakra, they might never have reason to realize that they have decades of traumatic bullshit squashed into a storage bin labeled “do not disturb and keep the fire low.”


Lately I’m surrounded by people (and cats, ha) being nice to me. As if to help me. As if the universe is saying here, let me help. And yet instead it feels like — well I’m sure some PTSD therapist would say it is helping me, and was just what I needed.

From this side, it feels like it’s breaking down some long-solidified, encrusted wall I’ve held in place all around my heart chakra. There’s probably some energetic truth to that. And all that crap is not gone, alas. It’s just got some incredibly deep chasm-like cracks through it now, and a long of thin lines of shatter near the top, and some actual small pieces chunked right out of it, where light and vulnerability shine both in and out.

I feel like some kind of earthquake has happened at some fundamental level in my psychology, but I’m so shut down I can barely even feel it.

Every other day or so, something hits me out of the blue, and I have these huge, body-shaking sobs — for a few seconds. And it’s gone. And I want to cry, I want to try and force feeling through and vent, but I can’t. A few hours later, another like 3 sobs — and gone. It’s the weirdest thing.

Now I understand why years of focus inside has been on “allowing yourself vulnerability.” Because I didn’t have that. Because I worked on building, stone by stone, the wall so invulnerable that it eventually became invisible. I didn’t have to worry about anybody breaking it down, not even me. Because nobody could find it. Not even me.

“Quit whining,” the back of my head is already saying. “Who gives a fuck. Everybody else had a worse life, or enough of them not to matter. Who cares what happened to you. Stomp it down, suck it up and move on already.”

One of my best friends, a slightly older man who is very much a brother/father figure as well as friend, has suggested to me several times that I get some kind of counseling. He’s intuitive enough and experienced enough that I know if he sees it, that it’s probably a genuine need.

But I have known so many psychologists that I haven’t had much respect for them to be honest. I think most people study that to figure themselves out and I’ve never actually met anybody in that field who I thought was tougher and smarter than me, which I suppose for whatever reason some part of me requires before I’d be willing to trust them to truly be a guide. It would have to be someone male and dominant I suspect, and most male psychologists are pussies, as my brother would have put it. I’ve known too many. (Not to mention I have a profound distrust of any form of medication which I’d never touch, so I tend to distrust people I think are likely to try and use that as a crutch for actually being competent at therapy.)

Today is the first day since adulthood that I seriously thought I might be willing to consider therapy for even an instant.

Let alone might actually be actively interested in it. Might have any room in my belief system that it could be helpful.

I promised myself I would record how I got from here to there: through the integration with inner guide number five. Maybe I should have known that all this “individuation” was self-therapy and that eventually I would run hard into the wall of a lot of crap I’ve never dealt with that affects me metaphysically as well as in every other way. Because you can ignore stuff physically, and you can ignore it psychologically, or sublimate it, but metaphysically, you can’t go around, you can only go through. So I was bound to run into it eventually.

And Mark (IG5) just watches. He’s always here. He won’t let me feel he is separate, which I appreciate, although he does it simply because he is not separate and the truth of him is inescapable. And I get that I can’t get through what I must for him, to really open up to that christ heart chakra energy cleanly, until I get through some of this. I talked to Sun briefly today in the shower. Sobbed powerfully for 3 seconds… and then it was gone. In a cycle several times.

I’m irked that it seems like the process is asking me to do something in my “non-metaphysical” life, when I feel like I should be able to just do appropriate meditation and work through it myself. And maybe I can, and maybe I will.

I also feel I need to bring music back into my life. It was my therapist until I was 24, and my totally shutting it off was nearly as traumatic as anything else in my life. No matter how pointless, I need to force myself back into songwriter mode.

We’ll see.

I’m posting this before I delete the whole thing and mention it in passing in a sentence or two since that seems cooler. The number of phonetic spelling errors I’ve made while typing (plus my epithets) tells me I have a lot of emotion involved, which is probably why I feel like saying “This is no big deal at all and I’m just being a drama queen so forget it.”



6 comments to Broken

  • KMG

    As you wrote about the stranger, I was reminded of some earlier writings of yours in which people were calling you a walk-in.

    I deleted pages and pages of first-25-years-of-life trauma. Incest and violence and homelessness and violence and crime and rape and did I mention violence. Then I reminded myself that nobody gives a damn. Does anybody need to know that when I was 8 I carried a switchblade and helped carry electronics out of houses in the projects?

