In the last three years, I've been to the depths, and I've come back out again. I've been diagnosed with anxiety, depression, and PTSD. (Never been to Afghanistan but still get a PTSD diagnosis? Woot! Wait. Maybe this isn't something to celebrate.) Much of my journey back out has depended on two therapists, a doctor, a chiropractor, a Reiki master, several other treatments from other specialists, the assistance of The Emotion Code and The Body Code, and the kindest friends.
And I can't discount my own work! Change takes work, patience, more work, and many prayers. Plus bravery. — I am the one who chooses to ask my boss for a rearranged schedule so I can make all these appointments. I am the one who chooses to drive to them, to work through them, to cry through them, and then to go back to work and keep working. Disassociation still prevents me from fully recognizing that it is me who does all of this. But light is slowly working its way into my world. —
And I can't discount my own work! Change takes work, patience, more work, and many prayers. Plus bravery. — I am the one who chooses to ask my boss for a rearranged schedule so I can make all these appointments. I am the one who chooses to drive to them, to work through them, to cry through them, and then to go back to work and keep working. Disassociation still prevents me from fully recognizing that it is me who does all of this. But light is slowly working its way into my world. —
In the middle of this last winter, I bought a tomato. When I cut it open, many seeds had sprouted! I planted a few. One of the plants is big. BIG. Big for being an inside tomato plant that gets a whiff of fresh air every day but has never seen a bee alight on its blossoms. And yet, my tomato plant has a little red tomato, and it's growing a bunch more.
Today I read a bit about Plato's Cave again. Remember it from 11th grade English? It's about a group of men who live in a dark cave with only a fire for light, so all they see are shadows on the cave walls. They think shadows are reality. One man leaves, discovers the real world outside of the cave, and returns to tell the others. Without leaving the cave themselves, it's hard for them to understand.
Plato's cave man's new sight is like the process of healing from abuse. Bit by bit, I discover pieces of the reality that always existed, which I never saw before, and it blows my mind. Then it happens again. And again. And again. — Some days, there is no light, not even that which I thought I'd gained. Some days, I practice my techniques and pray for help over and over, but seem to move very little. And some days, that blossoming new light awes and overwhelms me with its sweetness and truth.
Plato's cave man's new sight is like the process of healing from abuse. Bit by bit, I discover pieces of the reality that always existed, which I never saw before, and it blows my mind. Then it happens again. And again. And again. — Some days, there is no light, not even that which I thought I'd gained. Some days, I practice my techniques and pray for help over and over, but seem to move very little. And some days, that blossoming new light awes and overwhelms me with its sweetness and truth.
Today I thought, "What if I could rewrite Plato's Allegory of the Cave in Goose Girl style, expand the story into a novel, and make it tell the story of the continuous disorientation of abuse, life after abuse, and all the stages of healing?" Then I wondered if such a novel would be as strange and disorienting, as hard to follow, as Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland. (Read Rachel Falconer's essay "Underworld Portmanteaux: Dante's Hell and Carroll's Wonderland in Women's Memoirs of Mental Illness!")
Nevertheless, perhaps I should write it.
Nevertheless, perhaps I should write it.
Or perhaps not. Maybe this journey is better characterized by a seemingly lonely tomato plant, growing out of the limited soil of a half gallon milk jug, reaching for wintery sunlight through a closed window, producing fruit in spite of it all, willing to work hard to change and grow, and accepting the nature of the long, long process.
But actually, both stories are true for me, that of the tomato and that of my imagined Cave novel. Healing happens through adding upon and peeling away, here a little and there a little, while the light steadily plows furrows through the oozing fog and the cacophonous unrealities.
Thank goodness for the light!
P.S. See how the grow light is supporting the tomato plant behind it, which I've just turned around so it won't lean too much toward the light and tip over. And then, see that tall scary cactus in front of the grow light? Yup! You've seen it before, four years ago! It is a break-off of my seed-grown cactus featured here. It's crazy how much this one spiny plant has grown in four years.
But actually, both stories are true for me, that of the tomato and that of my imagined Cave novel. Healing happens through adding upon and peeling away, here a little and there a little, while the light steadily plows furrows through the oozing fog and the cacophonous unrealities.
Thank goodness for the light!
P.S. See how the grow light is supporting the tomato plant behind it, which I've just turned around so it won't lean too much toward the light and tip over. And then, see that tall scary cactus in front of the grow light? Yup! You've seen it before, four years ago! It is a break-off of my seed-grown cactus featured here. It's crazy how much this one spiny plant has grown in four years.
