October 08, 2012

One week in recovery from the Illumanti

There has been some rain this week drenching the outside of my windows as watched TV under a blanket or was wrapped in cotton in bed in the dark.  The light has bee tremedous.  Something in its angle or nature that goes right through people and wakes something primitive and positive, something cosmic.  Alexander McColl Smith, watching the search for a lost girl.  Whats the point of dredging rivers if there is any chance the kid is still alive, shouldn't they be knocking on and kicking down doors, pressing the snouts

On Monday I had an appointment with my GP.  Stronger painkillers prescribed, a brief discussion about the vaginal scan I put off because of pain and fear.  The flu jab, I mentioned pulling my medical records.  The records of a fictional character, the legal front to a life undocumentable. 

Tuesday is dramatherapy day, every session getting more emotional.  Making body sculpts for the last week.  I place someone as me, sitting armed wrapped around tummy, head down, writing as someone stands over evaluating I called it 'ATOS'.  Someone else makes a lawyer and positions themselves somewhere else, half cowering half straining to watch the lawyer.

Wednesday its over to a prettier side of town to see a woman my private therapist to start providing her with my trauma history.  At last.  We start at the beginning years 0-4, using old notes and everything pressing I let it go.  Shes writes the odd note, asks nothing offensive and takes the highly possible to the extremely unlikely without reacting. 

Thursday, I have no appointments.  I take the painkillers after getting back from the school and watch the news.  Missing girl, Jimmy Saville, Syria screaming.  A hopeful sounding drop in the basket the post gets into.  Seconds later I am unwrapping a reasonable sized slice of mediocre hash and am over joyed.  That night there is family phone calls, sister back off the wagon, mother woken up from night shift by the school saying the spidermonkey is still sitting there waiting.  I find out from my dad my mum unwilling to tell me in case I phone Social Services.  A few phone calls later and my nephew is on the road with the kids' dad.  Whatever can be said about this family they are definitely better than they used to be.

By Friday I'm not sure I can do it.  I need more hash, I need someone to pick up junior and take him somewhere fun.  I want to be alone, I can't face cooking and I don't want to go to the asthma nurse.   He's tired and grumpy when I pick him up but cheers up on the walk.  The nurse ups the dosage in my steroid inhalers and we pick up fish and chips on the way home.  Friday night thinking.

Now its Saturday, dishes are no longer mounting because there isn't anymore to dirty, but they have been scraped.