This morning while I sit
The memories come again
It has been a while
But I can feel their approach
More than I can see them
Helium in my head, neck, shoulders, chest, arms, and hands
The top of me warmly expanding and rising
Lead in my abdomen, pelvis, thighs, legs, and feet
My lower half weighted and sinking
The center of me staying put and wrenching
I am splitting
This time I do not escape to breath
I let the memories come
I watch and wait
I do not brace
I breathe and feel
And then the memories are on top of me
Suddenly I cannot breathe. I am small and he is heavy, too heavy. If I breathe out, entirely, I may never be able to breathe in again. Shallow and quick is best. Short breaths just might keep me from passing out, keep me alive. His face is so close my vision blurs. I cannot see…what is happening. His hot breath on my face, and his mouth, too close. The pillow behind me keeps me from backing up. I cannot turn my head. His hollow mouth is on me, so big and gross and slick and swallowing me alive. How do I breathe? I CANNOT BREATH! My chest cannot move air, my mouth and throat cannot move air. Is this what it feels like to die? I have to pee. What am I supposed to do if I have to pee?! I want to cry.
Just wait, hold it, hold on, look up, look away. Move your eyes. Look right, up there, a window.
There is sky, clouds, and a tree. I go outside. I forget that I cannot breathe. My mind relaxes.
I am out there. My mother is out there somewhere. Maybe she will come home soon.
Yes, she will be home any minute.
NO! She will be home ANY minute! Panic again. Help! I can’t breathe! How flattened can my body get before it dies? I want this to stop. I want him stopped! I cannot make it stop.
Look up girl. Look to the right. Find that window. Go back to that breezy blue sky, that sturdy tree.
I go there again. I am outside. I will stay outside, where this isn’t happening, whether anyone ever comes home or not.
Now
The bell rings
I am still here
I did not die or disappear, yet
I notice
My breathing
Is deep and even
My cheeks damp
My body steady
I am upright
I am not shaken
I let those memories in
They do not now seem the enemy
But part of me
And I can breathe, feel, and let them be
My self in its entirety
Not empty
I have known suffering
I have been no-self
I have gone to emptiness
I have experienced non-agency
I accept impermanence
I choose embodiment!
No sacred space but where I sit
Sometimes passion, sometimes rage
Sometimes grief, sometimes joy
Sometimes peace, sometimes a fight
I’ll take The All and live it while I am
–by me
Full of Memories by Helena Wierzbicki
Posted in Abuse, Body, Family, Humanity, Identity, Loss, Meditation, Poetry, Women's Issues
Tags: Anatta, Anicca, Body, Child, Child Sexual Abuse, Dukkha, Embodiment, Emptiness, Flashback, Impermanence, meditation, No-self, Non-agency, PTSD, Recovery, Sabba Sutta, Sacred space, Sexual Abuse, Suffering, Survivor, The All
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