A HEALING TIME FOR PATRICIA ~ There are NO coincidences

(Warning: This could be a disturbing post for sensitive readers)
This is one of those posts where I don’t even know where to start… so much has happened in a short space of time… how will I put it altogether… how will I remember it all in sequence… how will I be able to keep it short?  All I know is that I must write about this.  For me this is a vitally important post.  I’ve learned so much over this time… I must not waste this learning.  Will anyone understand if I share this?  Will I be throwing pearls to swine?   I pray that sharing this will be helpful to someone else out there… that the gradual awakening which is so important and valuable to me on my healing journey, will become valuable and healing for someone else also.  I give myself permission to write this post as lengthy as it’s going to have to be… there’s just no other way.  Why this posting is so important to me, will only become evident toward the end when all that I share has come together.
 
May 2018: I had been dragged into a situation between two people that had absolutely NOTHING to do with me, but because I knew the one and then the other (initially not knowing that they knew each other), I was pulled through the mud of their relationship as if I were supposed to be a part of it.  The suddenly changed behavior of the one person was so bizarre and unsettling to me, that the whole disturbance caused my inner-adolescent to surface over that time.  I started to feel guilty for something that was not meant to be my problem, just as I did many years ago as a young adolescent.  I knew that it was not meant to be my problem, but because I even existed on the outer border of their problem, just by knowing the two people independently, I was made to feel BAD.  And then, as the situation progressed from bad to worse, I also started to feel threatened. 
 
At the time, I did not realise that Patricia’s being triggered to the surface was all a prelude to a journey towards healing for her over the weeks to come.  There are no coincidences…  (Patricia, my over-protective, angry inner-adolescent-self)
 
At the same time as all this was happening, Patricia was feeling threatened in another area altogether, where my perceived “mother-games” trigger by someone else was threatening my place of belonging…  my sense of safety, family and being… Hence the blog post that I wrote recently with Patricia’s voice.  Then, once I was feeling more settled a few days after writing that blog post, I realised that it needed to be removed, because it was not what I would have written on any good day, or even a bad one.  (Patricia had written it).
 
June 2018: With all the preparations for the June (and again in November) workshops (Introductory and Intermediate Logotherapy students end of course examination workshops), it is a very busy and stressful time for me.  With my oldest son’s separation and divorce, my young daughter in law having a procedure done on her heart, my dear old daddy having his pacemaker battery renewed in surgery, and all the other stuff going on this May, I started my workshop preparations later than usual which only added to my stress-load, and on top of that, due to circumstances beyond my control, my whole presentation on “The Tribe and the Wounded Healer” had to be completely redone on the day before the first Introductory course workshop began.  So, on the 10th June, I spent the entire day frantically working on the presentation to have it ready in time to share with the students.  Almost the entire presentation was changed as I personalized it, shortened it, changed the language of it and made it more Logotherapeutic, renaming it, “Logotherapy & The Wounded Healer”.  I was pleased with the outcome as it had become closer to my experience and heart and therefore easier to present, without having to read off the hand notes. 
 
It wasn’t all good this time around
During the workshops, several things went wrong.  My phone went off during one of my mentor, Teria’s talks, my new computer wouldn’t play the DVD, and, on another day, I never brought the right cord for it to connect to the projector, forgetting that it was different to the one we usually used at the workshops.  I can’t remember what else when wrong, but these things were enough to make me feel so bad… as if I’d let Teria and our students down.  Teria had also heard about some disturbing struggles within another group not connected to the student workshops, which I was sure had unsettled her dear heart terribly and it made me uncomfortable to know that she had to deal with that ugly nonsense on her visit to South Africa. 
 
Thank you for kind donations (I just had to slip this one in quick)
I was so grateful to the kind lady who donated the money I needed to get to and from Unisa during the workshop period which ran over three weeks in June.  I’m not quite sure how my car made it, because it was making a dreadful grinding sound every time I used the breaks.  Mechanic, Michael at my son’s place of work did look at the breaks and said that they were new (which they are as far as I remembered), so he felt that something had gone out of line (I don’t remember what).  I did not have time over June to do anything about it.  My youngest son will be off work this weekend and hopefully he will be well enough to take it in to be sorted out then.  He’s recently had his usual flare up that always starts with a sore throat and what looks like sinusitis (but, watery mucus and swollen turbinates only).  So, this time I immediately put him on medication for allergic, asthma and even hay fever type symptoms and so far, he has been responding very well and although he has some intermittent coughing going on, it’s thankfully nothing like the usual worrying development of his symptoms that we have become so used to over the years since his lung operation.  After my donation plea, I had one other kind donor, donate R200 which I will use towards whatever needs to be done on the car, so a very big thank you to that lady who also responded with such love.  Hopefully the car fix won’t be anything too expensive… please.  I would still love for any donations towards the other things I requested the need for help on in the last blog post.  If anyone can help, my son and I would really appreciate it very much… thank you.
 
