The Sandbox

Amnesia, Art, Healing

6/14/17

7:09AM

Authenticity

I am back east. Woke completely disoriented and went back to sleep. Woke again, my mother calling. Up, grabbed some coffee, back now in bed feeling like I’ve been run over by a truck, like I could sleep another two or three hours on top of the seven I think I got. 

A

How are you feeling around the complaint? 

S

Can’t tell. It’s day two in a new land. I went through waves yesterday of not being able to believe I’d filed. I’ve yet to feel regret. I just feel sadness and a feeling of this being so surreal. I can’t believe all this has happened. I can’t believe all the writing I’ve done. I can’t believe I filed. 

A

When we file we are stepping into the light. We’ve been in the darkness for many, many months and many thousands of pages. 

 

6/15/17

8:37AM/5:37AM

Authenticity

A

S, how are you feeling? How does the complaint feel now three days later?

S

I woke on and off during the night. What feels clearer, at least in these moments and in those moments last night, was how wrong things were—and how right it was to file this complaint. While technically I’ve had nothing to lose, I have had to—and I still have to—work through whatever it is I think I was losing. My arms are still not completely wrapped around it.

Oddly, it was thinking blatantly about having sex with Eileen when things became kind of clearer to me—who she really truly was. 

A

Who was she really? 

S

I saw her as seductive and demanding. Someone who admires people who are insecure to attract her prey. Seduction cloaked and disguised to look like love. 

It devolved from therapist’s office to web. Or maybe her deep truth is that, to a degree, its always a web with her. 

Oh A, I don’t know. 

I just feel kind of tired right now. And like I would prefer to sit here and relax into a transcript and out of this headache but I have to go and do some things. 

A

Do what needs to be done and come back when you can. 

 

6/16/17

8:10AM (5:10AM)

Authenticity

Less like a truck ran over me but still, I feel like I could just sleep the day away. I slept for eight or nine hours. Still I feel in the pit of my stomach I could sleep more—but I also feel better than yesterday or the day before. 

I will try and work out. Then pack my bags and check out. 

Funerals suck. Being here for days afterwards—necessary but…it sucks. 

Dissociation has its benefits and since I’m less able to dissociate I’m less able to reap the benefits of getting clear and away from emotion. 

I met an elderly friend of the family; he’s 86. What a sweet soul—a man who lost his wife three years ago and remains devastated by it. We talked, I told him about Pete and he told me about his wife and  how she just died in his sleep when he got back from buying groceries for breakfast. As he told his story, as hard as I fought, tears just began to well up. It was so intensely sad—my worst fears/sadness of losing Pete—right there in front of me. 

A

Never make excuses for being empathetic. 

S

He emailed me this morning with a story he wrote for the paper. He writes well and his voice and heart are just lovely. It makes me cry. 

A

It’s okay. 

S

I recorded all the medications my parents take in a spreadsheet, took photos of their medicare cards and directives. They were cooperative, like enthusiastic school kids happy for the attention.

A

It’s okay. 

S

I need to be here. I know that. But I want to also be away, to be dissociated and gone from it all. 

A

It’s okay. 

S

Crying. 

A

It’s okay. Please tell how the complaint sits within this context. 

S

I think about it all the time; like I am holding a silver ball that is reflecting all sorts of things. It changes constantly. I’ve not landed yet on this particular set of feelings that filing a complaint delivers to me. I’ve not really begun this post-complaint narrative. 

One thought of the millions I’ve had is that my worst fear is that Eileen would dominate my thoughts if I filed. And what appears to be happening is the opposite; she’s not gone—and the complaint hasn’t disappeared from my heart nor has the entire experience—but room feels like it’s been made for other things. 

A

This makes good sense. She was taking up space she should not have been taking up. By declaring that what she did was wrong, by putting blame in the proper place and her in her proper place we have cleared out room for our self, our own life, our own feelings. 

Very necessary. 

S

The complaint severed ties in a different way—different than termination which wasn’t really a goodbye. It was a panicked, hazy, shocking departure. I remember when I left I said to both Eileen and myself that the main goal was open door, open heart. Eileen in the session said we both knew I would come back to her--that this is what we both wanted. 

That would not be the case. 

I’ve closed my heart and my door to Eileen. 

And by doing so, I make more room for me and my life. 

MLG
Closed door, 

Open heart.

We are process. 

We are art. 

We are not close minded. 

Nor are we cold. 

We're following our heart. 

To find our gold.