I, Onion

I, Onion.
You, Glue.
Sometimes when I shed,
It sticks to you.

Ex-Steps and TCM

A month is way too long between blog entries; words accumulate in my head and I end up daydreaming more than creating. It doesn't help that I am still challenged by uploading images. For whatever reason, I can only easily load the art on a properly operating PC (i.e. NOT the one at home.) And I have it in my head that I need both words and images, even if one doesn't necessarily relate to the other.

EX-STEPS
My ex-stepbrother and his wife recently had their 1st baby. Not only did I feel a genuine happiness for them, I felt lucky to still be in the loop of his life. Alan was always very kind and fair and we had a pretty good time together as kids.

When my father was married to his mother, we didn't have a Blended Family so much as a Good Seasons Salad Dressing one; if you shook it hard enough we looked blended but leave us still and the parts basically went back to their original character. We kids were the Seasoning Pack; it was easy to forget when to include us and even after the parts were separated again, bits and pieces of us were left suspended somewhere in between.

Our parents finally moved on to better things and quite honestly, I never missed my father's ex-wife. In fact, my indifference sort of bothered me... until I saw her picture amongst the new baby photos. Yet another "Ah ha!" moment.

First, the disclaimer: I have no malice towards any of the individuals involved in what I am sharing. If I were still playing the Blame Game, I would be dead. Seriously. I blamed myself for all of the things that went wrong in my early teens and now that I have grown kids, I understand that Life doesn't really work that way. Nor does it mean that everything is a parent's fault... bad shit happens and people don't always make the right choices. And they usually don't make the right choices because they don't know they have any!

This is just a timeline of memory.

During my father's courtship/marriage, somewhere between the ages of 13 and 17, I had sex with a lot of older men. A friend of my father's, the preacher of our church, a boarder at my pre-step's house, a sheriff's deputy, and lots of guys in their 20's. I was almost abducted from a laudromat; the man had just started to undo my shirt when my father pulled up. (Please don't ask "Why?"; I pay for someone to answer that with me and besides, who among us is really qualified anyway?)

There's a lot that I don't remember because at some point I also developed a very serious meth habit. And yes, that became more important than the other crap. I (finally) had a Disassociative (sp?)Fugue a few days following a miscarriage at age 20. At 22, I packed up my Toyota Tercel and headed for a new life in Philly. No speed, no need.

Where does my ex-stepmother fit in? She didn't. If she had, I might have felt enough of a bond not to do myself in. Is it her fault? No. She didn't have that ability. I look at her now and I see that she helped create the vacuum I lived in; she just made it easier for me not to care. I have no feelings for her... she was an emotional void. By the time she and my Dad split up it was a moot point anyway. Seeing her reminded me of just how far all of us have come in our lives since she chose to leave. I can close that chapter in my life peacefully; it is all literally a half-a-lifetime away.

Traditional Chinese Medicine
For about 6 weeks now, I have been going to a chinese massage therapist in Chinatown for bodywork. I believe it is called anmo. From the little research I have done, it is an ancient form typical for Qi Gong and other martial arts practitioners. 'Talk about powerful stuff. The session itself is a lot like Shiatsu; I'm fully dressed, lying facedown on a massage table. Part of the session is a short routine which I am guessing is diagnostic because he will touch various meridans/pressure points that I recognize from my short Shiatsu class in massage school.

First and foremost, the work has nothing to do with relaxation. If there is an area that is ungiving then his touch becomes persistant, usually in a forceful rocking motion. I've learned when to exhale with his work and allow my body to go with it. I went one morning after having had too much to drink the night before... my breath became so god-awful funky that I knew I was being cleaned out. His only words after that session were, "Lungs. Stomach." My most recent session was intense and focused on my lower back and pelvis. I left feeling like I was rediscovering the art of walking (and other pelvic activities.) Wow-y Zow-y.

Some day soon I will learn how to say his name (he understands some English but doesn't speak it very well.) We might even exchange whole sentences. So far, there has been so little conversation and frankly, I think that's a-ok. I don't want to feel better, I want to be well. He's been an invaluable resource in my journey away from medication and over-thinking. He has helped to break through the emotional vacuum that once held me so far away from myself.

We all need a helping hand to pull us up. I trust his because he has shown me nothing but the best intention. We should all be so lucky.

Namaste