Tuesday, August 23, 2011

A life worth living.. Really?

When I gave my presentation in St. Louis in that standing room only space, I wanted everyone to hear how those in the streets can live a life worth living with a hand up and not a hand out. 
I am sitting at home today and pondering that philosophy. Life is not easy. Of course, it is easier NOT being in the streets, but still... there are days that are so dark that I wonder if I will ever feel light again. There are memories that need to stay buried. Forever. 

The past few days I have been in a funk. Feeling the darkness creeping up on me. Depression is trying to rear its ugly head. Why now? What is going on?

Then it hit me.

When I was in St. Louis and someone asked me how I got out of that room when the guns were pointed at my full belly.. I could not remember. I never have been able to retrieve that memory. Then I started to go through my memory bank and wondered about those other times that are blank. 

I remember being "in a wall" when my body was being brutalized. I could see things happening to me, but I was not there. The body was vacant. Or was it? There was some piece of consciousness in that body. That piece was talking and carrying on to allow me continue to live. 

I am really afraid of the words that are coming out now.. but it seems to make perfect sense. I do not remember the things that happened to me because I was not in my body at the time. Someone else took over. Someone else came to protect the "me" that I was then and am now. 

I remember the days when I was in intensive psychotherapy and that my therapist told me that I had experienced a "merging" that was the day that I had so many memories flood back into one space. That was the day that when I laughed I could feel my 3 year old, and 7 year old and 10 year old and teen and young adult and mom all become one. The laughter joined me to those pieces that I thought were lost forever.

But now.. I wonder. No. I know. There is more that has been buried. I am not ready for those dark memories. I do not want to know what happened to "me" when I left for three days to escape the tortures and brutality that were performed on my kidnapped body. I want to keep the series of events that occurred behind that locked door, locked behind another locked door. 

I think her name is Saqui. I remember having a kitten by that name and loving the way she was so brave and fierce for someone so small. I believe that Saqui took over my body at those times that I had to leave. 

This is a path that I am not ready for. Not now. I do vow to one day shed light on that darkness, to remove its power and exorcise those demons that still are buried deep, deep inside.

But today I will push on and push back on the depression. Now that I know where it is coming from, I can let it go. For today.

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Coming out of the closet... or the first time I spoke about my alter ego.

These were all fantastic talks but …
It was DAKINI VERONA, who brought the house down. She shared her personal story about how being homeless when she was young didn't stop her from getting back on her feet and becoming a successful association executive. When you confront homelessness, it's not about where people on the street are, it's where they have come from. Compassion and assistance are gifts we can give back to people who are in this situation through no fault of their own. SupportWorld Homeless Day, October 10, 2011. We'd all like to thank Dakini for a courageous, inspiring, and important talk. That standing ovation was a testament to the immense power held within five well-told minutes.