If I had to pick a single picture to summarize the past six months, this would be it. This has been one of the very worst periods of my life (and when
I say that, that is actually saying something significant). And while it is now over, and I am now safe, I am still recovering from all of it, and I have both physical and emotional scars that will take years to heal, if ever.
Even a complete intellectual understanding of what happened to me, and why, and how—an explanation validated by my spiritual advisor, my psychiatrist, and my closest friends who had also been abused as children—does nothing to erase the pain, hurt, and anger. The brain cannot heal the heart. My father, dead twenty years, left a time-release hand-grenade for me, something which went off after all the hard work to recover the savagely repressed memories, after all the hard work to remember, after all the hard work to forgive him, after all the hard work to be happy again.
Chantay Savage is currently singing her extraordinary a cappella version of "I Will Survive" and it has become my new anthem (I just wish I could find it on CD, I would buy it in an instant).
I can't take my mind off of you
I can't take my mind off you
I can't take my mind off of you
I can't take my mind off you
I can't take my mind off you
I can't take my mind...
(Damien Rice, "The Blower's Daughter", currently on endless loop)
As usual, my head is screaming out warnings while my heart is already out of the starting blocks and ten strides down the track....
et je ne sais quoi dire, quoi faire
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