    Yes, actually. The most profound, moving, and meaningful stories are not those of some grand, Chosen One types, but of ordinary people living ordinary lives that actually *aren’t* so ordinary under the surface. While the Dune Chronicles and the glorious tale of Paul Atreides is a favorite of mine, the one that really gets me crying and shaky going, “OMG I’m not the only one” is Marya Hornbacher’s memoir of eating disorders in the Midwest in the 90s. (To be clear, I never had a real eating disorder, but what went through her mind is exactly what went through mine). What if by telling your story and your efforts to reconcile with your past, you’d be helping someone else who feels isolated and hopeless due to being in a similar situation?

    The “no one gives a damn” sounds like a command given by whomever tormented you to ensure that they’d never be called out for their actions (even if it was just by you in your heart), akin to child abusers who say shit like, “And if you try to run away, I’ll call the police and they’ll track you down and send you to juvenile detention center for truancy!” when in actuality, the abuser is the one who’d be sent to jail for beating their kid. “No one will give a damn” = “Actually, people will give a metric fuck ton of damns, so I’m going to say anything I can to make you be silent forever.”

    Also, by telling your story, you’d be doing your daughter an eventual kindness. There’s nothing quite so … maturing … as going about your “I hate mom because she did X” adolescent/young adult tantrums, then being hit with a sudden realization that maybe Mom did X because of some absolutely horrific event in her past, and perhaps it wasn’t about you at all, perhaps it wasn’t personal like you’ve been viewing it (I speak from experience here).

    Do tell your story, even if you only share it with a trusted friend or therapist. I’m not sure that wall can ever be seen and dismantled if you don’t deeply acknowledge that not only did shit happen, but it sucked enormously and it was WRONG that you had to endure it. That’s the part, IME, that those childhood survival coping mechanisms are forced to bypass. You obviously know intellectually that you were done an injustice (multiple, it sounds like), but that’s different than really allowing yourself to feel it.

    People who say “Get over it!” are talking to the stereotypical 35-year old guy doing nothing but playing video games in his mom’s basement, blaming her for all his failings. In that situation “Get over it!” is appropriate. To someone who has experienced something severe enough to trigger PTSD, “get over it” is a worthless platitude. Would *you* say that to me if I hesitantly came to you wanting to talk through a traumatic experience I had? Would you tell me to get over it, to stop whining, that you don’t give a damn? I doubt it. Too often we don’t give ourselves the same kindnesses and human decency that we would extend to others in a heartbeat.

    As for therapy, you’re right, you might not find a therapist tougher or smarter than you, but you will find someone with a different way of viewing what you went through, someone who can call out those defense mechanisms you don’t even realize are still in operation.

    Tell your story to someone–many damns will be given!

    • Thank you.

      I would say more (I would say 60,000 words of more) but at the moment I can’t fork it out. I just want to tell you how much I appreciate your support — done publicly and privately — on the topic.

      I’m already fighting myself horribly over saying anything. Once I got through the part I have so far, much of it started changing to, “Oh that’s not even all that traumatic,” as opposed to “traumatic things don’t matter.” I guess that’s phase II. I can already feel in my gut that if I get to that part, phase III, will probably be “anybody else would already be over that little trauma” or something. How bad is that when your brain is so predictable that you know how you’ll think and feel before you even think and feel it.

      There’s also the issue that I don’t remember most of my life. I mean, someone for example might talk about some violent experience. There was just so much of it, and I have so little memories of most of my life, that I don’t know how to talk about it to some degree. Most of it is either not clearly remembered or all the events just basically blur together. Maybe it’s like an archetype and one just needs to take one thing no matter how small, and let it be representative of the larger collection inside.

      I feel like just recognizing it to begin with is an important first step though.

      And I also feel like, that now I realize this is not like “an evening of meditation.” This is something a whole lot larger and it’s probably going to take awhile. So, I can stop putting off everything else in my meditation world waiting on this. If I still need to do tarot and other archetype work and IG work, I just need to move on and do it, and IG will probably help me work through much of the heart chakra stuff as part of the rest. Because at this point I’ve managed to put off most all ‘moving forward’ of any kind on the ‘well I have to wait until I clear this up.’ Life is what happens while you’re making other plans… I need to keep living, at the same time I do whatever I’m going to do.

