Saturday, May 28, 2011

Repost-inner zombie and boy

My friend Squirrel wants me to try inner child work.

The thing is? when he suggested it, I got this image of a drowned, eyeless rotted girl crawling out of water.
With filthy rot liquid pouring out of her mouth.

So he said to make a safe place for her, and I visualized a large walk in closet with a giant pile of stuffed animals she could bury herself in. Since I couldn't get this drippy undead inner component out of my consciousness once she'd presented herself anyway.

The other night I got the impression of crying from under those stuffed animals and a wave of sad loneliness enveloped me.

Today in the store I managed to offend a clerk by making a comment about why I wanted sports bras ("So they don't go floop-floop-floop when I run." Is what I said.
Well, that hurts.
Not having your tits flap is a necessary part of running.)

I was walking out of the store, and I hear a little girl's voice in my head: " She didn't like us."
And I sad (internally) "No, she didn't, but I'm going to work on liking you."
And I made an effort to extend compassion to her...which is hard. She's very slimy and foul. Putrid. And being undead, she's very cold.

So yeah, my interior metaphors are behaving independently.

My internal boy...I guess he got to grow up in a way. I certainly feel more connected to my male side. He was the one who got me away, outside, where it was safer. Why I act like a little boy a lot. About 15 years old. I like cars and guns and explosions, and transformers, and bugs and snakes. All that good boy stuff. Action movies. The boy's the one who likes fedoras and trenchcoats and big boots, and generally looking like as much of a hoodlum as he can reasonably get away with. Or looking like Doctor Who.
The one I resemble out in public. The one who puts on a big front because he's scared a lot and insecure, like a teenaged boy.

The girl died. Maybe she can be resurrected. Maybe she will unload her tremendous sorrow on me and be laid to a more peaceful rest...a thought that fills me with tremendous sadness, suddenly.
That there is a part of me that did die. A part of me that will never live again. Something that lost the will to continue.
Squirrel says they just hide very deeply, but...I fear mine may have no life left in her.

This is really all very...weird, and sad...and I hope Squirrel knows what he's doing. He says it made him a lot less suicidal, a lot happier.

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