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therapeutic writing

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Re: therapeutic writing

Postby Sunnyg » Thu Oct 29, 2020 12:02 am

Therapy was helpful.

When the fragment returns, I go to any place of strength (I have many sacred spaces) and I explain, I love you, but I don't choose you.

The long explanation: I don't want to grow old alone. I want to love and to feel happiness in my life. I want companionship and a real relationship. I do not choose to be with my broken bit of memory that was a protective force all those times I've been unwell. Thank you. You've been so helpful over the years, but it is time for me to love in real life. I want to build a relationship with my boyfriend. He's nice to me and kind. He is real, intelligent, funny, and loves people and stories. I'll always take you for tea, but you must leave me when your tea is cold.

For the first time in over a decade, I had the guilty pleasure last night of looking at a wedding magazine online. I enjoyed myself. No tears. No pain. No drama. I like Paul, and someday, I want to experience a fully bonded relationship. I like to imagine my future as happy.
"I trust that if I start to fall off the ladder of life again, others will pick me back up and put me back on."
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Re: therapeutic writing

Postby Sunnyg » Sun Nov 08, 2020 5:16 am

Today is a day of hope. I watched Biden and Harris. And have been playing their closing song on repeat. Higher love...

I'm still reeling from the loss of another youth to suicide this week at my daughter's school. My heart and prayers go out to the family. I never met the kid, but I imagine the advice he'd reach back to give from the otherworld... like don't drink.

Kinda like when I was grieving the loss of my old boss, and in my mind he joked that heaven has the best gym... It made me laugh. He always loved to make people laugh. I still miss Dr. C.

Rest in peace.
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Re: therapeutic writing

Postby Sunnyg » Wed Nov 11, 2020 2:32 pm

I got a Call from a New Hampshire number that my phone didn’t recognize last night. I answered it tentatively, Mitch knew what I was thinking. He joked about my wondering who was calling from the 603 area. It was good to hear his voice.

His joke got me thinking... what would I say if the physician ever called in real life? Tonight when I thought about it the usual waterworks began. I made myself envision it. It’s been so long. To apologize now would just break me again and probably cause harm if he left me isolated to deal with my reaction. It may make him feel better, but not in my best interest. I didn’t choose to feel this way. It just is. The only way I could accept contact would be with an agreement to meet me in therapy regularly and process reality. I have insight and support. I know he’s happily married and I have cognitively accepted that. What makes me cry to imagine is not a trauma sadness, it’s the thought of being treated humanely and with understanding. Should have been a treatment option years ago. Social inclusion is important to healing.

I suspect I’m not the only one impacted by trauma. What if he has a different version of events? I’d like to have his input and insight. But it’s probably a pipe dream.

If harming my daughter and me has not weighed heavy on him then he should not make contact. Eventually I’ll fix myself. Lord knows I try. If he feels he carries the weight of his actions, then maybe therapy isn’t a bad idea for either of us. I just would rather not be contacted if there isn’t a willingness to work on healing.

The way I feel isn’t healthy. It really sucks. Unrequited love / erotomania / or whatever limerence bond formed is too much for my mortal constitution to manage in isolation. If he were to call, then I need ongoing inclusive support to heal, or I prefer no contact. I believe in time I can heal, just need a relationship to hold me like what I have with my boyfriend as I heal. I’m not sure if the physician needs to heal too. If not, then leave me alone. And, I need to add Mitch’s new number to my contacts. So I don’t think erroneously that the physician would call.
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Re: therapeutic writing

Postby Sunnyg » Wed Nov 18, 2020 3:31 am

I bought a cd at the white light bookstore tonight. I had to find my daughters old karaoke machine to play it. I realized none of my computers play cds. And my stereo is digital. I’d purchased a meditation on grounding and protection. I think it’s gonna take visualizing an energy filter the size of Texas to cleanup the attachment issues. I’m purging old attachments and calling back all my energy.
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Re: therapeutic writing

Postby Sunnyg » Sat Nov 21, 2020 8:22 am

I’ve been having some minor success with grounding work. Then I heard that My boyfriend may have been exposed at work to a positive case... waiting to see if they’re positive. And my mind slipped into an old habit. I feel guilty about my thinking. I’d feel so much better if I was with my boyfriend.
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Re: therapeutic writing

Postby Sunnyg » Mon Nov 23, 2020 4:00 am

Good news. My daughter shared her story on Instagram. It was beautiful. Part of an outdoor socially distanced event. Her group about how to life is a movement. The KC event looked good.

