Trauma

(Written in November 2008)
I was getting ready to go to Lore (my art therapist), but didn’t have much to take for the Retablo project I wanted to work on, I could feel the possibility of being torn apart, my resistance to it, and my wish to open the closedness and have a wider life.  And it occurred to me that before the caterpillar gets “torn apart” it puts itself in a safe cocoon.  THAT’S what I need.  Not to subject myself to outside forces.  I tried that.  I’ve thrown myself into so many things – California in the 60’s, etc. that were nothing but disasters because I had no idea of what I was really up against: an insidious form of PTSD and a family of origin who taught me to believe that everything I suffered from was my own fault.  Because the trauma didn’t come from an obviously recognizable external event, it’s been very hard to validate.  I’m still struggling with accepting that I’m so damaged.  And I’m still struggling with accepting, even being able to see, my limits, to really understand what I can do, and what I can’t do.  “And the wisdom to know the difference.” The tightening financial situation has forced me to see that I can’t continue giving away money to causes I profoundly believe in, and that I can’t build the house for Eleanor that I had hoped to build.  It became clear to me at some point that I couldn’t do the work of helping design and make decisions, but I thought I could pay a team of others, but now I can’t even do that.  And I feel bad about it rather than relieved.