Forgotten Stories

I don't talk in the blog much these days of the hard times. Believe me, they are there. I've been touched by a deep sadness tonight. It penetrates through my being and left me feeling disillusioned and alone. I know a part of it is the moon and I expect to bleed in a day or two. "What am I doing here?" I ask myself. I spent years finding my place in this crazy world and I had found it too. A large circle of friends, a good job, a home, a beautiful body and a regular exercise routine, a good therapist. Why couldn't have that been enough for me? I didn't love myself enough then. Why would I possibly believe that I was worth more? I wasn't even worth what was already mine. Why is the every day, the typical, not enough for me?


I receive answers when I cry out, but they are sporadic and I can't keep up.


It's times like these I long for simple things, my bed and someone to lay with in it. A friend to talk to who would understand without words. I find myself hiding in my hands. Is this what despair looks like?

I wrote this about a week ago. Since then I've had my first Biophoton Therapy treatment that essentially makes the chaotic light emitting from your cells, well, not chaotic. I have hopes that this machine will help me, but I'm also helping on the research side of it, and that includes getting to know the treatment process. My naturopath warned me that there could be a detox period, one which for whatever reason I assumed would be physical. I did have a headache the days proceeding my treatment, but the majority of my "detox" was emotional. I had a lot of sadness come up, and even some anger. It helped to know that this was part of the process and things were definitely shifting. I was able to be in that place of grief and anger without attaching any stories to my feelings, and nurturing myself along the way.

I worry that my brain is unable to produce Seratonin on it's own since I was on anti depressants for so long. I get scared when the word depression comes to mind and I remember that for years I believed something was "wrong" with me. Those thoughts have a tendancy to creep back up when I get sad. Naively, there have been times when I've done some really great work or undergone a significant shift, I'll think, "That was it, that was the thing that was holding me back." Of course there's always more. I read this morning something to the effect of "There's no epidoral for spiritual birthing."A teacher of mine has asked me several times if I was in some kind of an accident when I was a child. I've been asked this before. I don't remember having an accident. I remember crying out for help and no one would listen. What could I possibly need help with? I was only a child.

 It sounds trite to say, but in the middle of all of this I experience moments of love, peace and dare I say ecstasy. I am working on my ability to bring these feeling up in my Self, without the assistance of others. I've done some much work, at times it feels like I've not come very far at all.