I couldn’t help but resent the doctor who harmed me at my daughters birth... I sometimes wonder if he’s an occultist. If I knew more I wonder if I’d be able to heal better. I don’t believe in a simple reality. I’ll leave judgement to God and the higher power, but the impact he made on my life was tragically wrong. He should be ashamed for what he did. It hurt my mental health and wellbeing and my daughters. The damage to my daughter is profound. I hope he pays a high price in his soul for the pain he caused. I love but don’t choose you doctor. I choose love and healing, instead. Your wealth will never be worth the harm you caused us.
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Re: therapeutic writing

Postby Sunnyg » Mon Nov 30, 2020 5:24 am

Full Moon Tonight and a Story about the 2017 Equinox

The other day I realized I’m healed. It’s just healed looks dysfunctional. The problem is that I still love the physician. Tonight I feel guilty for loving him. It’s a full moon. When I got inside from walking the dog, I took some time to meditate. It was beautiful. How will this impact my relationship with my boyfriend? I don’t choose this. I can forget for short periods of time, but long term? Last night the tears came and kept me up in the wee hours of the morning.

If I knew the physician intended to harm me, then I could demonize him and work through that. The problem is that I believe that I encountered a demon in another reality during the exam, and the only explanation I like is that I was in another dimension when it happened. I’ve had too many experiences sliding between the multiverse to believe that he’d risk his career to violate me with my then-husband sitting next to me. I mean, I understand I was the one who got sick.

I tried to explain my experience; my family worries that the physician is into some deep occultist practice. During the vision of the thousand petal lotus opening in my third eye (what I believe was the crown chakra), at the center of the bright light was the sacred geometry. The jewel of the tree of life is the mandala, a thirteen-dimensional electrical mandala that is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. That sacred space is protected. I don’t know why I got to see it, but I don’t think you get to have an experience like that without a challenge at the soul level.

I keep having these fantasies that I’m a priestess in a temple back in ancient times… Then I pray to Jesus to protect my soul and that of my children.

I trust there is a higher power, and in time I’ll understand why I have to be with this memory for so long. I just don’t want to be alone with it. I hope Paul can accept this flaw when he reads this.

Radio DJ
Are you ready for the countdown to the eclipse? Get your glasses ready and your camera's out.

Jamie
I want to pick the music. I'm tired of hearing about the eclipse.

SUNNY
Ok, but as soon as it gets to be time for the event I want to listen on the radio in case anything like, you know, like happens.

JAMIE
Mom, are you insane again?

SUNNY
You know how natural phenomena always stress me out. But let's not talk about that. How was camp?

JAMIE
It was great. I made so many friends and I loved the horse they gave me Albus. They named him after Albus Dumbledore from Harry Potter because of he's all white.

SUNNY
How did you like the letters I sent?

JAMIE
They were great, it was the only news we got. My friends would crowd around and ask what was happening.
Can we stop on the way home and go back to school shopping?

SUNNY
We need to plan a list of what you need. We have to be very careful with the budget this fall. Since the study ended, we have to be frugal.
Jamie pulls out paper and starts making a list.

JAMIE
This is great, we waste too much anyway.
Sunny starts to tear up.

SUNNY NARRATOR VOICE
It hit me hard that I'd missed so much of motherhood caught up in the memory of the trauma at the birth. I’d seen the crown chakra open while I practiced yogic breathing. I saw a bright light with a mandala in the center, then was touched by the physician. I felt trapped by desire having bonded in error to that man rather than my child. I was stuck wanting the physician I couldn't have and didn't want to want. It was tough to know if the trauma made me sick or if I would have gotten sick anyway with feeling, seeing, and thinking things. I’d tried everything to numb my pain, but nothing had changed how I felt, until the eclipse.
As I drove along the highway from the camp with Jamie next to me, something happened to me. It was subtle, but profound. The feelings that had held me tight for over a dozen years released inside me.

