Dear Me

Dear Me,

Today has been an emotional day. I guess you could say it is one of those pivotal moments in life where everything you knew or thought you knew gets turned inside out. I’ve been writing about my twinflame journey for months now. In that time very little had changed for me in the 3D. I had focused most of my efforts in the 5D. My dreams have been simply out of this world. Then suddenly there was a change. The man I believed to be my twin (will call him A to avoid confusion) popped up in my Telegram contact list (before you get too excited about it we have not exchanged a single word). I took it to mean something. I wanted it to mean something. Finally there was an open door between us. I did not jump at the opportunity. I waited. I gave him space. I followed the advice of the “experts” if there even is such a thing as an expert on the subject. A is still in my contacts on Telegram (atm) but something did change in the 3D. I am not ready to open up about it just yet but it has brought something to my attention, a possibility I just had not been prepared to face. A is not my twinflame. A is simply a man. A man I do not know. A man who is not interested in me and that should have been very clear to me and might have been had I been a little more experienced, a little more rational, a little less smitten. I am not angry with A. It wasn’t his fault I got my signals crossed. He did not lead me on. He did not “seduce” me. He did not lie to me. I do feel regretful for how I behaved. It was an honest mistake but it still probably did result in some discomfort and inconvenience for him which I am pretty broken up about at the moment. There is not really anything I can do about that. I can’t really apologize because that would draw it out and add to the discomfort/weirdness that already exists. I want to make it clear I have not been sending him messages or anything. Nothing like that for nearly a year. So it was nothing overt like that, it was only an accident. A stupid, grade-school girl level accident after nearly a year of complete silence. At this point all I can do is let go of the image I had of DM. I have to release A so I can discover the truth, however, painful that truth might be.

Right now that is mainly where I am grieving the loss of that clarity, of that person to which I had ascribed so much meaning and potential. Who is full of meaning and potentional certainly but whose life is and ever will be seperate from my own. I really had very little that was clear to me and now, at least, concerning this journey everything is hidden behind a very dense veil.

I might be my own twinflame. This whole journey might just be my subconscious’ ingenious way of healing trauma. I can’t say why my mind decided to involve someone in that process, perhaps it was as simple as comfort. It can be quite painful to think of undertaking a difficult journey alone. It makes me think of that research experiment with the baby monkeys. In the experiment the babies who were given a terry cloth mother to cuddle did better than the babies who were given only food. In the end the experiment was really very cruel because the monkeys were forced to choose between their “surrogate mother” and food. They chose their “surrogate mother” and starved to death. Humans aren’t much different. We all want love and comfort. We are social creatures. So I can’t really even blame my brain for concocting this elaborate love story. It chose someone with whom I could not form an actual connection, someone with whom my illusion could be maintained for a longer period of time. I did manage to heal quite a lot in the process just the same. I also learned that I have a tremendous imagination. I have struggled even to hold an erotic image in my head for masturbation when I am awake so maybe this is a way a way of breaking down that blockage to allow me to create more freely and authentically even when I am awake and ego-bound. There are obviously still things I cannot explain. Signs I have received. This I can’t quite see as products of my overactive imagination since they occurred in the external world and were outside of myself. Then again I suppose there might be magic of a sort in this world. Magic because I wished for it and whatever the outcome for a while I did find it.

Of course there is a possibility I have a twinflame who is, for whatever reason, withholding their identity. Since their identity is unknown I gave them one or they gave me one simply to have a face and a name. I did not know about twinflames to start so it wasn’t something I was seeking out. It will be hard to let go of the notion since I am a hopeless romantic but I think I do need to broaden my horizons even more.

I have no idea why I reacted to A’s picture the way I did, in such an atypical and unpreceded way. It is possible to have feelings for someone that doesn’t like you back and not be mistaken. I suppose it was just that I felt something. I had feelings. Now though I need to let go of those feelings and I need to be open to receiving love. Reciprocal love. I am not ready to hit the dating sites yet I have to grieve first. Maybe my twinflame is out there somewhere with a face and name his/her own. Maybe my twinflame exists only in my dreams and if so I hope that they will tell me so.

If ever A (Axel Miraton) comes across this I am truly sorry for being such a pest. I sincerely hope you have a gorgeous life! Goodbye but not good riddance. Also thanks for the inspiration!

For now my only twinflame is myself. I am going to get to know me. To love me. To forgive me. Maybe someone will enter my life someday. I am open to that possibility. I will be eventually, at least. For now I am going to choose that which sustains me rather than the illusion of comfort.



