Hellena Post - Creatrix
I've tried on so many uniforms and badges that now I'm just me - mother of 8 children and all that entails, flowmad, and human animal parent. Writer of this living book of a blog, philosopher, and creatrix of hand dyed and spun crocheted wearable art. I gave up polite conversation years ago, and now I dive into the big one's.....birth, sex, great wellness, life, passion, death and rebirth.
Tuesday, May 10, 2016
Monday, May 9, 2016
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I don't remember anything of the first seven years of my life. At the age of 45, it honestly only occurred to me recently, that this might not be a necessarily normal thing. I have brief blips of memories, and most of them are about my father, passing me money behind his back, playing the chair game with me, singing songs about yabbies eating off policemen's willies. I have a clear memory of playing a game with an empty egg shell and him at breakfast, with a table full of the rest of my family who seem to just not exist. I don't have a single teeny tiny memory of my mother. Nothing at all.
Then when I was 31, I went to a breath worker, who read my body. I was so surprised when he told me, after watching me walk and looking at my feet, that my incredibly high foot arch denoted terror in my childhood. I couldn't remember any of it until 7, and it was miserable after that but terror?
Then fast forward to a year ago.
- Sense of complete difference from others
- Belief that the self is not human
- Preoccupation with relationship with perpetrator
- Attribution of total power to perpetrator
- Idealisation of perpetrator, gratitude to perpetrator
- Belief in a supernatural/special relationship with perpetrator
- Acceptance of belief system or rationalisations of perpetrator
- Repeated failures of self protection
- Sense of hopelessness and despair