Writings from the heart 13 – but no confessions today!

In a way, it feels awkward. I am kind of having a conversation with myself while writing it down. In Scrivener, on my laptop.
I have left my logical mind behind, and write only in the state of flow. It is me and my subconscious who are communicating, or rather – me and my higher self. You might call it God, or guardian angel or whatever you like. When leaving the 3D-mind behind, you are letting other forces take over.
No! The Guardian Angel, let us call it that, is not taking over! It is more like a meld, or like two different sides of the same soul is participating in something much bigger than an ordinary conversation. And both of us, all of us, is me.
So now we are there again. I’m talking to myself. But the other half of this self, is the all-knowing self, the part that is close to god all the time and knows about it. No vail at all is obscuring the picture, nothing is hiding the true realm.
How am I doing this? I don’t know. I am relaxing, and then I empty my head and there it goes. Part two of The Solar Eclipse I wrote in this way. Sat down with the laptop, said out loud ”what are we going to write today?” and then the story burst out of my head. I didn’t think, I didn’t wonder about anything. I just wrote. Hardly even knew what I was writing, and forgot it later. But when I, later on, read what I hade written, I got stunned. It was really good.
The entire July last year, 2019, during CampWriMo I worked in this way, and the story went on, and went on…
I wish I had kept on writing in this way also in august, but the stress of having to write every day made me tired. After a pause I would keep on writing in the same manner, I thought, but I didn’t. Sad to say.
In November, also last year, during NaNoWriMo, I began writing like this again. Now on a different story that had popped up in my mind about a woman called Mz Eliza Elderberry. I did manage to write my way to the 50 000 odd words, but eat the end I was really tired. Also, I was visiting my youngest daughter for an extended weekend at the end of November, and the writing, that story, didn’t do well at that time.
But still, on the whole, there was a lot of good writing I did when I turned inwards to reach my inner spirit for working together.

Now? Well, I am not quite as clear in my writing with the spirit as I were last year. In the beginning, yes! That dialogue I had with Kay, was nothing less than a conversation with God. Yes, I call it God, since God is all there is. Everything is a specific aspect of God, and therefore also I am God. And Kay!
Thus! I talk to myself! My higher self. The self that knows it all, but isn’t at all impertinent about it.
And I have got very good insights from these conversations.

So! What do I do now?
I have to keep on writing! Not that I am obliged to stick to CampWriMo and force myself to write my 30 000 words now during April. But I want to! I think I still need to force myself a bit when It comes to write on a daily basis. Pity though, in a way, is that coincidentally I have had – and still have – quite a lot to do with other stuff as well. Including creating a webpage for the organization. And I have to present that, ready and clear, on the board meeting and then the members meeting, on April 20. Only a week left. But I think I will manage.
The domain is bought, and a couple of days ago I created our Instagram and Facebook accounts. So I am going forward with my duties.

Anything else? No, I recall nothing special. My new bed will be delivered on the 16th, in two days. Nothing to ponder over, just fun. I’m happy about it just like a child on Christmas morning.
In a month, almost on the day, one of my daughters will move from the house she just sold into an apartment, and of course, I will help. But at that time April is gone and maybe forgotten, and so is CampWriMo April 2020.
Hopefully, I still will be writing though.

What else? Is there anything else?
Oh it is, but I don’t have to tell the entire world about everything in my life, do I? No, I thought so.
I need almost 200 words more today, and preferably even more. But I decide now, of my own free will, that I won’t have to reach the quota today. After all, I have been writing, and pretty many words as well, and now I feel like – STOP!

Writings from the heart 12 – brain burn

Salvador Dali – Time exploding

You have to let go, he said. Key said that. Let go of everything old. Let go of everything that isn’t pure love and goodness. And how on earth do I do that?

But I guess he was right when he said that the thought I had, of having to remember and work it all through, is worse for me than the remains of the past are. It was awful back then, even though I didn’t realize all of what happened and how bad it really was. And it took me a long time to realize the effect it had on me during the years that followed.
The men I met afterward, were more or less like him. I searched for safety but found none. I looked for love but didn’t find true love. I was afraid, and in a way, I protected myself by running away. Even if there were no actual danger involved. I just didn’t find what I thought I was looking for.

He was right, Kay. No point trying to remember all and everything and then write it down. Just think them over briefly and then burn them on a bonfire.
Whoosh, there goes this memory! And whoosh, there goes the other. The flames are greedy and swallow them instantly. Pooof! They are all gone, and from now on everything is light, bright and easy.

I am now healed and totally healthy. Not only my soul, which always is perfect but also my mind and my body. I am healed and totally healthy. I am healed and totally healthy. I am healed and totally healthy…

Already yesterday I found some easy beginners Yoga videos on youtube. Different kinds of stretching for the neck and upper back. I tried it, as well as I could, and it seemed to help a little. Also today I did some of those yoga stretchings, and I’ll do my best to make a habit of that. It really seems like it was a piece of good advice I got when I was told about how effective yoga is to maintain a healthy body!

Also today I took a biking tour. Not particularly long, just a little bit over 10 kilometers. I also biked quite slowly in order not to strain myself too much. It was lovely weather, the first really nice day of spring. It felt good, also when back home again. Maybe this yoga thing will work. Together with letting go of the past.

