Then and now...

[I forgot to post this, so I am leaving the date of when I wrote it.]

My counselor is coming to the house tomorrow, since I have missed appointments and am still not that much up for going out and (apparently) there are all sorts of germy folk going to the Women's Bureau at the moment and I need to be away from germs, but am also, still, really struggling and need ... something.  I mean, I was in the middle of opening (okay ... at the beginning of trying to open) this huge can of worms before all this pacemaker stuff happened and the pacemaker stuff turns out to be its own can of worms that is mixed up in a rather confusing way with other worms and I need some of those worms to go back into the can or in the soil or any place else than crawling all over me.

[Yes, I am not well known for skill with metaphoric language.]

It was really weird for me that once the counselor set a time to visit some of the frenetic feelings of fear and shame swirling around me eased a bit ... almost as if they knew they would have a place to ... be ... again. It is easier to try and think about opening cans of worms if you know that there is a safe place where you will be when you maybe try to actually feel and stay present in that, to try and speak what you were thinking and identify what you were feeling *then.*

Mostly, I think the latter is impossible.  

In the procedure room, there was a lag in getting me entered into the computer. I like that Parkview tracked my every movement by entering my location.  However, I was moved into the room and, I believe, I was not checked out of the room where I had been so the computer would not let them check me into the room I was in then, which also kept them from ordering the versed for me.  Because of the delay, I was aware of more of the prep than I could bear.

At one point, the nurses unsnapped my gown and it fell off my shoulders. I grabbed the blankets to keep my chest covered and tried to get away from the bare hands on my back, starting to apply the stickers for the leads.  Because I was starting to fight them, the nurses murmured soothing words to me.  It is that moment that I am finding difficulty escaping.

Last night, my counselor called to talk.  As we did, I tried to tell her about being so upset.  She asked question after question until I made the connection ... until I understood that the fear ... and shame ... I was feeling was from the past.  You see, folk who are abusing children often speak words of comfort to them so as to keep them calm whilst it is happening.  It is sick and horrid and twisted and makes the entire experience more confusing, more painful, and more difficult to ... to escape.

Ever since we talked about the sailing lessons, I've been unable to leave the boat.  Finding myself stuck back in a second terrifying place in my past has been seemingly insurmountable ... overwhelming ... crushing.

Knowing that she will be coming by to talk tomorrow has brought a bit of ease ... just a bit.  I want to leave the boat ... and that procedure room.  I do.  I just don't know how.