The dead dog (warning:  reading the following two inserts might be painful for animal lovers like myself)
A sight that has haunted me, was created on my trips home every day from Unisa over the three weeks of the workshop.  Every day as I drove past a certain point, I saw the same dead dog lying about a meter off of the road in the sun and dirt.  A medium sized young dog looking like a black Labrador.  I wondered why I had to see it every day, and on some days, it looked like it’s body had moved position since the day before.  Why couldn’t I be looking at something else when I passed that dead dog… why did I keep seeing it?  Was there a reason… a message in it for me?  
 
I identified with the poor cow’s agony
The day after the student workshops ended, I still needed to attend two days of Advanced and Diplomate course student’s mid-year plenary session at Unisa which added to my exhaustion but was still a wonderful time to spend with the students I’d once assisted on their journey through the Introductory and Intermediate courses.  On the Thursday we ended the plenary session around lunch time so that we could all prepare for the graduation that evening. Dr Kanda and I traveled to the Cow Farm in Pretoria where Teria and I always meet for lunch and a chat on her visits to South Africa.  I loved that Dr Kanda was coming with this time to enjoy this wonderful place with us.
 
On the way to the bathroom after lunch and before we all travelled together to our Student’s graduation evening in Edenvale, we were delighted to see all the cows heading very slowly up a ramp together, waiting their turn to go into the barn where they were to be milked. 
 
My delight suddenly turned to horror when I saw one of the cows, half-way up the ramp, squashed against the railings by other cows bustling all around her… she was hunched backed and straining uncomfortably, with a newly broken birth-cord hanging out of her back end, still attached to an afterbirth inside of her.  Her udders were so swollen, that as she strained to try and push out her afterbirth, the milk squirted and dripped out of her teats.  She looked so terribly uncomfortable and in obvious pain. 
 
I felt horrified… Where was her brand-new calf?  Had they already taken it away from her to fatten it elsewhere where all the other motherless calves were isolated, each alone in their own tiny, cold, dark cell?  Were they only interested in the money they could make from the mother cow’s milk (her calves milk!)  It was such a horrible and disturbing sight to witness.  I made sure to find someone and told them about the poor cow… they called a manager and I told her.  She looked very surprised and horrified and promised to go see to the cow immediately.  Teria, Dr Kanda and I then left for the graduation.  But the memory of that cow’s agony still haunts me.  I felt helpless as we drove away from that place and prayed that the manager did indeed do something to help the mother cow… to ease her burden.
 
Something so amazing happened – I found Sister Cecilia (I don’t believe in coincidences)
Something really amazing happened at the Intermediate workshop.  I had stuffed a little black book into my bag at home, in case I needed something to write on.  Before we left the lecture room at teatime that day, I took out the little back book and wrote on a blank page, the tea, coffee, etc. orders of each student.  It’s easier to do it that in the classroom while they are all together, before going down to the restaurant.  At the restaurant, I wanted to write more neatly, a list of what could be ordered, so it was ready for the next day.  As I turned the pages of the little black book, I came across something written by my mother’s hand.  My mother had the most beautiful handwriting.  I saw a person’s full name and an address, and next to the full name in brackets was written (Cecilia).  My mind buzzed as I made the connection from my distant past.  This was a possible link to Sister Cecilia, a Catholic nun.  One of the rare and only memories of happiness I still retained (though vaguely), from my past.  We lived in Rhodesia at the time, and whenever our mother went into hospital as a result of epilepsy, (The St. Anne’s Hospital near our home), Sister Cecilia would come with some other nuns, to take care of the needs of my sister and me.  I also remembered them bringing chicken and other wonderful treats for us for Christmas… (hardly any details left in my memory… just a very blurred, but very happy memory of the kind and loving nuns.)
 
