One with Water

There is one thing that is hard, when dealing with destructive delusional rage, and anger outbursts, and that is when the storm has passed, and apologies have been made and tears have been shed, you are only left with the hard evidence of your episodes. For me, for the last couple of days, I have a favorite wooden stool that is smashed to pieces and sitting in the fire pit, and I have a favorite plant that we have nurtured for seven or eight years in a bucket with a broken neck. I also have a sweet man, who has witnessed my rage, cowered in fear, and comforted my fears and grief.

However, regarding this summer episode as a whole, I have destroyed an old lamp that has been on my bedside table for a decade and a half, destroyed the wall in one place, kicked in a kitchen cabinet, broken and destroyed a second plant, taken a baseball bat to an old picnic table and my dad’s taillights, and destroyed my gate with a piece of driftwood that has a large a knot on the end of it. Was there more? I can’t quite remember. But the root to these destructive fits of anger, that are sometimes fueled by seriously delusional and psychotic jealousy, is a deep deep wound that revolves around rejection, and that lives, and has lived inside of my body for some time.

She wants to come out, she/he wants to be seen for who they truly are. Decades of trying to be a pretty woman in order to compete with Steve’s beautiful co-workers, friends and ex-lovers, whom in my mind all achieved successfully at being feminine, attractive, strong and independent. I was unable to achieve any of these things, though I spent endless money and effort in continuing and perpetuating the abusive casing that surrounds my delicate and insecure inner tomboy. I was trained to be a little girl, a young woman, and though I continued to try, I always felt that I was a failure. Why did I believe all of these years that it was not okay to be myself? 

Now, as I live day 37 in Alcoholics Anonymous, and continue to pursue unguarded and rigorous honesty within myself, I find only, that I am standing on the edge of a huge, ice-cold deep well of grief and sadness. These last few weeks, it has attempted to pull me in entirely, as I have hit some of the biggest all-time lows my life. So now, as my meds begin to work again, and I sit and review the desperate destruction that has surrounded my home and my family for these last few months, I must take seriously the evidence of this very scary and important journey that I am on.

I swam ten laps around the pond, this evening. I was reminded, as I pushed my light body through the cool green depths, that the planet herself holds this grief for us. I let her take some of it from my heart chakra, and as I then stroked on my back, I felt as though I was one with the great outer atmosphere of the planet and her clouds. Though I was far, though I was alone; I still wasn’t. I was with the elements of water and air, and she, Ma, or he, Poseidon, were with me and knew greater than myself, this path of healing. Then, like a gentle reminder, as the sun reflected off the cool water and into my eyes, I was reminded of the warmth of Christ, of the fire, of the light, and of my lover and closest friend.