What do I do now? I was supposed to write every day during April, in order to complete my task for 30 000 words. Yes, it’s April and CampNaNoWriMo! So far I’ve written every day, today is April the twelfth, and I am a little bit ahead. Yesterday, after eleven days of writing, I have reached the amount of 11 977 words. That’s good.

But what DO I do now? I chose not to complain over old times anymore, and I have nothing to complain about at the present either!

So what is good in life? A lot, I would say. Apart from the stiffness and the pain in the neck and the back that I have been dragging around for quite some time. But if the hurt feelings from the past were the cause of that, I really should be feeling better and better now. Already today, it was as if my muscles had loosened up a little. Hopefully, it’s not just a temporary glitch, so to speak. (Can’t find a fitting word for it, actually. I could have a good use for a fitting antonym.)

Good is, that I feel very comfortable in my flat. Upon that, I have recently put in an order and also paid for a new bed. Bigger than the one I had before, but not a King size or even a Queen size. But 140 centimeter wide instead of 90 as my old was, and also with a softer mattress.

Sleeping on a too hard mattress can very well cause back pain, and since I began to lose weight, the back pain has undoubtedly decreased. I have in 7 months lost 15% of my former weight.
I look great now and I’m really happy about it. It feels a bit odd though, to be this slim again. Is it normal for the chest bone to be that obvious? The part closest to the stomach, I mean. It’s like a couple of extra breasts, hard ones.
And if someone wants to hug me, is there any soft gooeyness left?

I guess I soon will get used to this different feeling in and of my body. I love it already anyway. I love myself and the way I look now. Slender! 😀

Right now, I shouldn’t sit here writing! I should rather be working on the web site I’m creating for the association. But it’s late evening now, and I simply don’t feel like it. And tomorrow it’s said to be bad weather, much colder again, and very windy. I Will probably not go away from home at all tomorrow. Better dwell at home and focus on that web site and do some more writing.
Maybe also ponder what I should write about the rest of the month. Can’t keep on like this. I must have a goal to focus on. Writing a short story at least. Or keep on writing about Mz Eliza Elderberry perhaps!

Today though, I’ll just try to write the 947 words that are needed today. Oh my goodness! How will I complete that? This is not good enough.

Still! I’ll stop here for now, and I hope I’ll find something better to write about tomorrow. Which does not include a lot of complaining!

Maybe Kay will come and help me?

So… if I tomorrow just sit down at my writing desk and ask my inner being: ”What shall we write about today?” Then something good will come out of that, wouldn’t it? It’s been like that before. Both in the story with Eliza and the ones with Jaycee and her friends.

Now I’m gonna make myself a mug of hot chocolate. I have no cookies though…

Writings from the heart 11, part two – the bonfire-solution

Image from Pixabay

I ponder I should write down all the misdemeanor that I was suffering from during the ten years I was married to that man. And before! And after!

But every time I sit down and think I must write about it, I can’t! Everything seems so heavy. I can’t think, can hardly breathe. I remember stuff, how he behaved towards me, and I can’t find the words that I need to get close to it, to document it.

I can hear a tiny voice inside me saying I don’t have to document it, I don’t have to reframe it, describe it, tell people or even myself about it. But then! If I give up now and never write down those behaviours from his side that hurt me so badly, and have been haunting me for so long, how could I ever let go of it and be free?
It is necessary, isn’t it?

”No it isn’t” I hear Kay say. You don’t have to eat that bitter-tasting cake over and over again. You did that a long time ago, now get out of there! Relax and LIVE!”
”But all the time when he questioned me about what I had said or not said to people. All that what I did, that I shouldn’t have done, and all the things that I should have done but didn’t!
It didn’t take long until I always was nervous after parties and such, for what he would blame me for at that time. I seemed to have done everything wrong.

Later when we lived in the countryside, he bought a horse! We didn’t have the money to buy a horse, but he didn’t care. He gave the seller a down payment, and then he couldn’t care less.  Suddenly we got a bill of exchange from the bank, requiring us to pay a rather large sum each month for a long time. The fee wasn’t exactly low.

And time showed my husband had absolutely no idea how to handle money.

I was eighteen when married, and not long after that I had to take sole care of our economy, or we would have landed with disaster. And of course, he blamed me for saving up secret money for myself, cheating him he meant, but it was always him that had to have money to spend.

Luckily, when he accused me of ”stealing” I had for quite some time been book-keeping extremely thoroughly. Everything was specified for, including the money he had gotten for himself, and that column showed a pretty large amount.

He briefly looked at it when I showed it to him. This is the rent, this is milk and bread, this is meat, this is clothes for the children and so on – and this is what you have gotten…
Then he never mentioned anything about money again. I guess he was intelligent enough to understand. But he still kept on spending. On what? I have no idea! It seemed to be mostly candy and such. Later on, it was a pony… and of course bills for hay and other horse-stuff…

Probably Kay is right! Remembering all that has been going on with that man, what’s the use of it? And to write it all down in some kind of confession novel? Why even bother?

Why not do what Kay says? Think it over, don’t write anything down, just think briefly about this memory, and the next one. Then mentally throw them all on an imaginary bonfire. Ads so, when I can’t think of anything else that is negative about him and his doings – put a torch to the bonfire and let it all go away in fire and smoke.

That’s an excellent idea, actually! I can remember, but don’t have to put it in written words. Don’t have to express me in a more or less ”good” literary way. Like as if I was going to make it into a real novel or something.

