It’s not that I forget that they diagnosed pts(d). Not at all. It’s just that sometimes I get a taste of ‘normality’ – very loose definition of – and I just enjoy rolling with it.
And then something happens … usually in my dreams.
And I am viciously catapulted back to ‘reality’ – also loosely defined as such.
The latest catapult came the other night. After another one of those dreams.
Where I am Big, as in, an adult body.
I can’t move. I can’t speak. And when I try to scream, not much more than a whisper, comes out.
So again, I am lying, naked, trying to scream; sticky clammy hands running all over my body … trying to move them away, with my body, with my mind … mouth wide open, in an enraged, violated scream.
And nothing is coming out.
My partner woke me from this dream. He says it was going on for a long time and I wouldn’t wake up.
He’d placed his hand on my head and was speaking quietly and calmly to me; a. so I didn’t hit him; b. so I wouldn’t get a fright.
It seemed to work.
I woke feeling angry, scared, frustrated, violated …
I’m hoping the return of this dream means I am ‘working it out’ somehow; and will come to another ‘ah-huh’ – moment whereby something registers in my being – something is put to rest … I hope.
And then I remembered these:
I told Johanna that I’d post pictures of them for her, when the exhibition came down. I was abit late.
But what has become of this piece; is I have given my permission for it to travel to Australia in May, with a woman who is speaking at a conference on working with women who have experienced violence / sexual violence. Some of the other art that was in the exhibition will be making the trip with her too.
I figure assisting those that assist others is a good a reason as any to have my insides on display.
I also figure with every step, or every dream, that feels like a step backwards … there is a multitude of forward strides that are taken, as Me and people like Me, Respond.