Like Words Together Reflections from the deep end of Practice.

Late Night Rage

Another Collage Journal Carousel entry. This one's theme is, "Imperfect".

Today felt hard and then i found out a dear friend has a meningioma, a kind of brain tumor. As we were trying to talk folks showed up to fix my picky issue with the cement repair in the basement.

My professional org still hasn't commented on the response to a sexual misconduct incident. Three weeks after telling me it was coming very soon and convincing me to come to the online conference.

Getting CK's lumbar puncture scheduled has been ridiculously hard and involved gaslighting.

I'm not surprised there's late night rage today.

Trigger warnings for sexual abuse, child abuse and neglect.

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Hello, rage about my Mother. I thought you were biweekly in response to therapy, bit as my therapist was sick this week it appears you're just biweekly because there's still so many prickly opportunities for me to recall the ways in which you harmed more.

Rage because it still continues to unfold. Rage that she refused to believe I was sexually assaulted as a child until she casually asked me about it while I watched her eat food at a Wendy's. Rage that she knew all along and instead told child me that my discomfort and UTI was due to poor hygiene.

Rage about the man, my Mother's shady boyfriend, who repeatedly assaulted me at age 6, into age 7. Rage at the hazy glimpses of passion and terror that imply so much more than the horror I already remember.

Rage at all the other sexual misconduct from men, from mere lewdness to a child, to outright assault, physically and emotionally.

Hair curling rage. If she weren't already dead I'd wish for her death.

It's an ugly feeling. I don't like my rage, I'm frightened by anger. However, I'm learning to love it, to acknowledge it as a true, reasonable response from my spirit to the terror I've survived.