Okay! Before I began this writing task, I had a thought about doing just that. But now, I certainly don’t feel like it any longer. I just want to get rid of all that has to do with that man. I’m so fed up with him, and the thoughts of him.
Where did that idea come from in the first place?

Oh yes! It was Vi who told me about how her life had changed after her husband’s death. She found a new love, though I…. Kept searching. In vain!

Everything wasn’t bad of course. And everything in my life didn’t evolve around or was inflicted by that man. And I have gained a lot of positive things in life as well.

Image from Pixabay

Writings from the heart 11 – an inner dialogue

”You have to let go!”
”Let go! You people always tell us to let go! To be positive!”
”You people? And who are ”you people”!
”Those like you! These ’know-it-all-people’ who are so evolved and… everything… and you have no idea how it is to be just an ordinary human being.”
”You may be right there. Some of us don’t know how it is to be of flesh and blood. But others have and they know very well how it is. It is hard, sometimes, isn’t it?”
”I just said so…”
”Yes. I guess you did. In a most peculiar way. So! What is it you want?”
”Getting rid of this pain and stiffness, of course. But all you say to me is to let it go, but never how it’s supposed to be done.”
”So… you need a manual, you mean?”
”YES!”
”That can’t be done. It would be like we are doing it for you.”
”And what’s wrong with that?”
”Just as I said. It wouldn’t be you, and that is what is needed.”
”No one can pee for me, you mean.”
”Something like that, yes.”
– – –
– – –
”But I still don’t know how to do it.”
”Do what?”
”Let it go.”
”And why is that?”
”First of all, I don’t know what it is I have to let go of.”
”Everything in the past.”
”That’s a lot! Really! You must be kidding me!”
”No I’m not. But it isn’t that hard. You can, of course, keep everything that has been good for you. Things you appreciate and love. And I don’t mean items.”
”But so much is both good and bad, kind of… at the same time.”
”So you have finally discovered that!”
– – –
– – –
”There are still so many bad things that happened which I haven’t dealt with yet.”
”Do you really need to deal with them?”
”Don’t I?”
”No… it’s optional.”
”I don’t have to?”
”Well, not unless you still feel uncomfortable when thinking about them. Why dig in the past if it’s not necessary? I think the thought you linger on to, that you have to remember everything and then deal with it somehow, is worse for you than the actual incident.”
”Incident?!? If you knew what I’ve gone through, you wouldn’t call it en incident.”
”I know what you’ve gone through.”
”Yes. Of. Course. You. Know.”

”Hey you! You don’t need to be impertinent! We are just here to help you, you know.”
”And now that remark as well… okay. Kay did say just the other day, that in my case, it’s good I’ve begun to talk back. It’s a sign of better self-worth and confidence.”

Writings from the heart 8 – interrogation

”I’m totally off! I’ve been working all day so my head is not available at all now!”
”You have not! After breakfast, you went out on the bike, and didn’t come home again until it was almost lunch.”
”I wasn’t away that long! I was only fetching a receipt for my bed. The buyer wanted that. And then I had to buy some fruit…”
”Okay! And then you walked a part of the way, and you biked quite slowly. You did enjoy yourself, didn’t you? And you took your time!”
”Yes. I admit. I did enjoy myself. It was lovely weather today. Finally some spring feelings.”
”And then, back home again, you had lunch.”
”Not immediately.”
”Almost. And then it was 1.30 PM and you went out again.”
”I had to return a couple of books to the library.”
”And there you talked to Ilhana…”
”I needed some advice about the FaceBook page I was going to make…”
”And then when you on your way back home again, you didn’t pass the garden, did you… you stopped there..”
”Oh! For goodness sake! Friends were sitting there! I just wanted to chat for a while! Is that forbidden?”
”No. Not at all! But you did sit there chatting for quite some time, didn’t you?”
”Why are you interrogating me? Am I not allowed to talk to my friends on a lovely day like today?”
”You said, you had been working the entire day, but that isn’t true, is it? And when did you get home? Four o’clock? And you went straight to the balcony with a book and a sandwich, didn’t you? And for how long did you sit there reading…”
”This isn’t fun anymore. You are mean. And later I did what I was supposed to do.”
I have not long to burst into tears now. It’s so unfair, so mean. I thought Kay was my friend… instead, he is so…