Surreal
I was alone sorting out the tables and chairs in the sun while Teria and the students were collecting their drinks.  I sat down, still stunned by having found Sr Cecilia’s address.  Next thing, one of the students came to sit down next to me… A Catholic nun… the first we’ve ever had on our courses as far as I remember.  It was a very surreal moment for me… I wanted to cry… another student arrived and sat on the other side of me, and I wanted to explain myself, so tried to tell her what had just happened, and the tears instantly rose to the surface, so I couldn’t tell her anything more… I had to contain myself so as not to have to leave the table in tearful embarrassment. 
 
Although I had a full name and address in that little black book, I was too eager to wait for a letter to reach her… was she even still alive?  We hadn’t seen our mother for many years, so it must have been a long time ago that she would have written in that book… Where on earth did the little book come from anyway?  Why hadn’t I seen it before?  I was stunned by this incredible moment in time.  On the 26th June, I looked up the name on the Internet and yes… I found it!  There were no contact details attached to it, but instead a contact to the “Global Sisters Report”.  So, I wrote to that e-mail address briefly explaining how I knew Sr Cecilia and asked if they knew how I could contact her.  The next day, the person responded saying that she had sent my letter onto Sister Cecilia and hoped that she would respond to me… which to my absolute delight, she did.  I found her letter on my computer when I returned home late in the evening, from the student’s graduation on the 28th June.
 
I always remembered being very little at the time of those beautiful nuns, but I was in for a surprise.  When Sister Cecilia responded on the 28th June, she addressed me as Patricia… she remembered me as Patricia Jooste, the name I was known by during the time that our mother was married to our abusive, “child-molester” stepfather.  I think my mother must have left him at that stage… how old was I then, I wonder… anything between 12-15… I think… but still very much a little girl inside. 
 
It was surreal being addressed as Patricia, especially at this time… but something inside of me just KNEW… that this was also not a coincidence… there was a reason for all the events that had triggered Patricia to the surface just recently… there was a reason I found Sister Cecilia at this time… there was a reason for it all, and even for what was still to come. 
 
Being a lot more mindful of the goings on in my life and mind these days, I pondered on all the events of late… and I knew that Life was working something in me… a personal miracle in progress.
 
Was it Patricia’s turn to find healing?  Is that what it was all about?  Yes-Yes, I was sure it was.  Suddenly it all became so clear… instead of seeing all the bad stuff as BAD… I was now seeing it in a new and awakening light… I started to feel HELD… LOVED… NOT SO ALONE.  Life was working a miracle in me once again, and it was for me to work with it and to receive it and make the most of this wonderful opportunity for healing my Patricia.
 
When I wrote back to Sister Cecilia, who is now in her 80’s, in a care center for the aged and suffers from arthritis, I sat for a few moments staring at the last line of my letter… how would I sign off?  For so many years I had absolutely hated the name, Patricia Jooste.  My mother changed my name at school and that was what I was called… never, ever by my own true name, other than by my beloved Greek stepmother who always called me Panayiota, and occasionally one or two others intermittently throughout my life.  Because of my Greek mother, I learned to value my true name greatly, so it always hurt that nobody else would call me by it… even the rest of my Greek family and my own dad who I love dearly, have always called me Pat.
 
So, I sat there, looking at that last line of my letter to Sister Cecilia… how would I sign off? 
 
Thinking about all the recent events that led up to this moment in time, I knew in my heart that without a shadow of a doubt, Life was making the way clear for Patricia’s healing.  How could I not, but to sign off to this dear old lady with Patricia… in honour of Patricia… yes, perhaps she too has longed to hear her name being called and recognized and fully accepted with my unconditional love.  I signed my letter off… Patricia.
 
28th June - The graduation evening was wonderful, and I met up with two dear friends, Audrey and Sue which helped to make the evening extra special for me.  Teria spoke to us all and her message centered around behaving, one towards another, in a true Logotherapeutic and optimally human way in the best interest of all.  I am quite sure and would hope, that not only myself, but everyone in the room was touched for all that is good, beautiful, right, healing and true by her message.   I was so disappointed, that in my exhaustion from the whole months activities, that I completely forgot to put my recorder on to capture every empowering word of Teria’s wisdom. 
 