JAMIE
Hey, Mom? What happened in the Taylor Swift trial that you talked about in your letter. All my friends and I wanted to know.

SUNNY
A disc-jockey was found guilty of groping her. She was not held to blame for his losing his job over his actions, and counter sued for a dollar for the grope. It added to the #MeToo conversation.

SUNNY NARRATOR VOICE
I had a personal reaction to the events of the Swift trial. I went back in my memory and considered my experience of the trap the physician set for me during the birth, I saw how he touched me from a new perspective – it was not just an accident, it was an unintentional error. And I saw my illness – seeing, feeling, and thinking differently as a natural response to trauma.

SUNNY
You know how much I love you, right?

JAMIE
You failed me so many times, I've lost my trust in you through years of disappointments and broken promises.

SUNNY
I'm trying. I want to be the mom I set out to be when I planned to have you. I'm sorry I got sick, and I know I need to do a better job as a mom.

JAMIE
You shouldn't have had me if you couldn't handle it.

SUNNY
I was well when I conceived you, I had no idea I would get so sick. Even if I had known I'd get sick, I still would have had you, because you are the best part of my life. I love you more than anything, and you are my connection to the future.
Sunny said getting teary eyed.

JAMIE
I don't believe you. If that was true, you wouldn't smoke.
SUNNY
You know the meds I take to stay well make thinking and working harder without the cigarettes, and right now working is my number one priority, but I’m quitting. This time it is going to stick.

JAMIE
Good. You know how upset it makes me to see you killing yourself with cigarettes.

SUNNY NARRATOR VOICE
For the first time in my life, I began to feel upset for Jamie and the injustice she'd endured due to my experience. Jamie was such a great kid. She was a member of the Principal's Council, the student government group at her school. Her strong character and dedication to hard work was evident in her actions and work. I couldn't remember a time when Jamie hadn't been correct in her assessment from her perspective.

Over the next few weeks we shopped for school clothes, supplies, and I signed her up for riding lessons at the barn. Even if her and my relationship was still healing, she had a healing relationship with the animals like Albus. I trusted that even if she didn't feel good about her relationship with her dad and me, she looked forward to walking the dog and being in nature. I knew that gave her something in life to love. Even though we didn't have much money to spend on things, I made sure to pay the bill for her camp and activities.

By the middle of the month I took a trip to run a meeting for my professional association. On the ride home I listened to programs about the Mandela effect. The Mandela effect was first noted by Fiona Broome a paranormal expert who attended a Dragon Con Event in 2011 and a group of individuals had alternate memories regarding President Nelson Mandela. Fiona Broome remembered a story where Mandela had died in a prison in the 1980s. He'd lived through that time to become president of South Africa and didn't pass until after 2013. I wanted desperately to understand my reality and these strange phenomena where many people were affected with the same shared memories unnerved me.

The Mandela effect opened many questions for me. I'd remembered books from my childhood were Berenstein, not Berenstain; I remembered the Portrait of Dorian Gray not the Picture of Dorian Gray, and hadn't it always been Sex in the City, not Sex and the City. These small but memorable changes had crept into my memory bank, and this time I was experiencing something that I wasn't alone with.

When I exhausted the news on the Mandela effect, I meditated on my emotional response to the time I'd lost on my journey through motherhood to the memory of the physician's touch. Tears fell from my eyes at the injustice Jamie had suffered due to my inability to release the trauma of the memory of the error.

In the fall of 2017 I finally came to a new conclusion. I didn't feel right blaming or holding the physician accountable for my grief for Jamie. I decided that forgiveness was the best way forward. I found peace in my decision to love myself. I started to forgive myself and the physician. My phone buzzed with my daily reminder from my step mom to take my medicine. When I reached for my pill bottle, which should have been half full, it was empty. This scared me. I'd noticed spices and things around the house coming and going again. So I did what I always did when I was afraid.
Sunny is laying in bed.

SUNNY
I think something is happening again.

CLOE
What’s going on?

