going to see my home-to-be this evening apres trabajo...so excited to see it and visualize the space to create my home. i can't believe moving happens so soon! i am imagining a nest-cocoon of quiet solitude for reading books and a room dedicated to dance with my booming speakers and barefeet on hardwoods a cozy cute kitchen and my sanctuary bedroom. i may need to get a kitchen table and couch...also i am overflowing with books, piles spilling over and out of my shelves means another bookcase. things i have at my dad's house i would like to bring down, inherited from his mother...the favorite lamp in the room i slept in so often as a little girl. that lamp lit up little girl dreams, an illuminated globe dancing petals with one click, the next click lights the top bulb, one more and both top and bottom glow. it is a romantic lamp...from another time, and it stirred my childhood imagination in that room of antique furniture, black and white photographs of my grandmother as a young woman. also, one more standing lamp, a scene of a ship battling the stormy sea. and a huge old fashioned turntable/radio.
something like what is pictured...
the question is how to transport what is there, in Rome, New York to North Carolina. not sure my system can handle another encounter with that edge between wanting to love the father wanting love from the father and fearing the father and the very childish way i cope with the emotional squelching repression you've got to hide your love away, hide yourself away suffocating choking choking i can't even breathe and of course my hair fell out and my heart closed and i went numb. i just can't handle being pushed out, being pushed down, sinking into so much heavy silence, being ignored and at once talked at incessantly. it was fucking horrible and i adapted to it so well because i wanted reconciliation and forgiveness and the power is so invisible...it is not a smack it is not hand slapping my face it is not unkind words it is fucking invisible and oppressive constricting confining shallow loud breathing being told what i feel what i should what i should what would be good for me without anything that i ever say being heard or acknowledged much less understood. usually talked over, always ignored. crazy making. then telling me something about me and what i need that contradicts what i have expressed and then i stay silent, shut up be good.
it sent me into a state of shock. and into regression...reduced to wanting to please wanting to be liked drained from the effort expression affection of trying so hard to connect forgetting what it had been like to be alive and fully loved i treated the most pathetic dull showings of connection as if they were my biggest dream and warped my reality and so lowered my expectations. meeting my high school english teacher on the final day of my trip was a fucking miracle that started to pierce the numbness since she is such an alive firework of passionate energy dedication and commitment to another she could listen and reflect and mirror and empathize...
i soon be going to breakfast with mi amiga esta manana. little rattled with the memory of this May trip. such a crazy and heartbreaking week...jolted out of deep peace and self-love in my week of silent meditation by the sight of a father who doesn't see love when it slaps him on the face. i was so open and ready and my heart broke in that moment and then was put in prison for 3 days, confined to heavy breathing anger pain fear seething under silence trapped with him and his smelly sweet dog in a car driving driving driving add misogynistc uncle and what a trip. throwing up.
it's okay...was just holding my breath. safe again. safe. with less and less hair...can't wear it down in public anymore...so sad. i love the way my hair feels down, free feminine and may use scarves to cover soon. grow hair grow!
i have awesome friends. thank god. and life. so grateful to be here.
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