Right at the end of the graduation, after Teria had spoken and we went to have tea together, the lights went out and we finished off the evening by candle and cell-phone light.  Something niggled at me right at the end of the evening, when I realised that, that evening was the last time I’d see Teria after three intense weeks of her company… and that I had not said a proper goodbye to her when she left… I felt I had been prevented from going out to say goodbye to her and those thoughts festered in my head overnight and…
 
30th June 2018:  And then it was Saturday…
Both my son and I had arrived home late on Friday night and realised our water had been cut.  It was still off all day Saturday and if it wasn’t for my little sister, Mira, popping in with a large flask of water for tea, and helping me lift a heavy bucket to flush the toilet and fill the cistern ready for the next flush, I just don’t know what I would have done.  (My son was working).  Mira also took two of my large buckets home with her and filled them with clean water… her and my oldest Nephew brought them inside and made sure I was settled for the day.  Of course, they saw my tears, but their kindness and visits helped a lot to lift my spirit.
 
Whenever the workshops end, it feels to me, just like the day after Christmas, when all the rushing-excitement and festivities are suddenly over… THE NOTHING returns.  I sat in my quiet house, surrounded by what seemed to be total chaos to me… chaos with my work because so much had gotten so far behind during the workshops… chaos in my home for the same reason… and chaos in my head, because I was still agonizing over the various disturbance that had happened of late.  How could I allow people to have so much power over my thoughts, to cause so much chaos.  Oh, how Patricia would love to write here thoughts here right now, because she is still angry and unsettled, but I am fighting to keep her in check… her voice comes with no filters, and as my adult-self, Panayiota, I also need to heed Teria’s wisdom and hope that it has made the general impact needed to bring back the peace and sense of belonging I so desperately need at this time.
 
Deepest darkest depression
I woke on Saturday with the deepest darkest depression already well set in place… as if I was finally able to rip off the masks of “everything’s ok” so that I could be present during the workshops, to take on my responsibilities in an adult way.  The adrenaline high that I’d been on to cope had suddenly crashed onto some other level and I found myself in a dark place once more of, NO LONGER BELONGING… I felt that I’d come as far as I could go on my Logotherapy journey…. It had done all it could do for me and there was nothing left anymore to be done… it was over.
 
I wanted to escape the anguish I was feeling, but I kept thinking of that little dog lying there dead, on the side of the road.  Who cared about the dog… how many would someday when I’m dead, pass my gravestone and not care about the name written on it, or the person buried in it?
 
I am not ready to die, I still have so much to do.  I must fulfil my life’s purpose before I can die, so that maybe then others would really care that I’d BEEN. 
 
In the anguish I was experiencing during the morning, I kept thinking of that poor cow… I was identifying deeply with her struggle… I was feeling her pain, although on an emotional level, and her internal moaning and groaning, straining-agonies.  Patricia was screaming so hard and so loud inside of me, but her screams were not able to come out… still STUCK in that awful place of suffocation that I once drew of her during my time in therapy about 10 years ago… the picture I now have in my book, which I hope to find time to finish the self-editing on and have published someday soon.
 
It occurred to me, that it was actually Patricia’s overwhelming burden and intensity that caused me to once write the following poem.
 
Intensity
© All rights reserved ~ www.pattyskeys.co.za
 
The intensity is more than I can bear!
Burning acid on every rip and tear!
Bubble, bubble toil and trouble!
So much chaos, so much muddle!
I cannot bear it anymore...
But I'm not ready for Heaven's Door!
Help me!  Help me!
Please make me brave!
Save me! Save me! 
Please help me...
Save...
 
~ Panayiota Ryall
(07 October 2014 – Written in the middle of a sleepless dark night somewhere)

I could never be a “real” trainer
Another thing that was playing greatly on my mind at the time and that was also shaking me up over the workshop period, was that I came to the full realization (once again), that I could never be a real trainer.  I can do little bits here and there to assist Teria with her training of the students.  I can do presentations… my presentations always done with reasonable confidence and I am able to answer questions about my life ok… but, when I do Teria’s presentation, which I have done over and over and should know off by heart by now, I still find that I need to read off of my notes!  Self-consciousness causes me to listen to my own voice when I’m reading and lose even more confidence!  I sometimes stammer over the words… forget my place and feel like a fool.  And, there are times when Teria leaves me with the students at the end of the day, when they are working in a group (on their own), on some exercise they each take turns to discuss with each other.  It’s wonderful to listen to them and how they open-up and share so deeply with each other, but just let one turn and ask me a question that I should easily have the answer to… I instantly go blank… any hope of response is silenced by my own messed-up mind.  AAARGH!!!
 
