The Sandbox

Amnesia, Art, Healing

Mostly About Leaving

These entries cover a period of time where I begin to see that I've been battling a loneliness inside that's existed for decades beneath my amnesia and loneliness that haunts me in my current life too.

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6/16/17

S

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

(To read  the entire entry click here.) 

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6/18/17

Cried buckets yesterday about my Dad, his inability to walk around in the backyard which my heart keeps coming back to, replaying it, over and over.

Even now…tears. 

(To read the entire entry click here.)

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7/7/17

I know where I landed with Eileen.

But where do I sit with Teresa? 

I’ve not yet written this narrative. I’ve not completed it. Not yet really stepped back and embraced it for all it’s been—and not been. 

(To read the entire entry click here.)

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7/8/17

Unresolved, unclear and not at peace are the beginning of resolved, clear and at peace.

(To read the entire entry click here.)

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7/9/17

I’ve begun to try on this new emotional clothing I’m calling the Who The Fuck Cares line. It’s not about some therapist and what she thinks of me. Truly, this process of mine is much larger than her office. 

But I can’t deny, however, that there is something still not fully articulated that I do need from her. 

(To read the entire entry click here.) 

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7/10/17

It took a lousy appointment on Thursday and a lot of scrambling inside to arrive at the right place with all this which is that I think I’m done with therapy, and that I’ll miss Teresa and that I feel scared. 

I don’t have a vision for more work to do in therapy. Other than to leave it. 

I don’t want to sit around picking at old wounds—my deep past, my previous therapy or my current therapy. I don’t want to sit on the mini-couch because I’ve nothing better to do. 

(To read the entire entry click here.) 

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7/11/17

I saw Teresa yesterday. And the appointment seemed to help sort things out—from a lot of perspectives. Of all the things that were swirling inside of me, and there were plenty, Teresa seemed to think, without invalidating any of those things, that the main driver of the pain was the trauma around leaving—the dissociation I did long ago and then the re-traumatization I experienced in the therapy. 

I think she’s right. 

(To read the entire entry click here.)

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7/12/17

A

So perhaps relative to therapy we’ve not found a leaving that works.

S

I’d say that’s right.

A

What are you feeling?

S

Little fish. And oh they do hurt.

A

Do any stay long enough so that you can describe them?

(To read the entire entry click here.) 

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7/13/17

A

We need to say goodbye. The navigation is correct. We landed here due to an uncomfortable session alerting us that staying in therapy at this point would be more than diminishing returns. Saying goodbye differently, feeling different about leaving when we leave, is the work. 

You could say that the decision leave is to the trailhead. 

But the leaving differently is the mountain we’ve yet to climb. 

(To read the entire entry click here.)

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7/14/17

There is a before and after in my mind. I think of the memories, the summers, the winters, that frozen basketball net dangling in a winter storm, the beautiful reflective icicles that seemed to grow and form everywhere, how, despite my problems, the abuse, my mother’s leaving, that these memories, these little disconnected fish and images that flit in and out of my consciousness are deeply meaningful to me. 

They could be my before memories. Before I turned to ice. 

(To read the entire entry click here.) 

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7/23/17

The leaving fish swim…in and out but they are slowing down and I can feel the leaving that was….the leaving that is. 

Friends—good friends—leaving the area and I dream one of them has caught a bus, asked me to go along, but the doors shut in front of me and the bus takes off. 

And I am…left. 

These leaving fish are about being left—not leaving. 

(To read the entire entry click here.) 

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7/25/17

Yesterday devolved and by the time Pete arrived back from poker last night I was sitting in front of my laptop, in the dark, triggered and weeping. Not really knowing what was up. Just knowing things did not—do not—feel right. 

(To read the entire entry click here.) 

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7/28/17

I fear moving in with Pete without any Plan B, no other house, no back-up, because I fear losing him. I could not—cannot—bear this thought. One way or another this is a leaving fish that will swim up to me. Whether it be death or divorce. And I cannot face the thought of it. 

(To read the entire entry click here.)

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7/30/17

My amnesia has long been my savior and thief, protecting me by stealing the details, the exact why’s and when’s that left me with this chasm. But my amnesia has also loosened these past few years, allowing now emotion and the kind of clarity that I wake with this morning, a distance I can at least feel and recognize that is painful, a lacking that announces itself.

(To read the entire entry click here.) 

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7/31/17

With this room I now have, I continue to ask myself what is next.

And I seem to be without any answers, really. I cannot seem to find much hope or happiness these days. I just can’t. I can’t seem to leap onto a new chapter, a new bag of clay, a new something that gives me what I need. 

What I am doing is packing. I am shedding, figuring out what I want to carry on this back of mine in my life moving forward.  This is the only thing I want to do, the only direction I can go. 

(To read the entire entry click here.)

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8/7/17

I acted a blithe and un-phased spirit in both cases. 

But as soon as I got into my car…tears. 

And when I got home, more tears there. 

I could feel now what I felt a lot of growing up which was that my summer and my life had turned into a real joy desert; hardly a ping or pang of joy. A persistent gloom inside that’s settled now for weeks. I remembered how very few moments I had growing up where I felt happy; the feeling of joylessness now and then clashing together as I remembered and felt my past acutely inside of me. 

(To read the entire entry click here.)

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8/8/17

We feel our grief

It’s like a bridge.

Connecting the places

The moments we live. 

It straddles the years

It stretches like taffy.

If grief were an animal

It would be a giraffe-y.

(To read the entire entry click here.)

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8/13/17

S

It is the leaving fish? Is it the fish that leave—and the ones that threaten to leave? Is it that everything and everyone leaves? Is it my own leaving? Me at the doorstep of leaving, on that stretcher, in that hospital, in that dimly lit hallway, nearly losing my life?

I lay there not in peace but rather capitulation, in the knowing there is nothing further I can do, that life moves on, the hustle and bustle going on around me, the talk of the NBA playoffs and weekend plans as my life seems to slip, slip, slip away. 

Oh A, how it hurts. 

(To read the entire entry click here.)

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8/17/17

Our truth is complicated. Our truth is about feeling what is painful, and living with it. Bearing it. Developing ways of coping, of realistically and rightfully developing gratitude skills for there is, S, so very much to be grateful for.

(To read the entire entry click here.)

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8/18/18

Embrace your loneliness

It serves to inform

It gives you rain

When you need a good storm.

It clears out space

Washes away debris

If you listen closely

It can set you free. 

(To read the entire entry click here.