Well, today was certainly different. I think Dr. Dragonfly gave up on the time, space continuum thing. She was satisfied that I would be able to retreat to the Construct when necessary. We worked on the Left today. It was kind of scary. I don’t like the Left very much.
I was asked to bring out the first and strongest memory from when I was five or six. It’s not hard for me to do or visualize. I have very few good memories from my childhood. There are only two from that time that are remarkably bad. One deals with an accident and the other with the incessant beatings from my father.
I heard mom and dad upstairs in their room arguing. Rather than leave well enough alone, out of some sense of right and wrong, I had to do something and try to protect my my. I climbed the steps and told dad to leave her alone. The next things I heard were ‘you little piece of shit (or something to that effect) and Jim, leave him be. It didn’t matter. He pushed mom down and started beating me.
In the process, she told me to put my arm up slowly as if I were protecting myself. She could already tell that the left side of my body was at maximum alert. Strangely enough, the right side of my body was not affected at all during the entire session. It was able to stay in the Construct. As I put my left arm up, I could feel pain as if someone were grabbing me hard by the left upper arm. As my arm got closer to my head, the pain extended all the way from my should to my hand. My body was remembering how it tried to protect itself and was powerless to do anything.
She had me open my eyes. Dr. Dragonfly told me to pretend that the pillow was my dad’s throat. There were no consequences and I could squeeze as hard as wanted to. I could choke the life out of him if I wanted. I squeezed harder and harder and harder. ‘Imagine his eyes and tongue bugging out of his head. You can kill him. Keep squeezing.’ I had no idea how hard I could squeeze and twist a pillow, but I did lots of damage and at the last minute, slowly let go.
‘You didn’t kill him?’ No, he doesn’t deserve to die. He deserves to know pain. He deserves to know what having pain inflicted on him feels like. He deserves to know what it feels like to be at the brink of death and beg for death and then for it not to come. That’s what he deserves. ‘Check in with your body. What’s going on in your arm and hand right now?’ The muscles in my lower arm are white hot and between my index finger and thumb are burning. ‘Your body has given you the strength you needed to kill or at least do great harm to your ‘father’ in this situation and to protect yourself. Listen to your body for a few more minutes as it readjusts itself. What do you feel now? Resentment.
Resentment? Where. In my chest. Here. Where my heart it supposed to be. Where good emotions are supposed to reside. It’s just resentment and rage. ‘How does it feel?’ Like a heavy dark weight sitting on my chest, like a black hole. ‘Is there anything radiating out?’ Yes, rage. Just resentment and rage.
cazandoconejos 