”Hey! I AM your friend! Don’t you see what is going on here? Come here! Let me wipe away those tears. You were doing well! Really well! You talked back for a very long time, and in the end, you said I was mean. That’s good! Next time you’ll stop this kind of interrogation earlier. And you’ll snap off the bully almost instantly.
You’ll keep on doing what you’re doing in your own time, and when it suits you. I know you always finish what you promise to do. You just prioritize to take good care of yourself first, if it’s possible! You were doing really well. I promise!”
”I don’t get it. You were just terrorizing me.”
”YES! And you noticed! You talked back to me instead of keeping silent and go away. You stayed! And after just a little while you began to protest!”
”I defended myself.”
”Could have been that. But I think you didn’t feel sad until later. Yes! You defended yourself, but you did it in a strong way! You said: Am I not allowed to talk to friends, and you said it angrily! Not as if you were diminished or anything.”
”I guess you’re right. But I did feel sad in the end.”
”Yes! That’s true. But what was it I said to you when that happened.”
”You nagged me about reading instead of working on what I had promised to do today.”
”And who used to be at your back for reading too much?”
I raise my head and look him straight in his eyes. They are calm and show nothing but love for me.
”This is a test.” I say.
”You make that sound awful.”
”It is awful to do a thing like that.”
”No, I was just opening your eyes a bit. I wanted to show you to yourself. You’ve grown so much lately.”
”Grown?”
”Yes! You’re stronger and have so much more self-confidence now. Don’t you agree?”
I have to ponder this so I keep silent for a long time. Kay is sitting like a lit candle on the chair in front of me. Looking like a Buddhist monk, but without that orange clothes they cover themselves in. Kay wears ordinary jeans and a plain linen shirt. He always looks casual and comfortable.
My thoughts linger around all and anything, but it seems impossible to focus on what he had said. In a way, I understand it, though I’m not sure I can feel it. Did he really mean I feel more self-worth now! Yes! When adding more thought to that, what has happened to me lately, I must give him right! My self-confidence has grown immensely, and I react to things.”
I’ve done that earlier, too, but mostly in a negative way. Earlier I diminished myself, now I stand up for myself. I can say no and stop and I can go away. But I don’t go away feeling trampled on. Now, when I go away, if I go, it’s because I don’t want to participate in what is facing me.
I choose good, not bad. And I can stand up for it. I feel proud of myself.

”Kay!” I say.
”Yes?”
”Thank you!”

When I was little, I was always treated like I was smaller then I was.
I was overly protected, no one taught me about evil or psychologically sick people. Everything was so kind and nice, sweet and somber. Never I learned about how people could manipulate one another, to ”play” others, to get what they want. Maybe they aren’t even aware of it themselves.

I may perhaps have heard about physical abuse. But never, I have been told there could be such thing as psychological abuse. And then, when fallen in love, I would slowly, very slowly, learn about it through many years of slowly being stripped of all self-esteem, all self-worth, all self-confidence. Instead, I became a much smaller piece of myself. A little girl that was afraid of all and everything. And most of all – afraid of love.

At the same time, I kept on searching for love, searching for the one who could care for me, and love me unconditionally. With whom I could feel safe.

The man I married, the one I thought was the love of my life, wasn’t.
Instead he crushed me.

Writings from the heart 6 – pausing in the sun

Image “Texture” – from Pixabay

”I don’t want to do this today.”
”Okay.”
”I don’t want to talk about it, this former part of my life.”
”You don’t have to!”
”I don’t even want to think about it!”
”So, don’t!”
”It’s been so much, today.”
”Okay.”
”After breakfast, I biked to the mall and bought thin pillows for my chairs on the balcony, and since it was beautiful weather I biked an extra round on my way home and got some really awful pain in the back due to that. I probably pushed myself too hard.”
”How far?”
”Only 9 miles.”
”But that’s good! How are you now?”
”Pretty well, thank you. But I got tired and then very sleepy after lunch so I slept on the sofa for a while. And of course, swallowed some painkillers.”
”Good for you!”
”And all the time I was thinking, I had to work on that website I’m creating for our non-profit organization! But the clock just tick-tocked away the hours.”
”And you?”
”What?”
”Did you tick-tock away the hours?”
”Haha! Could say! After my nap, I went out on the balcony, sat there reading in the sunshine for a couple of hours.”
”How nice!”
”Though I should have worked on that website…”
”Of course.”
”You see, the winter has been so long, so dark and so cold…”
”I know.”
”And now finally it was warm… and all blue sky… and the sun was shining so warm and lovely.”
”Of course you should sit on the balcony then.”
”Yeaahhh…”
”And relax for a while.”
”But I should have done the website…”
”I know.”
”But the back-pain eased up a bit. Slowly… it got less hurtful… less stiff…”
”Good for you.”
”I had also placed an add to sell my bed”!
”Aha.”
”And there was this person who wanted to buy it. They will come tomorrow and fetch the bed.”
”Good!”
”And later there were a lot of people who mailed me about the bed!”
”Oh gosh!”
”Some I dismissed at once, and some I answered I might already have a buyer. They were nice, so I decided to be nice.”
”So what do you do now?”
”Wait ’til tomorrow and hope those who said they will buy the bed won’t change their minds!”
”Of course!”
”I had begun writing the texts to the website from the brief notes I had but got interrupted all the time for a couple of hours.”
”Really?”
”Really. And then I knew you would come.”
”Yes.”
”There was absolutely nothing in my head to talk around!”
”Oh, I see!”
”All empty, you know!”
”I know!”
”Not good with an empty head, when you’re supposed to work on a website.”
”Of course, not!”
”And certainly not if you’re supposed to solve your problems!”
”What problems?”
”Oh! Stupid! You know!”
”I do? Oh yes! Yes, I do.”
”So now what?”
”How do you mean?”
”Are we gonna work on my memories today or not?”
”Do you want to?”
”No!”
”Do you feel up to it?”
”No!”
”Then we don’t! Not today! But how about tomorrow? Same place, same time?”
”Okay! See you!”
”See you!”

From Pixabay

Writings from the heart 5 – the perfume

Image from Pixabay

”Good morning! How are you today?”
”Fine, thank you.”
”Have you been pondering what you experienced yesterday?”
”Not really. Is it important?”
”Not at all. The wiser part inside of you has already dealt with that. You can just let it go. Leave it behind. Don’t think of it anymore.”