SUNNY
Well, I had this vision last night. The messages in the news said that I had to help create world peace.

CLOE
Huh?

SUNNY
I was instructed to walk the world leaders into the light in my mind’s eye. So, I started with Vladimir Putin. I told him that everything he ever desired was waiting for him in the light. Then when he paused and the light started to dim, I took out a dental lamp, he laughed and came to the light.

CLOE
I think you are getting sick again. Have you talked to your psychiatrist?

SUNNY
I reached for the bottle and it was empty, it should have been half full.

CLOE
I’ll call and get Eric to help.
Jamie walks in.

JAMIE
I need money for school. We’ve got a field trip coming up, remember the form I had you sign?

SUNNY NARRATOR VOICE
As I looked towards her, I saw a bright light in the corner of the door next to her. I was the sickest I’d ever been, laying in bed feeling overwhelmed by the extra sensory sensations I was feeling, seeing, and thinking differently. I focused on Jamie and a light in the upper left corner of my vision. I worried it was “The Light”. I kept my eyes on Jamie and refused to look at the other stimulus. Instead, it moved from next to her head to surround her with the brightest aura I’d ever seen. I forced myself to concentrate on her, afraid to surrender to the light.

SUNNY
You can go get some cash from my purse. And don’t forget to text me when you get to school.

SUNNY NARRATORS VOICE
Mothering through mental illness sucked for Jamie and me, but I tried to do my best, and am thankful I live in a time where my rights as a mother are protected, despite my illness.

JAMIE

Aunt Cloe said she’s flying out to help this week, and that Aunt Stef is coming over to help you today, and she said we’ll have dinner with Uncle Eric and their kids.

SUNNY
I love you. Be safe getting to school.

JAMIE
See you after school.

When my medication went missing the morning in September 2017, I worried that I wasn't supposed to take the medication. In my state of fear, I lied to my family about taking my medication.

On Tuesday, I went to work. I've been told that the medication doesn't leave your system for some time. I didn't feel like a threat to myself or others, so I didn't consider going to work a problem having missed my dose of medication. I slept okay that night, not as soundly as I usually do, but I made it to work on time. It was a good day, filled with positive interactions with student learners in the clinic and their patients. However, the computer system AXIUM was acting up. With one of the patients the odontogram where the teeth are charted on the computer screen said a front tooth was missing, but looking in the mouth and looking at the x-rays, the tooth existed in real life. We couldn't figure out how to make the tooth appear on the chart. I brought over Dr. Burns and she confirmed the tooth was there, then we emailed everyone in IT to address the computer glitch. After that, every time something happened, the error messages in AXIUM would give me warnings. It unnerved me.

"I don't know why it is giving us all these error messages," I told one student I was working with.

"I know, I've never seen it be this bad before." She said.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say it was a sentinel being." I said half joking, half serious.

"What does that mean, sentinel," She asked.

"A sentinel is like a guard, like it is guarding our actions, or worse, has the freedom to think for itself," I said. Everyone in the cubical chuckled as we dismissed the error message and the signatures were accepted.

At home that night I was getting more messages in the form of things appearing around the apartment. A stray orange Gatorade bottle appeared in the fridge half empty. We didn't know where it came from. Then, the radio was also acted up. It turned on randomly to sing pop music with lyrics that were a little different than I'd remembered them.

In response to my decompensation, I created a key to interpret the signs and signals. The key used the alphabet to interpret signs using my assigned protective concepts. I used the semantics reading the words in the reverse direction. For instance, "Trump" meant: Plan. God, You Are Thankful.
Trump

T Thankful

R Are

U You

M God

P Plan


When strange things happened, I'd use my key composed of protective concepts to guard me from fear of the experience. I believed I was being saved by semantics, a form of a game. It felt as if mythology was real dealing with my experience of being played with. In some ways I see it as a process of perfecting my soul, sorta like the clarification of butter, to burn off the impurities. I get sick everytime I go off my medication.

