I am a cheat. I am someone who does not belong in the circle.
These women are incredibly courageous. Every day they must go about their lives carrying the pain of their ordeal. They know what it is. The memory of the violence done to them is not hidden from their consciousness. They must carry on in spite of it all.
Tuesday night, I wallowed in all the attention I got from two other patients. Sitting between the two of them gave me such a good feeling.
All of the women at the circle are wonderful. They are genuinely concerned, and their kindness and love is undeserved. I, unlike them, do not know. I have invented the entire fable. I listen to these women and I do not belong with them. Their pain is for real, while mine is imagined. I take up space — someone else’s space. Someone else who is not getting her chance at healing because I am there on the floor feeling sorry for myself.
I don’t know why I cry during or after an adjustment; it must be the nature of Network. I’m feeling sorry for myself over and over again because, because…what? That’s all it is, just feeling sorry for myself.
I never used to feel this way and it has to stop.
I think the only reason I keep going back is because deep down I love all this attention. Nowhere else have I ever been treated with the kindness I receive when I go for adjustments or join the circle. I think if I stayed with the circle I would interfere with the healing process.
There is no room there for a cheat.
I am not going back. If ever I do remember, assuming there is something to remember, then I will go back. But how can that happen?
I was talking with my mom tonight. What am I to think when she tells me she believes her life has been good, all in all? What am I to think when she tells me how she thanks God daily that her children are healthy? These are not the words of someone who let her daughter be abused when she was a little girl! I am such a fabulist! Such a liar.No, this has to stop. Right now. It is enough. There has been so much war going on inside me. It is enough. No more. No more searching, trying to remember. No more crying. No more feeling sorry for myself. I’ve had it.
Letting go
May 8, 1999 (Computer Journal)