During these few minutes, I’ve realized I’m slowly getting more and more relaxed. I feel comfortable, my stomach and my chest have come into peace, despite the fact the bench is hard and not comfortable at all.
Is that really due to the short visualization I made yesterday?

I hear Kay clearing his throat as if he wants to catch my intention.
”Yes?” I say.
”How are you?” He looks a bit worried.
”I’m fine. Really fine! I mean it! I was just… thinking…”
”Good! Then, can we continue this task?”

I smile over the word he uses. Task. True, though! This is a quest I’m participating in, and the end goal is for me to leave all bad memories behind, and even more important – erase the effect those events have caused me, and still are causing me.

I’m glad at least one bad memory seems to be gone, and maybe the reaction to that. Namely: No use getting angry and fight for yourself, at best you ”only” get ignored. And you feel disappointed. You don’t want to make the same mistake again. And that’s not a particularly good reaction when you are trampled on.
But this first lesson, if it is lessons, wasn’t too hard.

”Are you ready to take another step now?”
I nod and change the way I sit. Try to find better support for my back. Then I raise my head and look straight up on Kay. He seems more ethereal today, and his face is glowing as from inside.
It is probably from inside, I remind myself.

”Is there anything that has triggered a new memory since yesterday?’

How on earth does he know, I think before I remember he claimed to be my higher self. By the way, could that really be true? My higher self? I had my doubts about that in the beginning, but he has been so easy to talk to that I don’t mind whatever he is. Shrink or friend or stranger, who cares! It’s like there is something in him, that makes me feel total confidence in opening up myself to him.
I lean forward a bit.

”When I left home today, there was this awful smell in the elevator from some persons aftershave. Men’s aftershave can be so much worse, so much more irritating than women’s perfumes. I can feel very icky from such fragrances. Also, some fabric softener can be very hard on me. My eyes begin itching, I get a headache and when it’s at its worse, I’ll also be nauseous.”
”Nowadays, you mean? Or back then?”
”Now! Not back then as far as I can remember. And I was thinking about that on my way over here. Do you think there is a connection?”
”What do you think?”
”Oh! Are you sure you’re not just an ordinary shrink? With those kinds of questions!”
”I’m everything, can be anything! And so can you, my dear! And as I said before, I am you. Therefore you are everything there is.”
”Hence ’Heal thyself!’?”
”Of course!”
I add a strange sound of disbelief, but then keep quiet.

”You’ll learn,” he says and smiles.
I doubt that, but at the same time, I hope he’s right.

”About the perfumes and such. Why might it be connected to the past? Can you tell me that?”
His question makes me shudder for a short moment. Tiny chills are all over me. Running around in my skin. Especially along the spine, around the buttocks and down the legs. I’m probably supposed to draw some conclusions here, but as for now, I can’t even think properly.
”What did these kinds of fragrances mean to you when you were young?”
”Haven’t I told you about that already?”
”So do it once more!”

I hesitate for a moment. What did it mean to me?
”He used it as a bait.” I say.
”Why? How?”
”To make sure I noticed him. He so overused that Pierre Robert aftershave, that anyone could smell it from miles away!”
”Miles? Are you sure about that?” he giggles.
”No, of course not miles. I exaggerate! But across the area in the warehouse. From the department with men’s clothes where he was lurking, over the perfume and beauty department, and the glove department, over to us at the other wall. We had souvenirs, photo cartridges and such. Hats as well.”
”Oh! Quite some distance.”
”Yeah! No one on this story could miss him.”
”Did you ever find out why he used this particular way of trying to get your attention?”
”I think…”
”You think…?”
”I was pondering this while walking… I think he always used a lot of aftershave, deodorants and such, and when he realized it was a way to make me see him, he added even more. I think he said something about that later on. I’m not quite sure I remember correctly though.”
”Was this connected with a good feeling in you?”
” Umm… yeees… I think so… mostly… but…”
”But?”
”It was odd as well… but I was romantic enough to find it exhilarating … and frustrating… since every time I felt that scent, and looked for him… he just smiled and then vanished!”
”Like turning into thin air? Like a mirage?”
”No of course not. He just had to go behind something, or go out in the storage room… or something. Very easy for him…”
”Did he continue with this behavior for a long time? I mean after you were married and so. Or was it only during the early weeks or months before and in your relationship?”
”I don’t remember! He was always particular about smelling good. And dressing well. At least until we had moved to the countryside, and he came home with that horse…
He bought himself new shirts and ties and got annoyed if I didn’t see it and made a positive comment. But if he has a blue shirt and buys another shirt in the same blue color, you can’t see from a distance, that the new one has tiny pale orange stripes! So you say, have you bought another one looking the same? You had to get close to see the difference, you see!”
”And he got annoyed? Quite a vain chap, uh?”
”He was. Especially in the beginning. Clean. And smelling of aftershave. And had lots of skirts.”
I can’t help myself. I just have to laugh out loud now.

Key waits for me to stop laughing, then he asks me: ”Have you now any thoughts about why you liked fragrances like that when you were young, while they now rather makes you.. hum… sick?”
”The opposites, I guess. At first, yes, for.. as far as I can remember now, maybe six-seven months or so. I liked it. It made my heart beat! Both in good and bad ways! He was alluring, the circumstances were thrilling. I was infatuated, more and more, but he was unreachable. You know, that impossible love! I wanted him, but he kept his distance until I almost burst. At the same time… the aftershave… his eyes looking at me with this… and the voice, when he spoke to me… And then, after all that time, when he finally came forward and asked me out… and so on…”
”And then?”
”And then? When he finally had gotten me? It was good. More than good! It was fantastic!”
”Hmmm… until?”