Wednesday morning came, and the morning was going well until 10:30am. I walked over to the reception desk on the fourth floor by the CD side of the clinic floor. Each clinic floor was divided into sections: AB/CD. I saw a grey metal hole punch with "CD4" etched by a dental drill. When I saw the shaky hand scratched letters I became afraid. Explosive, I thought when I repeated CD4 in my mind. The chakra at the back of my neck opened in fear. The pulse spread through my veins from the back of my head. Then, the fire alarm sounded as I stood in front of the reception desk and printer. It howled throughout the dental school the second after I had my fearful thought. Unsure what was going on, I walked back to my students who had just finished the final step I'd assigned. I'd already checked everything else. We dismissed the patient beneath the ringing sirens, and flashing lights. There were lines at the stairs as the building evacuated. My students asked me if I was afraid.

"No, I have faith in a higher power," I said and made eye contact with the people nearby on the stairs as we waited to descend. I prayed to God for protection from the siren and the fear of an explosive. When we got outside the sun was so bright and warm. It was a beautiful September day. I took a deep breath, and after a few minutes they let us back into the building.

That night I got home and hugged Jamie tight. We made dinner after she finished homework. I set out my bag for work the next day in Queens. When I went down to walk Buddy, I read the dramatic news stories between Trump and Kim Jong-un. The stories were so funny when I used my key to interpret the news, that it made me laugh hard. The belief system was rooted in a deep level of feminism, whereby women could take back power in the world through withholding climax from their men for the sake of world peace. A car parked along the service road began to blink with the right turn signal on. The car was empty. It almost felt like the lights were laughing with me. It was all in my understanding of the psychosis and my time with the higher power.

For as long as I could remember, when I walked Buddy the automated lights we passed would shut off in response to our presence. I worried that somehow the lights were responding to Buddy and me. It bothered me that my presence caused darkness. I've always preferred bright lights. Brightness diminished my perception of bokeh or light refractions on the lenses of my glasses, and helped reduce my perception of auras that sometimes surround people and objects.

I took the f train Thursday morning to Queens. I sat at my desk in the morning light and looked over Kew Gardens. The lush greenery of early fall had yet to turn into autumn splendor. Class began on time and I worked with students in anatomy lab to support their learning. Things were going well with the exception of my issue with flickering lights following me. As we entered the clinic the lights started to blink. The small LED lights flashed like we were at a disco. Even the large overhead lights would randomly turn on and off.

"These lights are weird, it's like supernatural." One student said spooked by the strange phenomena.

"It'll be ok. Just think of it as ambient lighting," I said trying to reassure her.

"I guess, but I've never seen anything like this. Do you think it will be ok when we have patients?" She asked.

"I'm sure it will stabilize before we see patients." I said.

A man came in from the side door to the clinic and flipped off and on the light switch observing the unusual lighting effects. He tried every switch near the door trying to figure out which switches were impacted.

"Are you here to fix the lights?" I asked.

"I'm the electrician. It's something happening with the transformer," He said. We all chucked at the twinkling lights above. After he moved to the other end of the clinic floor, the student and I began to work.

"Welcome to supportive learning," I said. "My goal is to help you to review any content you may not have gotten right the first time and help you to review your study habits so that you can build both your core knowledge and your process knowledge. By that I mean the things you memorize - core knowledge. And how you learn or check your knowledge base - process knowledge," I said.

I noticed that it was emotionally challenging for students to feel like they'd failed when they missed questions. I reassured them that by reviewing things and approaching the errors with a growth mindset, where learning is a process and not a fixed objective, they'd make it through their educational journey as life-long learners, and I worked to reassure them that the knowledge base in the profession was expanding rapidly.

"When I was a student, the difference between non-succedaneous and succedaneous, was not core knowledge that I retained. The injustice in the dental educational system is that it abuses student hygienists by making you pay for and learn more than an associate's degree, then it fails to give you full recognition, but don't worry, this program's master plan allows you to put your earned hours towards a baccalaureate degree. Sorry, I'm getting off topic." I said, and we returned to the corrections. I asked the students to open their text books and find the text with the correct answers, underline the text, then write the terminology in a notebook to make flashcards later.

"This will help you to learn your source material and be able to easily access where your knowledge came from at a later date," I said beneath the twinkling clinic lights.

