The end of the relationship with my mother came to a head a couple of weeks ago. In response, words were thrown haughtily in my direction by people I had once felt were my protectors from her.
Words burying deep in my heart, thorns progressing deeper, until finally coming to the center of my being. Piles of thorns, dipped in poisoned, buried there already. Decaying, with the passing of time. I figure that you can only maintain yourself in abusive triangles for so long; and about 5 years ago I had tried the process of extradition and failed. This time, I could not allow myself to do so.
So, one by one, I pull the thorns out, examine them, bury them. They are mine no longer. Moving through abusive ideas and unpacking them is a long process. Yesterday, I felt much better than today.
I lost my family through severing this tie, and that sits deeply in my belly.
I’ve been walking, one foot in front of the other, deeper into the spiral toward my soul. At times, the ground beneath me is too dark to see, and I feel frightened. Other times, the marble shines brightly below me; a stark white, I know where I am. And, then there are the times, when not only the ground is too dark to see, but all else around me is too. Sounds are warped, there is no light to be seen, I cannot move forward, or backward, but must sit, alone. A flit of wings against my face, and Moth has come again to guide me forward; a call from a raven, deep in the abyss, reminding me there is more to go. The psychopomp duo of my dark underworld.
In my tangible reality, moths and ravens have been coming to me frequently of late. I am certain they are here to guide.
I ache, somewhere deep in my soul, with a slow bleed that I am trying to staunch. How can it be that you love and miss your abusers? I feel alone, and unrooted, cut off from my foundations; and while this is a good thing- the right thing. I’m not sure I could do this, if I did not have my guides reassuring me. Reminding me that this is a necessary death and transition.