“- – – – –

”Until the baby was born… like ten-eleven months later or so…”

“So later on, that positive experience of fragrances became turned into… what?”

I stare at Kay for a moment. Then I get it.

Later on, bit by bit, I was thrown in the garbage bin and the sweet smell of love, was during a couple of years slowly turning into some nauseating odor.

Writings from the heart 4 – Looking upon myself

”I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”
”Then don’t!”
”I just remember old stuff I can’t do anything about.”
”No one expects you to do anything about it. Nobody could! To be more specific, no one is supposed to do that.”
”Then, what are all those no-ones supposed to do?!
”Remember. Say, hello, I can see you. Then you say, thank you for what has been, goodbye! Then you leave. That’s all.”
”You make it sound so easy.”
”It is easy!”
”No. It is not! It’s hard!”
”Which part is hard, then?”
”All parts! First! Even to remember something, is hard.”
”Yesterday it seemed you had no trouble finding memories. You told me about several.”
”I did, didn’t I.”
I smile a tiny smile.

”How about looking at those memories now? Just look at them! You don’t have to do anything!”
”Just look? How do I do that?”
”How you do that?! You can look at something, can’t you?”
”Yeah, I can look at a thing, but memories aren’t things. They are memories!”
”Pretend! Pretend your memories are things.”
”You’re crazy.”
”That’s a good thing, isn’t it? It makes life so much easier to live. Don’t you agree?”
I smile this tiny smile, again. I even chuckle a bit.

I close my eyes and try to see the scene in front of me as if it was a painting or a large photo. What comes to me first, is the part with the heavy eye makeup.
In the picture, there is a young girl standing in the bathroom. The moment is frozen, and she is lifting her right hand up towards her eyes. The hand is holding a small brush and she is adding more black color on the already heavy eyelashes. The expression on her face, which is clearly seen in the mirror, is determined and as if she is in a bit of hurry. But there is something about her posture, that tells me she is angry. She has an angry back, I say to myself.
How angry was I and where did that anger go? Afterward!

In the room, a young man is sitting at the table. The table is round and white and has a heavy tablecloth almost covering the entire surface. There are lots of small lamps lit in the room, but the big window is almost black och only with difficulty it’s possible to see it’s snowing outside.
What is the man doing? Is he just sitting there? Is he reading? A book? A newspaper? The one that is painting this picture seems to have forgotten something. Or perhaps doesn’t know.
The girl comes into the room. She’s pregnant, it’s visible but not too obvious. Six months gone. She has a soft, dark multicolored dress that makes her look thin and vulnerable. But her eyes are blushing in black and blue.
I can almost hear her! ”Do you really think this looks good?” and there is both irritation and anticipation in her voice.
He looks up at her and immediately notices the intensely blue-painted eyelids and the thick mascara lashes. ”Oh, yes!” he says with a deep sigh in awe. ”Please do it like that every day.”
She is annoyed and disappointed. She had hoped he would have thought about it as way too much.

I look at him again. Now he’s still, just sitting there at the table, just as a person in a painting should do.
He is stiff. On his guard. His back is straight and his clothes fit well. What is he thinking about? He seems to be just like a little boy dressed up like a man, but who most of all miss his mother. Now, he only has himself to rely on. But he’s big now! Strong! Manly! Isn’t he? He’s gonna be a father, and he managed to catch this foxy one…

Is he aware of why he has picked this little girl for a wife? This a bit too young woman?
Am I?

”Are you okay?”
”Yes. I think so.”
”Did anything special happen?”
”I don’t no. Did it?”
”You tell me!”

I don’t smile now. But I feel fine.

Writings from the Heart 3 – Trapped

Image from Pixabay

”Hey! Stop! Wait a minute!”
”What? I was just about to tell … oh…”

I got interrupted and felt very awkward about that.

”What? I say again.” Couldn’t come to think of anything else.

”What are you doing?”

”I’m… telling you… what happened… when I was… young…”

”No! You’re not. You’re only referring to something that occurred a long time ago. Most of the time you’re telling me about what you thought later. You’re holding yourself on the surface. On a safe distance from what happened to you at that time in your life. When are you gonna dive in?

”I… I… don’t … understand…”

”No, I’m sure you don’t. But I do. You’re really, really afraid to remember what actually happened, and – above all – your feelings about it.”

This is so unfair. I realize I’m about to start crying but force myself not to. I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to do this. Not any longer. Why on earth is there a stranger sitting there expecting me to tell the story of my life?

”You want to run away now, aren’t you?”

”Ah…”
Now I can’t stop my tears from filling my eyes so I turn around and take a couple of steps.
”Stop!” I hear, and it’s like I suddenly have become paralyzed. Not literally, but it seems impossible for me to move forward.

But I hear that the voice is kind. It’s not demanding, not angry, not even sad or disappointed. It is as if filled with love and compassion.
I turn around.

”Who are you? Please tell me!”

”Okay.” The voice is still tender and loving. ”I can put it in this way. I’m your higher self!”

I stare at the man in front of me. I know about the higher self and other spiritual matters. I’ve listened a lot to gurus and spiritual teachers. But I never thought I would sit in front of one, talking about my life.

I’m a bit lightheaded, almost a bit disoriented. At the same time, there is a good feeling inside me, and I realize I began to sense that feeling when this man showed up. And that explains why it is possible to talk about the old stuff.

”You’re writhing yourself around the memories of the old stuff. You don’t really want to go inside them.”

I won’t listen to this. Instead I ask:

”Who are you? Please tell me! I don’t even know whether you are a man or a woman!”

”Oh, how 3D of you.”

I recognize that expression. ”What! You mean… you are…”

The one in front of me smiles. Warm and lovingly.

”So you’re K…” I can’t say it out loud.

”You can call me Key. Would that be alright with you? And if it’s easier for you, you might very well see me as a man.”

It’s certainly alright with me! And so much easier with a name and a gender. Now I understand the androgynous appearance. The soul is neither male nor female. The soul is gender-less. But a person is a person, male or female.

”Well!” Key says and looks at me. ”What do you want to talk about?”

I’m not sure. In one way there is so much I want to talk about, so much I have to come to terms with and let go of. At the same time, it’s as if I’m empty! Nothing comes to my mind.

”May I come with a suggestion?”
”Yes, please.”
”You said, during his courtship you felt wonderful. You were seen, were pampered, and you felt loved! At least you thought it was love. But you also said there was a couple of matter that didn’t feel good. Would you please tell me about those?”

There is a sofa couch beside me and instead of sitting down on the chair again, I throw myself on that one. There are a lot of cosy cushions and I arrange them behind my back until it’s comfortable enough.
I look at Key, and now I can see he’s a tiny bit transparent. Not much, just like a faint hint, and I wonder if he had been like that all the time without me noticing it.
Then he clears his throat, and I try to shape up.

”He was, taking over me.” I began and had absolutely no idea how to continue. Or if it was even the best explanation of what he did.

”I didn’t take notice of it at first, but slowly it began to irritate me. For example, the eye makeup. The more the better, due to him. At that time it was a clear blue eye shadow that was a ”must”, a heavy eyeliner and lots and lots of mascara. I didn’t mind the makeup, had been adding that since finishing school, but when it now began to be a must, whether I wanted it or not, it wasn’t fun any longer!

To be forced to do something, over and over again against your own will, it isn’t fun at all! Once, I said I didn’t want to wear eye make up when I didn’t feel well, were having a cold perhaps. Then he said: But if you don’t feel well, shouldn’t you wear more makeup instead so that you would look better?

What does anyone answer to that statement?

Once I got so irritated about this, that I put on extra, extra of everything. Extra, extra sky blue eye shadow, extra, extra eyeliner, and extra, extra mascara. I thought I looked hideous. More like a hooker than like me. Then I went into the room where he sat and showed him. Do you really think this is looking good? I asked!
”Ohhhh”, he said. ”It’s gorgeous!” And he looked and sounded as if his highest dreams had come through.
I hated it and washed it away.

Then there were the eyeglasses. I wasn’t allowed to wear them. But I needed them. Not that I was blind as a bat or something, but there were occasions when I needed them. Those moments I was allowed to. But only at home when no one saw me. Never outdoors! And if someone came visiting… ”Off with the glasses!”

Then – and this began early, almost immediately after we had begun going out together. I was very slim, but I had curves. What he wanted me to do, was to accentuate that. Especially the breasts. With a tight blouse or sweater or something, and I had to wear this white, sleeveless thing in the warmest days during the summer, that really highlighted those curves.
To that I had to wear a belt, tightening my waist as hard as possible. I felt so embarrassed. I hated to expose my body like that. I felt I could as well have been naked.”

Now I sit here. Many years afterward. Have closed my eyes for a bit, trying to feel what I felt then, and determine what I feel now. What was the worst about this?

In my chest there is a slight burning sensation, telling me I want to cry. But yet no tears reach my eyes. The worst? I’m not sure. All this happened over time. I guess I slowly got used to it, in some way.

The unwanted body exposure came first, though. Or maybe I remember it that way, since it was connected to the most unpleasant feelings. The thing with the glasses and the makeup was only annoying, at first. But to show my body like that and other people could see me, strangers we met while walking along a street a warm summer day, or strolling in a warehouse… Ordinary walks on ordinary sunny days in the city… that was…

I have no word for it…

”I would say, he was diminishing you.” Kay fills in. “He established himself as the Master and you were his belonging. To have you as a trophy, to make himself shining more. Could it have been that way? You were beautiful, you know? Long, blond hair. Young, very young!”

”He said once much later when I asked him why he chose me, that I was so foxy. And his eyes glittered as he said it. I never saw myself as foxy or beautiful, nor even cute!”

”But he did, and he trapped you, and he had you. Until…?”

 

To be continued…

Writings from the heart 2 – the courtship

“Wait”, you say abruptly. “What about that woman Vi, you mentioned?”
“Oh! Vi! Well… She became widowed 40 years ago, and seemingly a couple of months before I fled from my husband. I heard it from my ex much later , but then I was still so distant from almost everything so I did nothing. Didn’t seek her up, didn’t call her, didn’t do anything at all. Psychologically, I was only occupied trying to stay mentally alive!”