That night Jamie was at a friend's home. New York City public schools were closed for the Jewish and Islamic holidays. I reached her at about 6 pm, and we both felt tired and hungry. By the time we got home, it was past time to eat. I fed Jamie a quick snack and started heating water, and chopping garlic and peeling potatoes for a meal of fried catfish and garlic mashed potatoes. Buddy stayed by my feet, hoping for me to miss the trash can or drop a scrap. I changed his water when he scraped at his bowl.

I searched for the recipe for the catfish meal but couldn't find it. Rather than abandon the attempt at cooking, I decided to use the quality ingredients delivered earlier that week, and rely on my skills as a cook. I dipped the catfish in an egg batter then dredged it in flour and added some ground sage before frying it in the buttered pan. In the other pot the potatoes boiled with the garlic.

The raspberries and whip cream topped snack had improved Jamie's mood. She joined me for our meal that night. We talked about how our budget was working. She continued to understand the limitations of the budget. I didn't share my concerns with her about the fire alarm, the lighting issues, and the missing menu card. Instead we focused on her. She wasn't feeling well. Her sinuses and allergies were acting up. I suggested we rest the next day.

"I'm not feeling very well," I said. I was beginning to feel transient physical, visual, tactile, and other sensory symptoms of medication withdrawal and amplification of psychotic symptoms and an altered perception of reality. I was too sick to think of the consequences of going off medication cold turkey. The burning skin was back, in addition to pins and needles, heartache, chills, burning souls of my feet, chakra bursts, pulsing energy, etc. The list of my symptoms was starting to grow.

"I'm not either, and I have so much homework. I have to write pages and pages for English." She said.

I was struggling with fear and fatigue, and our home showed it. There was stuff on the chairs in the living room, I needed to do laundry, scrub the kitchen, and pick up the laundry on the bathroom floor. Plus, I needed to take out the trash. The building's trash shoot was closed off for renovation, meaning I had to walk outside to the curb with the trash, and I hadn't done any house work since the previous weekend. It just felt like too much. Jamie was old enough to help, but told me it was my responsibility not hers. I tried to explain that we were a team, but she would get upset because her teachers had overwhelmed her with assignments. I chose not to argue. Instead, I took down the smelly trash when I walked Buddy.

As I walked Buddy, I noticed my surroundings. There were police in the neighborhood that night. A long NYPD van with 6-8 officers sitting inside looking at their cell phones was parked at the corner of Ditmas Ave. and Ocean Parkway. I read NYPD "Delusional. Plan. Why. Nation." It made total sense that we needed police, to protect against some people's delusional plans. Fortunately, my plan was the love orgasm plan. I felt safe within my semantic game.

Buddy and I walked past the NYPD van to cross Ditmas. I saw a captivating woman in the crosswalk. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Buddy. She lifted her gaze to mine. She wore a wool skirt and shall wrapped around her shoulders. She connected with me through thick glasses. She looked young for such a look, and when our eyes met, the pain in my chest lifted. I walked Buddy past her path to clear the way for her to get out of the middle of the lane, and thought about her calming gaze for much of the rest of the walk. Her stare helped me feel comforted. That night was to be the fall equinox, and that witchy woman's gaze soothed my pain.

We passed down the block past the rose bushes to the corner of Webster, where Buddy always marked the corner of the fence. As I looked down at the bushes inside the fence, my vision went to black for a split second. When I could see again, I saw a black and brown spotted Tabby cat sitting between the bushes with a downcast gaze. The second before I'd only seen dirt between the bushes. I felt safe with this animal there. Buddy was indifferent stopping to smell the patch of grass in front of the fence. Knowing that woman's gaze helped me, and being watched by the local wildlife (stray cats) reassured me. This night the lights stayed on as we passed by the buildings.

Jamie was in bed by the time we arrived home that night. I felt exhausted. I threw off my shoes, and climbed in bed. But my mind was a buzz. High on a mixture of curiosity, fear, and hope, I couldn't stop my thoughts. They just wouldn't turn off. They slowly progressed. My mind wasn't racing, it awakened to a new type of processing. My thinking lifted, I could no longer perceive time normally. The months of the year were hard to recall. I struggled to schedule tasks. However, my ability to play a game with semantics wildly expanded. The messages assigned me a task to look for contradictions and contrasting events. What I learned as I played this game was that it was inappropriate when reading about death, dying, or most news of sadness or terror.