Going back into my past, I remember our mother waking us up in the night, expecting us to come immediately to sing a song to her visitor, mostly her latest boyfriend… the song we sang to her earlier in the day.  She loved to use us in this way… to show us off to her friends… She’d drag us, still half asleep, to the sitting room… “Patty, sing that song you sang to me earlier… it was so lovely… come on… SING!”  Like puppets on a string, we had no option, but to preform instantly at her command and if we dared to fail, we knew what was going to come next.  She’d send us back to our room, showing obvious disgust that we failed her… embarrassing us and giving us “THE LOOK”… and with that, we would know………… there we would lie, fearful and wide-eyed in the blackness, trying to fall back to sleep, but too scared to, because we knew that once the visitor had left, mother would be coming for us in all her fury.  So tired… so desperately, desperately tired… but too scared to sleep, because the ugly vicious, growling, screeching monster was coming for us soon.  She’d rip us out of our beds by our hair and beat the living daylights out of us… THE END!
 
So, with so much going on, Patricia was back in full force, but the cork on her anger (that had been fizzing explosively inside for years) had burst off and the tears of deepest despair and frustration flowed uncontrollably.  All this first triggered by the violent shaking of the bottle by my perceptions of, and reactions (desperate need to protect) to the behavior of others during May and June, the stressful RUSH of June and other incidents mentioned in this post.  The bottle of my equilibrium was shaken even more violently by Patricia’s desperate need to protect those who were being hurt in the all the unnecessary commotion… just like it was when she tried to protect her little sister may years before.  (An overwhelmingly impossibly frustrating task).
 
Who could understand… unless you had been there… unless you had been my Patricia.
 
The (exhaustion) depression totally consumed me on Saturday to the point that I felt to give up completely.  My youngest son was at work, so I was alone… totally and utterly alone in all the chaos. 
 
I started to want OUT… not death… for some reason I am not ready for death yet… I used to wish for it all the time (before I had children and grandchildren and before Logotherapy found me and gave me an even greater will to live.)  But I felt that I could not go on living the way I am in a place of such disturbance.  I could not live where I didn’t feel I fully belonged… The anxiety was so overwhelming on Saturday, that I felt I could tear the flesh off my own body… I wanted OUT… but how could I achieve that… find a new job… where would I go in search of work… A home for the disabled not far from my place… Old folks’ homes nearby… (I love old folk so much).
 
And so, my thoughts scraped like sandpaper against my skin throughout the day… I developed my IBS pain again which lasted a good few days.  For three days, I kept getting a pain in my heart… a sharp stabbing pain, especially when I breathed in.  I went through a stage many years before when I had that pain… I was told that an excess adrenaline release was causing painful contractions on the apex of my heart… I don’t know if that’s true.  On Sunday I woke up aching all over and my feet threatening gout again, but I acted immediately, and the threat became less over a few days.

A friendly little bird 
Sometime during the day, I went out into the garden to hang washing.  The sun shone warmly on  my face and a little bird greeted me as I went out.  It danced around on the ground so close to where I was standing... no more than a  meter from me.  I'm not sure what kind of bird it is... it has visited me before when I've been sad... I will take a photo of it next time I see it.  I am guessing it is a Cape robin, but I could be wrong. It sung the gentlest and sweetest little song while I was out there.  I felt strongly that the little bird was there to lift my spirits... to tell me that all would be well.  I believe that those who have crossed over the veil before me, still find a way to let me know that they are with me.  Who could this bird be I wondered... some names crossed my mind... Norma maybe (my dear old friend who I had to leave behind when I moved away from Benoni)... maybe Doris (my dear old house-helper who I loved like a mother)... (I didn't know if it was a male or female bird). Whoever it was, I felt their comforting love and a sense of rejoicing... everything was going to be alright.

My daughter is a blessing in my life
At some stage on Saturday, my daughter called and invited me to lunch at her house on Sunday.  Moments later, my oldest son asked on our family WhatsApp group if anyone would like a visit from him and my three grandchildren, because he had them for the week as it was their school holidays.  My daughter responded that they could also come to lunch on Sunday, and suddenly, I had something lovely to look forward to… and that really helped to lift me from the worst of the depression. 
 