      I doubt that my medical insurance actually covers counseling, but I have a new plan kicking in start of year so I think I will find out. Otherwise I’ll see what it actually costs. I would like to see if I could find a group or person that works with soldiers or other PTSD-specific people. Joplin’s a good sized city, they might have something.


      • KMG

        I can already feel in my gut that if I get to that part, phase III, will probably be “anybody else would already be over that little trauma” or something.

        Heh, perhaps I can save you a bit of time in phase III. Once a new friend and I were talking about the emotional scarring we’d both endured growing up as bright, non-conformist kids in conservative rural areas–pretty mild stuff compared to what you’re talking about, but still heavy to us. Finally I’m like, “I’m 30 years old. I have a wonderful husband, a great job, cool friends, fulfilling hobbies, etc. Shouldn’t I be over this shit that happened while I was growing up?” And he laughed and said, “I’m not! And my friends who grew up with me aren’t over it, either. It might take all our lives to get over.” And a few months ago, a guy from my town started talking to me on Facebok about how he endured the same kind of emotional trauma as I did. Same deal with him–happy family, loves his job, intelligent and creative, etc, and he’s still having trouble getting over it. About 5 more former schoolmates joined the discussion confessing the same difficulty moving past those emotionally difficult times.

        These friends and I were just talking about *feelings*, and we are still struggling to heal and move on. We’re not over it yet! Add excessive violence onto that like you’re talking about and I highly doubt anybody else would “already be over it.” So save my comment and re-read it when Phase III begins. You can say, “Shut up, Mean Voice. See, other people are not over their traumas that were way less severe than mine!”

        As for the lack of memory, I have that issue, too. I realized recently that I cannot remember a single thing from the 7th grade unless it was photographed. Nothing! And the other years aren’t much better. So I started writing down my memories by year, starting at my earliest memory at age 2. I found that the more I did it, the more I remembered. Sort of like writing down a dream–the act of writing and thinking about it triggers your recall. So perhaps at some point an exercise like that could help. I stopped at age six–it was exhausting.

        Good luck in your search for a therapist. The PTSD-focus sounds like a great one to me.

  • The way I see it, you can’t do surgery on yourself no matter how smart and skilled you are.

    And how much of this is just defensiveness? One of the things about my own childhood is how I was forced, like bulbs, to become an adult very fast and haphazardly, and now I am willing to work with areas that got all distorted, and fix them.

    You did marvelously. You’ve even come to love those whacked out areas and think they are YOU. But they might not be. You might be able to do even better.

  • Eva

    I’ve gotten way behind on some internet stuff, just reading this now, sorry it took so long. Seems to me, writing it down is part of allowing vulnerability. Plus it may make you remember more. Probably two reasons why you are fighting it. But you judge yourself 10 times more harshly than 99% of the rest of the population will ever judge you. Might be good to try to remember that.

    Personally I’ve had to work very hard to allow people to be nice to me and to think I ‘deserve’ (not my favorite word but I can think of no other) it. It may always be something I’ll have to work on. I suspect this is fairly normal for many people judging by how much trouble many around me seem to have. I think it’s not easy because to feel love from others is to feel that plus other feelings. I think one feeling leads to another and they all are tied. So you feel the love but you also put a crack in the wall behind which other feelings reside. Thus it is scary! It’s like pulling a thread on a sweater. I don’t know if anyone ever truly gets over really hard things, they just get better at dealing with them over time, they try to get so it’s less painful and less damaged. And I agree with what KMG said, ‘Get over it’ is what you say to a 15 year old who is whining cuz parents won’t let her go to a concert. What you are talking about is totally different.

  • Sanlee

    Many of us give a damn, I definitely give a damn, and I can only hope that all of us who do can somehow override whatever programming made you think differently.

    Many health plans do allow a certain number of counseling visits, hopefully your new one does. But if not, or even if so, allowing your music back in your life sounds like a must.

    I wonder if your writing could also be an integrative exercise, maybe one that would help you remember more of your past — if you’re at the point that you’re ready to do that. Perhaps in novel form, a character who endured the specifics you remember. Maybe that character has a talent for automatic writing or stream of consciousness writing — who knows what could come out of that.

    I so agree with what KMG said: “What if by telling your story and your efforts to reconcile with your past, you’d be helping someone else who feels isolated and hopeless due to being in a similar situation?”

    I don’t know, of course I don’t. Feel free to ignore these thoughts of mine, just know that they come from caring very much about you.

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