As I read the news, I listened to music on iTunes, iHeartRadio, and from my radio. Everything felt predetermined and intentional. Did someone know my thoughts? When they didn't like what I was thinking, the phone froze, song paused, or a new story launched for me to read. The devices controlled my perception.

When I asked if the fire alarm was their doing, they were perplexed.

"You mean you don't know?" The text in the browser asked me.

When I searched my memories trying to know what I didn't know, that was when the browser launched independent of my key strokes to a news story. It was an article about Durga, the Hindu goddess of justice appeared from the American Institute of Vedic Studies. The great mother goddess, who appears as Durga has been given many powers by Gods and Goddesses. She is a super power in the realm of the supernatural. I tried to understand the significance of this information. I'd been feeling for a long time that someone was helping me through my struggles with mental illness.
After reflecting on my experience I came to believe that either like the mystics, I was being perfected in real life, my technology was hacked, or I was hallucinating. Or maybe a little bit of all of the above.

Once I was back returning to medication and one of the days I was sick, my brother came to help me with the laundry. I’d left a short while before him to go to the laundry mat, but was out of cigarettes, so I stopped by the small convenience store by my home. When I had another experience. The man at the checkout had a red dot on his forehead. I asked why he had the dot on his forehead and he said it was a religious holiday of duality and he said his God’s name. I tried to google the experience and learned it was the god of duality in Hindu. At the same time, one of the other men behind the counter was blowing up a balloon. A black 3. My vision suddenly went dark, but my eyes were wide open. Like I was shifted between the layer of the multiverse in broad daylight. I was looking when my vision returned, and there was no balloon. I was standing in the same spot, and had my cigarettes. I turned to go out the door, slightly disoriented. By the time I smoked my cigarette and walked to the laundromat pushing the cart, my brother greeted me outside the laundromat. He said he was worried about me I’d been gone for 15 minutes, yet I’d left before him. I apologized and said, I must walk slowly. Then I reached for my phone to tell him my story about the balloon disappearing. He went to read my browser history and it was blank, he said.
I thought about that experience a lot. It made me wonder if duality was possible. Or was there something else going on? A multiverse was impossible, right?

I’d sent a letter to the physician’s lawyer in the spring of 2017 requesting closure, to work towards making peace with the trauma. I didn’t know what else to do, therapy where the therapist couldn’t gain insight into the intention and cause of the human error, felt void, and it was not effective as a salve for my very real pain. It was a wound that time was not healing. I’d made progress writing my story, and sharing it with my friends and family by publishing with a feminist press, but there was something really wrong and mystic about my experience of the trauma at my daughter’s birth. It was the sort of sacred violation of personhood of myself that hurt my soul, thereby steeling the goodness of my vital energy from my daughter. The trap of sacred errors, I didn’t know anyone who had been down the pathway before to heal from sacred trauma. I desperately searched for advice, sharing my story again and again. Often people would note that I was on a quest to find something better than the memory of the physician. The violation of the trusted patient-physician relationship was I believe an unintentional error, where I couldn’t make sense of the touch in the most vulnerable moment of my life.

For years I’ve struggled with the memory. In 2015, when I published the book, I thought I could replace my delusional love with real love from friends and family, but every time I always go back to loving the memory of the physician. It interferes with my intimate relationships. Family is willing to listen and supports me as I struggle with the memory to make sense of my experience.

I’ve come to understand that the violation, caused me to physically attach and bond hormonally to the man instead of my baby at the birth. Through a sort of interference in the natural order of the world, he interfered in a very special moment in a mother-child relationship. Now over time, I’ve worked to try to mend the relationship with my child. I try to be the best mother I can be, I’m not perfect, but I’m far more bonded to my daughter than the memory of the stranger who shouldn’t have been at the birth – the resident in training I refer to as the physician.