On Sunday, we had a wonderful time together.  My son and I had a good chat with each other… we both needed someone to talk to and we understand each other more than most other people understand us.  I was reminded once again of what an incredible spirit he has and rejoiced in that knowledge.  I have had similar chats with my second son in the past that have lifted me to the skies and am so proud to be the mother of the wonderful children that Heaven has blessed me with.  I had the opportunity to share with my oldest, a WhatsApp conversation I’d had the day before with Dr Kanda that I also found so helpful in lifting me from my depression.  My son really appreciated what Dr Kanda had shared with me and he understood our WhatsApp conversation and agreed with it all.  It was so special to be able to share something so personal with my son that day and I was grateful to my daughter for entertaining the children outside so that my son and I could talk.  She is so very special to my heart.
 
The WhatsApp conversation with Dr Kanda on Saturday
I mentioned to Dr Kanda that I was very depressed, because he wanted to visit.  I wrote back that I’d rather he didn’t come.  I’d taken a tablet for the depression that I’d used successfully in my far distant past, and someone had recently given me some, just to see if they still worked so well.  I only took half, because I wanted to monitor how they would work now.  I couldn’t afford to sleep all day with so much work to do.
 
I wrote to Dr Kanda: “If the tablet works, it will be ok, but if I am like I am now, it will just be a garbled moaning and groaning time and I don’t have time for that.  I’ve got too much catching up to do.  I’m not going to do myself in so please don’t worry.  Just feeling very frustrated, angry and sad all at the same time and feel like I’ve had enough for now.  Too tired to discuss it anyway.  I just feel overwhelmed and need to catch up.  Any interruption would prevent catching up.  Thank you for caring and have a good evening.”
 
WhatsApp conversation continued on Sunday
I asked Dr Kanda if he was aware of something that had unsettled me in the last moments of the graduation, but I (Patricia) felt that he did not give me an adequate answer.  Picking up that there might be a problem, he mentioned again that he wanted to visit, and I said, “No”… I was far too busy with too much work to catch up on and that any interruptions would only add to the stress of getting up to date with my work.  He then asked if I was struggling with something and so I shared that I’d not said a proper goodbye to Teria on the evening and my unsettled thoughts on why I believed that could have happened.  Over the years, I have come to find a friend in Dr Kanda who, even if he doesn’t understand things all the time, he genuinely tries his best to and has earned my trust over time as a result.
 
He responded: “Take care and if possible a break from work.  I could not work yesterday as I realised the extent of damage and hurt caused. We need to be strong to carry our load.  Ours is to serve.  The rest will follow.  With loving care.”
 
I was touched by his wisdom and it opened a door of trust for me to share a little more and to reassure him, because I didn’t want to leave him worrying.  It was so good to have someone to talk to in that dark place. 
 
I wrote: “Beautifully said as always.  I’m in the space to find a new job and cut myself off completely, because I cannot hold Patricia’s intensity like this… it’s literally unbearable.  Her angry and frustrated screaming is not silent inside of me… it’s too loud and desperate… staying as numb as possible to keep her from taking over… talking will make me too vulnerable to keep her in… she is a danger to my life because she is in too much pain… I will visit my daughter later today for lunch.  It will help a lot.  Thanks so much.”
 
His response was one of the most beautifully inspired and uplifting that I could have hoped for in that moment of time.  I felt fully acknowledged and accepted in my weakness, and in that moment, I could feel Patricia’s healing beginning.
 
“Will you be able to nurse Patricia as she deserves unconditional love from you and not shame because she is angry.  She is angry for a reason and she needs to be acknowledged for being a protective guardian.  It is time for her to feel loved and accepted regardless of what happened or will happen.  Logotherapy space is for you unconditionally.  There will be difficult times of trial but the truth, the beautiful and the good will prevail.  Giving up is not an option.  Fighting decently for a decent life is the way to go.  Maybe Patricia does not need to fight this time, but to tell us how she did it, to keep us alive.  You see, maybe Patricia needs to graduate to become a coach, a guide of the new warriors of meaning.  With loving care”
 
In tears of gratitude and a real sense of being held by the love of a true friend, I wrote back and thanked him.
 
