Hell did give it back to me and I destroyed the paper there and then. However, I was certain I had also destroyed the document on diskette. It is a surprise to find it today (August 13) as I was transferring documents from one diskette to another. Now it does not matter so much whether or not Hell has that document as there has been a lot of healing since. However, on this date, I still do not remember what Micha is describing.
Feb. 5, 1999 (NSA journal entry after adjustment) Today I felt…ØØ I am stuck on Band-Aid and…ØØ. Aside from that jingle running through my head, felt pretty much at ease.
Feb. 10, 1999 (NSA journal entry after adjustment) Today I felt pain, a burning sensation between the shoulder blades.
First time, the first time, I felt like making a fist and hitting…what?
My back burns.
Feb. 13, 1999 (Letter to Hell)
First, I wish to apologize for my behaviour on Friday. I should not have called you in the first place and I think I was rude when you called back. Come to think of it, I have not been very nice toward you since the beginning and I am sorry. I will try not to be so difficult in the future. If there is one. Dear God, how I want out of this nightmare.
I nearly lost it on Friday, and I must not lose control at work. That is unthinkable. Friday morning, I almost went straight to your office instead of work. But I had no appointment and I thought a simple phone call might do the trick. I am a very independent person and Friday I realized I was becoming dependent on you. That is not an acceptable relationship for me. I suppose it is common for patients to become dependent on their healer; however, I am a big girl and I
am certain I can deal with what is going on, by myself, without finding myself running to you every time my emotions get out of control. So on Friday, with everything going on, when I realized on top of it all that I was behaving like a schoolgirl I got angry at myself and decided it was best to stay away from you for a while. So, and I wouldn’t blame you if you got tired of the game, I think I will skip this Tuesday’s session.
I will tell you, however, about the roller-coaster ride I have been on since our last session. I am telling you because I think you are indeed the healer I was looking for, and because as such you deserve respect and the opportunity to understand your patient. I am so fragmented that I am going off in all directions. I feel positively schizophrenic.
Doing the Bradshaw chart during the group session really rattled my bones. Because of the work I did on it on Tuesday and then yesterday, I now have to come to terms with the fact that I am not my father’s child. My mother has been trying to tell me this for years but I would not listen. Silly me. A woman knows who the father of her child is! But each time, each attempt, I would deny it. It was okay for my brother if she wanted to say he was her lover’s child but as for me I wanted to be my father’s child. The child of the man she married.
Then there is an entire different story going on with little Micha. I do the writing exercises, as Bradshaw suggests in Homecoming, whenever I feel drawn into Micha’s world.
Once she refused to write. It is so hard for me to accept what she says. But Thursday night she did a drawing before she wrote. The drawing is enclosed and I certainly do not want it back! She drew a man and as she was drawing I was struck by terror. It remained with me for the rest of the night and all day Friday. Have you ever been on a roller coaster? If you have, then you know the feeling in your stomach when the railcar is poised on the edge of the highest peak for an instant, and time seems to stand still until it plunges into the void.
That’s what I felt Thursday night and it has not gone away. What I have done is push it down with the help of as much food as I can swallow without throwing up. I have not binged in a long, long time and here I am wolfing food down my throat. Again.
I do not recall being terrorized by my grandfather. I have few memories of him. I remember playing checkers with him. That he courted
the widow next door and lived there at one time. I remember a long drive to the village where my grandmother is buried and him singing silly songs all the way. I remember briefly a second wife different from the woman he courted. I do not remember going to his funeral.
How can that be? If what little Micha says is true, why can’t I remember and why don’t I remember these feelings toward my grandfather?
My mother once told me that she had caught him raping her grandmother who was in her late 80s at the time. My mom cried telling me this. Maybe I feel I should not disappoint you and I should find something wrong in my past, and maybe I made up this whole thing based on the things my mom has told me about him, and like a child in search of thrills, I am scaring myself silly.
Finally, there is big Micha sitting patiently on a big boulder in the forest back of the convent. She waits as I find I cannot do more work with her until the issues with little Micha, and who my father is, are resolved.
I think I cannot be with the meditation group or go for an adjustment until I have found some leverage. You, of course, cannot know what goes on in a patient’s head, but now that Pandora’s Box has been opened there is no stopping the shrieking monsters that are jumping out. What do I do next?
My definition of healing: growing pains
About group meditations: during the first group meditation, I felt a great healing light passing through me. At first it skimmed off the rock in my stomach, but then it started to target it and the rock, at the time like a marble stone, all black and dark green with silver veins, started to break apart. There was slime oozing out of the cracks. I shared that image with the group and in the silence that followed I could see a pod beginning to sprout and I thought, yes, this is what healing is about — no seed can grow unless it first breaks through its envelope.
Last Tuesday the stone was all of one colour. Dark grey with dark brown veins, and the stuff oozing out was dark orange. I felt no energy or light going around the group while we held hands.
My definition of Michelle: totally schizoid.
One of the people in the group thanked you on Tuesday night, but I couldn’t. Given the time, I will come around to thanking you…hopefully.
Feb. 15, 1999 (NSA journal entry after adjustment) Today I felt…There was lots happening in my upper back. Wish I could just let go and cry like a child.
Mar. 1, 1999 (NSA journal entry after adjustment) Felt like vomiting. Also wished I could just fall into the darkness.
Sat up to stop the nausea. What are you saying?
March 2, 1999 (Home Computer)