Today’s process: I feel like a ball in one of those wire spin thingies that spits out lottery winner numbers. Recently I’ve learned of CPTSD, which is Complex PTSD, a version of PTSD for people who have experienced long-term trauma (ongoing childhood abuse, for ex.): www.beautyafterbruises.org/what-is-cptsd

This is turning me inside out.

I read the list of symptoms. The resonance is horrifying.

I hope this new light shining on old, still-tender bruises will be healing. Like sunshine is a disinfectant.

Anyways it’s painful to look at (I just typed “paintful” which is kind of hilarious), but so true to my experiences I can’t look away. It’s like a neon light poking a pink fluorescent finger into a dark corner.

So I’m writing away in my journal, which helps me sort out feelings that hit me like a tsunami. When the words flow in the journal, my head starts slowly sorting things out, and I am somewhat calmed.

Later I went outside my door and sat on my favorite boulder and put my bare feet in the dirt, releasing pain into the rocks. Into the Rocky Mountains. A few more spoonfulls of hideous trauma absorbed into the earth (she’s generous that way).

Then a fire sparked in my belly and I practically ran back upstairs (at a 72-year old’s pace) to pull art supplies out to express more grief and shock and whirligig emotions.

After painting and drawing I needed paper to make it into a sort-of collage; the closest, most relevant print I found was a letter from the state of CA that came when I ordered a dupe of my birth certificate. Felt kind of perfect.

It all poured out of me. I didn’t even sit down at my art table but stood — couldn’t interrupt.

And here I am, a tiny bit more whole this afternoon. I worry about too much navel-gazing, but sometimes these moments just happen and I trust them. Healing truths kind of fall out of the sky sometimes. I am deeply grateful and a bit stunned.

8″ x 8″ mixed media on paper = $95