The sight of her bare face filled him with fear. He collected her discarded masks. He held them up to her face. He begged her to wear them. They made her familiar, safe, maneuverable. He loved “her” past tense. Some part of him wanted her to remain past tense forever. The wounds in her heart were like the grooves in a record player. The song she sang was agonizing but at least he could follow the melody. He could listen to her for hours, for days, for centuries. He was ready to drown himself in her song. He wasn’t convinced that the healthy version of her would be content with such a limited repertoire. He sensed that she wanted more. He wanted to save her. In his own way. In his own time. He resented her in motion. He resented her when fallow. He loved her. He hated her. She was everything. She was fodder. He understood her. She was becoming a stranger.



We sit side by side,

a sheet of paper between us

like a Rosetta Stone

in search of a language

that can translate

our thoughts and sentiments.



I could listen

to your hands all night,

to the patient hiss

of your pencil as you reveal

another layer of scar tissue.

Scars which were once

indigenous to my heart.

Scars which have been

passed down for generations.

Scars which I have deepened,

washed, and redressed countless times

redefined as works of art

by your sympathetic touch.

Dear Self


I know I am stating the obvious here but you are impatient and in your impatience clumsy. You live life in two modes like the shadows at your heels will overtake you if you stop to catch your breath/as if you were already suffocating inside those shadows. There is a middle ground. Make friends with your shadows. As far as shadows go, they are alright. Now that you are no longer locked in survival mode you want to make up for lost time, to live your life according to your own principles, to pursue your dreams organically and with abandon. I get that. I respect that. A few things to keep in mind on your quest for a more fulfilling/well-rounded life. There is one relationship which is by its very nature is eternal and that’s the relationship you have with yourself. You have to nurture that relationship because all other relationships are built upon that foundation. Getting to know yourself is a lifelong process. So at the risk of sounding insane listen to the voices inside your head. Change is inevitable. The pauses count. The pauses we take give us time to recover, build, and grow. They are critical to the journey. A pause can bring with it much needed perspective and inspiration. Pace yourself. At the end of the day success is a fleeting thing. Our life isn’t composed of millions of big moments crammed together but of millions of seemingly inconsequential moments with intermittent flashes of genius. Enjoy those seemingly inconsequential moments. Do something with your life that makes the drudgery of day to day existence mean something because much of life is just putting one foot in front of another over and over again whatever the weather. By weather I don’t just mean what is going on outside either. Our emotions too are like weather. They come and go. Every state of our being is vital to the miracle that is our lives. Be happy. Be sad. Be angry. Be ecstatic. Be anything at all. Feel even if it hurts sometimes and it’s going to hurt sometimes.

Dear Self

Opened Cage

I first want to start out by congratulating you for surviving childhood. There were many years when survival comprised the totality of your existence. It might not be much conciliation when you reflect back on your life, as it was, and realize that huge chunks of your childhood are missing but somehow despite everything you came out on the other side stronger. It can be difficult sometimes to recognize the strength within yourself when at the most vulnerable points in your life you were preyed upon by the people you trusted most but you’re clever/industrious/wicked creative. You found ways to protect yourself. You created force fields. You turned inward. You built an entire world out of nothing. A world that allowed you some semblance of safety and joy.

What I am about to say to you now won’t make much sense given all the effort it took you to create that world but here goes. I need you to tear down those walls. I need you to deconstruct that world and join “the world”. I am not going to lie to you. There are monsters out here. Monsters in the guise of men. Monsters are in the minority though and you already have plenty of practice slaying monsters. You are ready. The world needs you because it is people like you who are capable of doing the impossible. The thing is you were always stronger than your father emotionally/mentally. You broke the cycle. You stood up to him. If you stay locked inside your fortress you will become weaker and predators prey on weakness. The fortress makes you more visible to the wrong sort of people, to the monsters. Monsters love dark hiding places. You are in hiding. It’s time to switch from survival mode to living mode. That world you created for yourself was made for a child. It doesn’t suit you anymore. It’s cramped. It’s dank. It’s boring as fuck. It’s full of bad memories. Every morning you wake in that cocoon that you call sanctuary and you relive a little bit of that horror. A horror that has seeped into the walls. When you built your fortress you didn’t add any windows because, at the time, the sight of your own life was itself, trauma. If you had built windows then you would be able to see just how much your life has changed. While you’ve been growing up I have been out here building a new life, from scratch. Thing is, if you’re not here with me, how can I possibly know what you want? I think I have done a decent job, in any case, it’s a start.

If you are still feeling trapped. It’s not for a lack of options/free will. It’s because you are still crammed into that smelly shell of yours. A shell which is so tight it is cutting off your circulation and making it harder to breathe. Those feelings you are feeling which you take to be proof of an ongoing war are actually just claustrophobia and atrophy. There is a solution for those painful/uncomfortable feelings. Get naked. Go outside. You’ll feel better. The abusers in your life created a script for you, an identity. Have you read that script? It’s shit. Write a new one. Create a life worth living in.

Walk Away

In the soles of your boots

I followed you, piecemeal, down the stairs.

Down and down you went

unaware that your cruelty held me hostage.

It’s not an exaggeration

to say that you were a psychopath

and I am certain that there are others who suspected.

Only a shell could protect against your trespass

and I have one that would

make a mollusk weep with envy.

For years I was as empty as a widow’s uterus

but in your absence I find myself filling with blood and air.

All that is vital, all that you withheld

is mine, at last, to feel.

I could never return to your side

knowing now what it is to live.

There’s a crawl space inside of me

just big enough for a clenched fist.

Within its clammy walls I keep

all my feelings, good and bad.

I wear this space as if it were a badge.

It is a point of pride that I survived you

and whatever comes next

I know that I shall be the better for it.

I have yet to unravel the scars

that you laid with each betrayal.

Sometimes it feels as if they are all that I am.

Then I remember that you are dead

and I take another faltering step forward.

I hope that in quietus you remember

the pain that you alone have inflicted

and I hope that it haunts you,

at least as long as you have haunted me.

This is another old poem reworked. Below is a reading of yesterdays poem I hope the link works fingers-crossed.

Week 4 Day 5

My therapist feels that I am strong enough to begin EMDR. On the one hand this is good news and I am proud of how far I have come, on the other hand, it means delving deeper into the trauma and that makes me feel vulnerable. Right now, in general, I am struggling with feelings of vulnerability which pertains to the surgery/lengthy recovery and other things as well which I am less able to pinpoint/articulate. After therapy Sam and I went to lunch and then to the mall for a look around which I managed quite well.


My wound is getting itchy and there is some scabbing now. There is still swelling, still soreness, still sensitivity in the lower abdominal region but I don’t feel it is interfering that much with my movement and after the walk today Sam feels my walking speed is normal. We took a 57 minute walk in the wooded area I mentioned. With the snow it was quite a beautiful, magical place (gave us that Narnia vibe). I am hoping to go to the grocery store either today or tomorrow. It will be my first time since having the surgery and although I won’t be able to assist in carrying the bags I can participate in the shop itself and it gives me a chance to get out of the house. So I’d say things are going well and I have to say that having a plan has really helped. Now that I feel better though I find myself more restless/impatient (so much I want to do). I am finding my skin is breaking out a little because of hormonal changes. I always had great skin growing up but pregnancy, birth control changed my skin the size of the pores, the texture etc. Provera had caused me to be very red in the face and so now I look deathly pale because I had become used to the hormonal flush. Whenever my hormones fluctuate I get spots and then it usually settles after a time and clears up without any need of intervention. I am quite obviously hoping it clears up soon.

Perfect Monster

I chase the infinite through a mewling void.

What is found slides sideways past my nose.

Who am I and to what purpose am I to report?

You know me only as a shroud,

a white face curling at the edges.

Nothing is sacred until it is lost,

among such preciousness

I am so much less than I expected.

The abyss yawns bored of my reflection

and into it I cast my offal,

those miseries which have

rotted free of the umbilicus.

Do not invite me to forgiveness.

My inner child frightens me

what she did in order to live,

what she saw and what still lurks

in the shadow of her ancient heart.

She must have been stronger than me

a hero and a demon distilled into one.

I cannot think of her

without remembering the shame,

the shame of my survival and the toll it took

to create of a child a perfect monster.

Writing Prompt #200 “Special Collage and A World Apart 7″

Mandibelles Collage 3.jpg

Nobody chooses obedience.

I once lived two stories
below the nearest window.
The statue of a child,
invisible and obliged.

I was once a soldier
in the guise of war
my heart a patina
of inscrutable remorse.

Love was complicit with torture,
a room with drawn curtains
and savage underground stars.

I never forgave my body
the fatality of innocence
nor my ego its mechanizations.

There was never any goodness in me
only a sinister need to perfect
my most trivial misgivings.
Despite my scars I am only broken.

I have all the ingredients
I’ll ever need to develop
but still I wait ripping
myself to pieces one
receipt at a time.

Once the sun was sharp and sweet
an orange, a phoenix revisiting
what time-in his infinite necessity-
felt fit to ravage and with each new age
I pass wordlessly through a fusillade of echoes.

I have so many prompts to catch up on. I must apologize for my negligence. I have obsessive tendencies and when I get fixated on something I find it very hard to shift gears. I eat, breath, sleep a thing. I am not finished with my project but hopefully I am at the point where I can come up for air. I am not entirely sure though!

Photo Challenge #137


I cannot abide your wickedness
presumed or otherwise.
Starving children
held captive behind four walls
and a vindictive sneer.

I do not remember you
for we have never met
but I have feared you,
the intimations of abuse.

Against what sins does her hysteria preach?
She never recovered from her childhood,
she never spoke of it, only to say
that the scars were fresh and deep
and that no amount of stitching or simulating
would ever render her complete.