Friends do get hurt
Two friends wrote to me around that time.  Because I (Patricia) was still feeling BAD when the one wrote, and because Patricia does not trust, when each one said kind things to me and that they cared and loved me, I felt NOTHING (maybe even angry that they were being kind to me and telling me they loved me)… I have felt that before, and realised more than ever this time around, that when Patricia is on the surface, her emotions are a lot different to my own.  Patricia is unable to respond to love… she has no filter and says things from an angry, frustrated and very hurting place of distrust.  Patricia is numb to love… she cannot believe in it… she was born out of her stepfather’s frequent abuses and rapes.  Patricia does not fear losing friends… she doesn’t care, and I truly believe that she could even be a real danger to my younger inner-child (Patty) and my adult self’s existence.  Not realizing that the anguish she feels is solely hers, I believe that she could easily take our lives to protect us from her own overwhelming and unbearable intensity of emotions.  
 
Having said that, I also believe that she has sacrificed her own will to die… to be free of her own sufferings and anguish, because of her overwhelming sense of responsibility to protect “us”… to keep us safe.  I believe that she LIVED for her little sister at a time that she wanted only to die… to be free… just as she is now living for Patty and Panayiota.
 
Trust will always be an issue
Having gone through what I have over the last few weeks, I realise all too well, that sharing my weaker-self with others (even writing these blog posts), has exposed even more the real me and that this will potentially further damage my relationships.  But when one is on a genuine quest for healing as I am, one cannot allow any threats of loss of friendships or reputation, or judgements against one’s self to diminish one’s will to progress… healing must remain my one true goal and focus and I cannot allow anything to get in the way of that.  Healing takes real effort… and by what I am learning, it also takes sacrifice and even loss.
 
Sharing with one or two people, I realise that they are taking what I’ve shared and sharing it among themselves.  This could lead to them deciding to protect me in future from what is really going on out there… which means, they will withdraw their truths from me… I see this as a painful LOSS.  Other people will take what I’ve shared and along with their label for me of “Mental Illness”, they will use it to shift responsibility, to justify and cover up their own bad behaviors and judgements.  Some will feel sorry for me… I DON’T WANT ANYONE TO FEEL SORRY FOR ME!!!  DAMMIT!  I’ve come too far for such an insult to my growth thus far! 
 
I cannot let any of this distract me from the responsibility I owe to myself for my own healing journey… I must not give up, even if in the end, I end up healed but entirely alone with my “Peace of mind”.  Anything would be better than the anguish of being so fragmented by the otherwise burning and lasting effects of child abuse on my life.
 
I will not allow Patty’s tearful-brokenness or Patricia’s desperate, angry screaming go with me to my grave… if I allowed that, then my abusers from my childhood and all the stand-by finger-pointing abusers ever since then would have won… Mother always, ALWAYS WON! 
 
But this time I will not let her, no matter what or who I lose along the way… This time… I WIN!
 
‘FIGHT THE GOOD FIGHT’ TO BE ‘ME’!
© All rights reserved ~ www.pattyskeys.co.za
 
I sometimes ponder upon my ‘haunting fears’,
I know ‘they’ were created since my difficult youth,
I wonder how I came so far with ‘them’,
For they exist, as plain as the truth!
 
I know I’m a special woman today,
I believe in the ‘LOVE’ of my heart,
Yet still the ‘fears’ haunt me so often,
And I’m sure ‘they’ will never depart!
 
I’ve learnt to expect ‘them’ - My burden,
To carry with me through all my days,
And although faith has made ‘them’ less frightening,
‘They’ still insist on ‘their’ ways!
 
‘They’ so want to rule who I am,
And control my destiny,
But I know all ‘their’ tricks and ‘their’ games,
And I will keep fighting, "The Good Fight’ to be ‘ME’!
 
(28 March 2002)
 
Thank you for sharing with me today
 
~ Panayiota (on behalf of Patty and Patricia)
 
I don’t believe in coincidence 
Just as there are symbols guiding us in our dreams, so I believe also, that there are symbols guiding us in our wakefulness… we just need to become more “awake” to notice them and take action on them.

Life Shocks:  https://www.irishtimes.com/culture/books/what-are-lifeshocks-and-what-can-we-do-with-them-1.3545670?mode=amp
 
10 mindful minutes:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qzR62JJCMBQ