who refuses to die.
time ago. Thing,
who is not. Who is for. Who is for using.
by millimeter, back into my body and my life and my self. Back into who I
am. With no thanks to the health services, and that is another story.
reality, people who were my solace, guides, lighthouses, compasses and bullshit
warners – and still are.
who is an amazon (“And you thought that this was only a man’s name!”), a
duchess with wide, sweeping skirts that frightened children can hide under, a
Ministry of Truth, a critic who knew that the world would be a better place if
I were dead, a volcano of violence who
wanted to kill me because I stopped him from “doing angry”, a restaurant with caged
little people who are tormented by experts on non-violence – and a moon who
sees everything, understands everything and judges no one. And many, many
can tell me what they did to help me survive my childhood, and others, like
Thing and the violence volcano, can finally get the chance to tell me what I
did to suppress them … and what they did when my control slipped and they took
they emerge, accepting what they have to tell me, thanking the ones who helped me and
owning my denial of those who were not allowed into my life.
often as is needed, that we are now in a new situation with different needs:
Old dangers are no longer relevant, old defences harm more than they help.
Selves can help me with in the future, and about seeing how we can work
together to meet the needs I have now.
what they do best: warn, react, protect, think, feel, fight, analyse, plan, enjoy life, evaluate … and letting them all find their place in the wholeness that is me.
dreams and thoughts and writing. And I will continue to do so as long as I am
capable of it. To me, the story is a part of being human. Being me.
about Voice Dialogue here: