[Six years ago to, essentially, the very moment I write this, I experienced an attack that devastated... completely obliterated my life. Physical, metaphysical, emotional, mental, spiritual---every aspect of my being was violated, violently.
I am compelled to write, though I feel so vulnerable and... weak. Maybe in a way that I haven't since the first steps of healing.]
I forgot. I forgot that I carry this trauma like a tattoo, on my scalp, hidden, but easy to find if you know which direction to move your fingertips. And places you can't know even if you wanted to which you don't.
I forgot how when I returned in the daylight, for recognition, for proof, for confirmation, for hope that maybe this was all a terrible terrible dream... I found flicker feathers, like a spell had been cast over my body, like yes this happened, yes I see you, a way of the earth as witness. Like the one I found today and noted without noting the date.
I forgot that I still feel like I DID IT TOO. I forgot that the trauma sinks through time into all time into--how do I care for my self? How do I nurture my spirit? How do I share... you are safe, you are safe, you are safe. How do I say, you are good. How do I believe it?
How could I forget?
I forgot that I can still see myself, naked, sacred, flesh and wounds, an altar of grief.
I forgot that maybe words or attitudes or body language that I don't know how to decipher can flip a switch without me knowing it. I forgot the warning signs.
I forgot to notice myself.
And where did this come from? Who did this? What is this shadow, this phantom that follows, that lurks, that gestured at the door I walked through that night, that whispered in my ear. It is what. Myself? And you too? What are we but extensions of each other? What is spirit but our essence?
What did we achieve that night except to forget our divinity, or find it in all the wrong places.