I’m a 3 shower a day person. If I can’t do that, then 2 at the minimum. I scrubbed myself in the shower, from head to toe, with a pot scrub type thing, for as long as I can remember. I stopped using that when my hair started falling out…pot scrubber on balding head…hurts! According to the sexual abuse therapists, this ‘excessive’ showering thing is pretty normal for someone with ‘my issues’. Pfft.
Ensuing conversation with self:
Do I believe this?
Well aside from the pot scrubber, I don’t think it hurts to be clean.
Am I hurting myself by showering ‘excessively’?
No, I don’t think so.
If I don’t shower 3 times a day, can I function?
What about 2 showers?
What about no shower?
No. Definitely not.
So what would happen if I don’t shower in a day?
I’d feel dirty. Unfinished. Unclean.
Ok, so the first and third answers are pretty much the same. Are you really dirty though? Physically?
Yes. It feels like it.
Ok, probably not. Ok, not.
So what is dirty then?
Me. Ok, not physical me. But, me.
My head. My insides. I don’t know…just, Me.
Logically, is your head and insides really dirty?
Well…no. I get what your doing…and I don’t fucken like it.
I feel dirty alright. ‘I’…’Me’…I feel dirty…wretchedly filthy.
Do you think that is why you dream of open sores and puss?
Of course it fucken is.
So that’s how you see yourself? Puss filled and contaminated.
YES. And your line of questioning is starting to piss me off.
But, do you see a flaw in your reasoning and the belief that you need to shower not twice bit thrice a bloody day to remain clean?
Yes of course I fucken do. But I like being clean.
But you’re not getting clean. Do you understand that?
Yes. I understand that.
So why do you believe that all those showers will actually get you clean?
Because it makes sense to me. If it’s dirty, then clean it. Like the fucken house and the laundry and anything else that is dirty.
It makes sense that if it was physically dirty, it needs to be cleaned. But you’re describing your insides…your feelings…your being. Why do you think that is dirty?
Because it fucken is.
So your filth?
Why do you suppose you are filth then?
You ask a lot of fucking questions you know that.
Yes. So why?
Because…my fucking history tells me fucking so.
Have you ever thought about the fact that your history may be inaccurate?
What is that supposed to mean?
Inaccurate, as in, just because that’s the experience you experienced, doesn’t mean that is YOU.
Would I be right is surmising that those who harmed you did so because they were wrong?
Do you believe you did something to bring about that harm?
Ahhh…yes. Yes I do.
How do you suppose you managed that?
I…was to small. To quiet. To vulnerable.
Those aren’t reasons enough to harm someone.
And, what is your fucken point.
They harmed you, not due to anything you did, or are. They harmed you because they could. Because they felt like it and they did.
And that’s supposed to make me feel better is it.
For whatever reasons they had that made them how they were, and do what they did…it wasn’t because of who you are as a person. It wasn’t because of your being.
And just as showering 3 times a day won’t get you any cleaner than 2 or 1 times a day, so believing that you are filth and brought about the events that occurred to you, are also inaccurate.
You know this. You could not have changed the event. Nothing you did brought it about. Nothing you did or said during could have changed the outcome. You did not do anything wrong. Nor did you bring about by the essence of your being, the things that happened.
But there’s more to it than that. Why you can’t let it go.
You can’t let it go because you would be leaving her there, for a second time.
You heard. You left her there. You didn’t save her. You left her there, frozen and silent while you fucked off to never-never land.
You disassociated fool, and you’ve been doing it ever since. Half of you is in the past, the rest of you is trying to control your future, and you are left here excessively showering and cleaning shit up. Your doing the do. But you’re not here.
I am here.
No you’re not. Your trying to be, but you’re not. Your anxious when your required to be present.
So? That’s not an answer.
You left her for a reason. You want to hear that reason?
Well your on a fucken roll so fire away.
You left to survive. Can you imagine being present for that? Don’t answer. You can’t, you can’t physically be enduring that and be present. Your psyche, your adrenaline, your powers of fucken brilliant insight, told you to remain still and not resist. You survived. But now its time to stop surviving and live for fucks sake.
Your blogging. Your blogging in your safe little house, with your safe little safe things going on around you.
Yeah, but I am trying.
And yippie to you. Yes it’s all progress its all helping. But no ones going to tell you what I’m telling you. Your fucken alright. You are OK. You haven’t done anything wrong. Your not filthy. You don’t need to shower 3 times a day. You DO need to be on your side. You DO need to use all that intellect of yours again, and figure it out. You didn’t do anything wrong. You think you believe that, but you don’t really. Your actions say otherwise. You are incongruent.
Yes you are. You love congruence. Where the in matches the out. But you are not that.
You believe one thing, really. But say and do another.
I don’t like this.
The point is really, you used to self analyse, properly. But you know your just scratching around the surface and hiding from the truth. Everything you’re doing is positive and it’s helping, but your shrinking away from the core of it. The point of it.
I don’t want to talk anymore.
That’s fine. You shut down. Like you do. Go and nurse your puku.
But tomorrow, at 1.30pm, you WILL get over it.
I can make it 10.30am if you like.
You will go for a walk, do your breathing, do your raw food and plan your weekend. You will move. You will get up and keep going. You will. Tomorrow at 1.30pm. Alright?
And this conversation isn’t over.