What gets to me are the visions. The times when I’m at the end of my limit and when I imagine things. Like the night before Jamie was hospitalized for suicide, I had a vision. The image like the physician gave me a ring of light. When he placed the ring on my hand I was engulfed in a divine feeling of love. It utterly consumed me. That feeling, gave me hope. Through that feeling of unity, of loving care, I had the strength to get through the week where I had to work, and mother my daughter through that hard time for her.

I recently was explaining my story to a friend who teaches English at the City University of New York, and he referred me to read the mystics.

I should mention after multiple experiences where things are not as they should be, I do not believe in a simple reality. In fact, while I was very sick, one of the messages I got was He saw a little bit of his reflection in the rearview mirror when he guides the physician to the Gates of Heaven. Upon reflection, I agree, I was sick. It probably was just a perverse thought from psychosis, but it did make me think. Who am I to know? And without the ability to have healing insight about the incident, I struggle. I should make another appointment with my pastor. She thought writing letters would help me. It’s been nearly 15 years. I still struggle.
"I trust that if I start to fall off the ladder of life again, others will pick me back up and put me back on."
-Sunnyg
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Re: therapeutic writing

Postby Sunnyg » Mon Dec 07, 2020 4:39 pm

December 6, 2020

I couldn’t sustain a connection with Paul. I tried but it wasn’t possible to stay in connection.

Feeling deflated I met up with my Celtic Viking friend for a drink at that time bar near his place. I might have spooked him with my belief in the multiverse, and talk of sacred geometry, but he likes my energy. And it isn’t the first time I’ve tried to explain the mandala effect... I like his companionship. We’re friends and I know our kids and pets are the priority. I couldn’t go home with him, for a number of reasons. He had a woman who developed a terrible obsession with him over seven years ago. He’s ruined her life trying to break her attachment to him. And she’s tried to ruin his. He gives the most insightful advice about my struggle to heal and move on from the memory of the sexual assault on my personhood and resulting trauma from the birth. I’ve explained my quest to find something better than the memory of the physician exploiting my vulnerability... My Celtic Viking friend feels angry towards the physician for never having a conversation about what happened, but he believes the physician is an abuser and too scared to ever admit what happened.

During my energy healing session my Celtic Viking friend texted me because he felt something was wrong, I explained my reiki master was helping to raise my vibrational energy.

Texting last night then getting a drink With my Celtic Viking friend made me feel better. My issue is that I fall too fast, then when feelings aren’t reciprocated it triggers old wounds, and men are unaware of my intense need in that moment. There wasn’t anything to make me feel valued and keep me in the relationship. I asked myself - what would make me feel valued? I think jewelry or an elaborate music playlist or some other way to play would help. So, I explained to my friends what I expect if a man can’t reciprocate emotionally, I want something to hold onto that lasts.

My girlfriends complain about the men they see not meeting their emotional needs often. Causing them anxiety and an insecure attachment, because their partners have avoidant attachment styles. Maybe if men showed they valued us in other ways it wouldn’t be such an issue.
"I trust that if I start to fall off the ladder of life again, others will pick me back up and put me back on."
-Sunnyg
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Re: therapeutic writing

Postby Sunnyg » Sat Dec 12, 2020 4:22 pm

I keep thinking about my friend's story where she would spiral and escalate when her boyfriend wouldn't communicate and reciprocate. She finally stopped seeing it as her issue losing control and saw it as her boyfriend watching her escalate. Like he was watching a drowning person and standing by the side of the pool without throwing her a single text, which was all she needed to stop escalating. Thankfully she ended the relationship. It wasn't good for her.

Then, I shared an abbreviated version of the issue about men not communicating at the level women need with my comedian friends.

The Comedian said, "Common! Do you know why we don't say anything? Because women don't like what we have to say!"

We all laughed really hard. It wouldn't be funny if it wasn't true. We each believe our point of view.
"I trust that if I start to fall off the ladder of life again, others will pick me back up and put me back on."
-Sunnyg
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Re: therapeutic writing

Postby Sunnyg » Mon Dec 14, 2020 11:07 pm

"I trust that if I start to fall off the ladder of life again, others will pick me back up and put me back on."
-Sunnyg
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Sunnyg
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