When I came home, I started to eat and eat and eat, until I realized I was stuffing myself so that my stomach would want to heave on its own and I would finally throw up. I stopped eating.
I stopped eating because I realized that what I feel during an adjustment, or rather what I react to, is my body remembering. My body remembers in spite of the fact that I don’t.
Hell calls it Innate Intelligence. Seth calls it UC, Units of Consciousness.
I reread some of my diary with Hell and I find I first mention the spasms on Nov. 22, 1998. The sudden jerking of my stomach, some kind of retching. But then I have had stomach problems all my life.
In hindsight, there may have been other times when my body has remembered while I have not. In 1975, I was attacked on the street coming home from work (shift work that ended at midnight). Even though I got my face beaten up pretty bad, I was not raped by my assailant. A car turned onto the street where we were and he ran away.
Just in time, because I had finally fainted and fallen to the ground.
For the longest time, I could see in my mind’s eye this huge black glove with thick seams on the outside of the fingers, just pounding away at my face.
Days later, while I was temporarily staying with Oma, my ex-mother-in-law (too complicated to explain this), I would have nightmares at night. My ex-father-in-law would have to get up in the middle
of the night and come to my room and speak to me, telling me I was safe, that I was dreaming, that everything was all right, and I would finally wake up.
I would wake up to find myself standing up, next to the bed. What would wake him was the screaming. I would be screaming at the top of my lungs. Actually, I remember one instance when I had dozed off (a Sunday morning, while everyone was in church), and I had started to moan. Then I thought to myself: “no, this won’t do.” And then I started to scream a little louder and a little louder, until I lost it. I finally came out of it as Oma was repeatedly saying, “Michelle, open your eyes. It is okay. Mommy is here. Open your eyes; all is well. You are safe.”
I had assumed that the screams and the nightmares were due to the beating. Now, I am not so certain. Maybe the beating triggered some memories I have no conscious knowledge of to this day.
I can also recall times when I would cry for no apparent reason, or rather my eyes would cry, though I felt no emotion. Yet the tears would just fall; uncontrollable tears. It has happened in school, at work, at home.
Is it possible that my eating disorder, my stomach problems, my migraines, all have one common cause? Or am I oversimplifying? Or is all of it very true, very right, very real?
When little Micha first talked about her grandfather, I thought,
‘Michelle, you have read too many books.’ When she drew the first picture, I was struck to the core with fear. I was terrified. Now, this second drawing leaves me cold. I think she has gone too far.
Hell has pointed out more than once that my body seems to remember something I have forgotten. And, more and more, the joints of my jaws are hurting. My mouth feels bruised. The pain is real. I am not sure the nausea is. The nausea could be a memory of a time when I retched and convulsed and vomited because unspeakable things were done to me.
Dorothy has been captured by the wicked witch and the hourglass is almost empty. Where are Scarecrow, Tin Man and Lion? I sure could use their help just about now.
Mar. 6, 1999 (Dream)