The Return of the Voice (part 1)

Saturday 0500 hours.

I lay staring at nothing at all.

My mind not at all familiar to me, and yet…

 

As a little girl I watched my eldest brother enter a room at the show

As he stood against the wall, he, and it, started spinning.spinning-room

I watched him spin faster and faster wondering why he went in willingly? 

Suddenly the floor dropped from under him. I watched horrified.

Blurs of bodies spinning past.

I was sure he was doomed and wanted to scream for it all to stop

But speaking was dangerous in the presence of my mother. So I said nothing. Just screamed inside.

 

0500 hours. My insides felt like that room

Spinning with impossible velocity, blurring my inner and outer vision.

Physical self behaving as if invaded by a gastric bug of momentous proportions

Intellectual self unable to attend as velocity made analysis impossible.

Emotional self picked up by the tsunami and battered with abandon.

 

The voice had returned

 

I had not heard that voice in a long time. I’d thought it banished.

Wrong.

scared child

Her words returned with such power it was all I could do to put one foot in front of another.

 

“she gave you up because you were no good”

“Even if you met her she’d hate you”

“my wanted daughter dies and you, unwanted live”

“it should be you in there” (her daughters grave)

“I loved children till we got you”

“no mother would want you…that’s why you were given up”

“you would have ruined her life too if she’d kept you”

“stupid, ugly, strange, no good no good no good”

 

I am 53.

At 19 I went into therapy as it was that or give up.

By 20 I was willing to explore the notion that she was wrong.

By 23 I found I wasn’t stupid and that ugly is another’s beauty.

By 26 I had realised I could pretty much pull off anything I wanted to pull off if I didn’t quit along the journey.

By 29 I had undone psychological twists that eventuate in one’s inner being when one is abused by a parent.

She had been wrong. It was her issue. Whatever little girl she had adopted she would have hated. All good.

Yes I had intense times of insecurity. The neural tracts of my brain were well conditioned and any rejection was perceived as evidence of her being right. But I got better at dealing with these thought/emotional reactions, named them for where they came from…her…and ignored them.

 

But on Saturday morning

Just hours before I was to meet my natural mother and sister for the first time

The voice returned

In the spinning room that my mind had become.

Her voice Her face Her twisted mouth Her rage Her Hatred Her Her Her

“she gave you up because you were no good”

“Even if you met her she’d hate you”

“no mother would want you…that’s why you were given up”

“you would have ruined her life too if she’d kept you”

“stupid, ugly, strange, no good no good no good”

Last night I thought I could possibly be losing it. Should I ring someone? Should I….? Since birth mum and sister left I have been, if anything spinning faster. They hate me they never want to see me again they think I am stupid ugly… Oh fuck! Think woman!!!

Another voice in the very back of my brain finally gets through to me, reassuring me. “It’s brought up some remaining stuff…don’t panic…let it happen…don’t fight it…it will calm down and when healed things will be even better..”

A slight slowing occurs. I trust the process of my psyche. Experience in healing and working with thousands of folks in emotional crisis has taught me much.

I will grow from this. I will conquer it.

I will experience whatever residual grief/pain exists in my psyche that meeting my natural mother has raised and I will exorcise that voice.

This morning has been a good start. No tummy eruptions and a slower spinning :). And, finally, able to write again.


I know I have readers that have suffered abuse and/or trauma much worse than mine and this is why I want to share this experience.

We must not run away from what hurts. I have spoken before about the horrendous damage avoiding emotional pain does to people. Daily I see adult lives still screwing up and damaging those around them because they won’t face the pains of their yesterdays. The Voice was one of them.

I get why we want to avoid these experiences. I’m not judging. It sucks. These last days have been awful and I have constantly wanted to get rip-roaring drunk.

I still feel crappy. But that’s okay. I’ve learnt to trust this other voice. It is my own inner voice and unlike hers it has proved to be worthy of trust

Besides, I met my birth mum and sister. and that was cool.

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