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I write about three to ten pages a day. It’s mostly an unscrambling. With trauma there’s a reason bodies go to triage. Time is of the essence and what may have been a very treatable injury is now compromised by the striking blow of trauma. Every issue has to be addressed in order to survive. That’s one of the infuriating parts and I believe the main reason people stay stuck and in pain. It’s SO HARD to experience all of that pain. Especially when you thought it was addressed, if not healed, under proper management. Nope.

With trauma every slight wound hurts like acid in the groove of a tender spot.

And when all of this pain hits at once it’s impossible to decipher the nerve endings from one another, which thing needs the most attention, because everything in your being is screaming at one time. So, you lock up. Feel like it’s too dangerous to move. Too dangerous to think.

That’s where the experts are needed. Just like surgeons. To suss out the life threatening injuries and resolve the secondary ones so that they don’t do damage.

It becomes a time to heal. And, really I don’t see any other choice.

So, I write. I write three to ten pages freehand a day. Sometimes it’s just a list of what I need to do. Sometimes it’s a rage ramble or a pain ramble or questions over and over. But, it gets me unstuck and that’s the real point.

Because with this kind of trauma your family doesn’t sit by your bedside and hold your hand and read Dostoevsky to be sure your mind stays sharp and supple. No. They are ghosts in the wind in flight from the truths you are uncovering. They are scapegoating you as you are trying to heal. Because your wounds are their legacies and they don’t know. They don’t know that’s not love. And as it’s been told to me by my own Grandmother and namesake Aunt, “I don’t know what happened to you and I don’t want to know.” But, they do want it to be over. They don’t understand the damage. They are too drunk or delusional to assess the damage. In their very sick worlds, it never happened. And so, that’s erasure. And I’ve been dancing with erasure my whole life. It’s created by broken people who refuse to heal, who refuse to bend to truth and heal.

I’ve been on a mission to become indelible.

I mean, if I don’t make it out that will be their opportunity to express what they know as a dynamic dramatic show of love. Tears beside the grave. Sometimes I think the keeners were just bad actors, frustrated women, screaming at the wind. But, to survive. to beat the odds is to be erased. To live is to die and to die is to live and that’s the insanity of life here.

Seems crazy doesn’t it?

It’s because it’s too painful for them to see anyone get out in a healed way. It’s really not personal. It’s not. It’s because they are still bleeding. And, I’ve had to learn not to let their blood drip on me because it slows down, or halts, the process. The treatment gets blurred and the doc’s don’t know if you’re O+ or A- because the codependent blood mingles together and when that happens, no one heals. The pain increases. And, we are not here to experience pain on a daily basis. That was a revelation to me. But, it’s true. The most defiant thing we can do is to find joy and to live life up to our best potential. That’s the win.

It is another kind of pain though. Knowing that if I heal I will be erased. But, if I die, I will be remembered. The willingness to be erased is counter-intuitive. But, that’s just where things are at the moment and I’m very adaptable.

I’ve been reading play submissions and came across The Speed Twins again. I read it last year then kept it around.

It’s a bitter and funny riff on a lesbian purgatory based on the characters of The Killing of Sister George.

download-1.jpgI was obsessed with that play in the 80’s and recommended it to a scene class in the 90’s. I remember Xerxes loving the writing. It was turned into a film.

The piece took on a lot of criticism because it was a lesbian couple, a nun on a motorcycle if memory serves, in a S&M relationship. It was an actor playing a nun! And she had a BBC show and she was famous.

Well there’s dynamic history attached to this. I had no idea. I thought it was just a rare find on my part. Imagine that. There’s one incredible backstory here. A fascinating and important history about survival. About love. About friendship, honesty, and even a little Laurel and Hardy. Waterside I became pretty swept up in this piece. Ideas swirled around it. Like, a film viewing before the play and so on and so forth.

I’m reminded that the spiral continues. It starts from what they call negative matter and then it is expansive. Ever expansive until the next contraction. Maybe this journey is more the Fibonacci sequence than chaos. That seems a better descriptive. This pattern found in our bodies, in shells, in the universe, maybe this is the spiral of creativity too. The contraction release.

Maybe the whole thing is beautiful and the pain is only there to curve the line.

I don’t know.

It just seems

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