When I was talking to Vi a couple of weeks ago, she told me that she quite soon after her husband’s death, about 8 or 9 months later, accidentally had met a man. They danced, and they talked together – and now, they have lived together for 39 happy years.

While I have lived alone most of my 40 years. I never met my Mr Right. And there and then, sitting at the coffee table with Vi beside me and other people all around, a thought shook me hard. It said to me: How severely did this man of yours actually hurt you? He stripped your self-worth and your confidence away. He made you afraid of love, and turned you into a run-away. Because, who could love you, you are worthless…

Oh! He did hurt me! And on several occasion’s during the years that have passed, I’ve worked myself through it. I thought I had cleared it all! That I was free from him now. Obviously I wasn’t.

I must have gone lost in my thoughts, since I suddenly realize someone is talking to me.
– Oh! You’re still there. Sorry! I didn’t hear you! I… by the way? Who are you?
– I’m nobody. I just happened to come by. I thought I might help you.
-Did I look like I need help?
– Actually. Yes! You did.
I agree. I did. I do. I need to talk. I need to dig up and let go of lots of old stuff.

After that first date, a visit to the theatre watching a humoristic play, everything between us went on like on a roller coaster. After months and months of waiting, yearning, an unanswered infatuation towards this man – which would have been better being the end of it all, just a temporary crush, nothing more – then suddenly everything about it was real. We were a couple!

Naive and unknowing about the world and how people can be, I thought I was in heaven. Soon, way too soon, he talked about marriage and before that we should be engaged the upcoming midsummer. In like six eight weeks?

We had been going out together since the end of April I think, and now we decided to be engaged in the end of June and then get married as soon as possible after I had turned 18. Or did we talk about a midsummer wedding the next year? Details, details! I have forgotten so much details.

Everything seemed to happen at the same time though, and I didn’t mind that at all. On the contrary.

Soon enough after our very first meeting, he was very gentlemanly then, we had gone to bed together for the first time. At that time he lived in a very small attic room just under the roof top in a villa, and the summer had come early which made this experience an extremely warm one. I don’t remember whether I enjoyed the physical part or not, but I was thrilled I finally was with him!

Then he cries out: ”Have you put a needle in there”!

Then and there I should have ended this relationship immediately. Who could anyone even think the thought, that I could possibly have a needle stuck into my private part! Even the thought of it is horrific!

Did I react?

I thought it was an odd thing to say, but did I REACT?
NOO!!
How naive and stupid was I? If I had had at least a little bit of common sense and knowledge about human behavior, I should have realized there was something wrong with this man!

Later, much later, I realized the condom must have ruptured that time. That explained the sting. But at that time, I understood nothing. Thought of nothing. I was… yes! I was bewitched! I just didn’t realize it. That’s what the word bewitched means!


June. I didn’t get my period in time. It was just nervousness, we both thought, since I was supposed to meet his parents for the first time during the midsummer holidays, and getting engaged to him as well. Which we so far held as a secret.

Oh, my goodness! What was I thinking?
After all those months and months being more and more infatuated, and with him lurking around, showing up, hiding, reeking of Pierre Robert in the green bottle, luring, hiding again. Showing up. Smiling. Hiding. Talking to me once in a while with his modulated, beautiful voice, very soothing… seductive… spellbinding…

Who would think this was going too fast? Getting engaged after… how long? Two months? Less, rather then more. And  already had been talking about marriage!
What did he really want? What was he really after?

I was only seventeen! Sweet seventeen! Naive and tender. He was 7 years older… still is…

I should have stayed put in school, and be someone! That was what was planned! I had already applied to be accepted as a student to become a laboratory technician. And I had gotten the “Yes” to that. I was dreaming of being a histopathologist. Searching for a cure of cancer. I should have stayed put there, educating myself.

Instead I met him. Got pregnant. And was lost.

In the beginning, he was very attentive towards me, nice, appreciating, generous. He saw me, and took care of me. And he was looking so good. Someone said we looked good together. He was dark. I was blond.

But there were other sides as well which I didn’t quite like, but I kind of wooshed them away since I thought everything else was marvelous.
I shouldn’t have wooshed them away…


Midsummer eve I met the in-laws to be for the first time. They lived in another city, about a couple of hours away. Did we go there by train? Don’t remember. Neither of us had a drivers license back then. But when there, I relaxed. They were nice people, I thought – and my period began. Two weeks overdue.

So it was nervousness after all! We thought, or at least I thought, that was it. But it was quite an immense bleeding, and it was painful. Worse than usual? I didn’t think so. The possibility of any other reason for the heavy bleeding didn’t exist in my mind.

Many years had to pass before I began to think it might have been an early miscarriage. And that was only due to several other circumstances in my life with him, and a lot of calculating had to be done, over the date of conceiving and then the birth. Premature? I month before it was supposed to be the day of birth? Hardly! Still, I have no proof of any foul play.

Later on I began to ponder. Again! When did he actually begin to deliberately but secretly try to get me pregnant? Already that very first time, in the attic room? Or did that incident give him the idea?

And yes! He got me pregnant, all right! And considering the fact we didn’t have the opportunity to be together in that way particularly often, it’s quite astonishing that he managed to both get me one pregnancy ending with a miscarriage, and then another that got hooked. In, how long time? Three months at the most, from the very first inter-cause, until a verified pregnancy was established. I would rather say – less then two months.

After he was sure I was pregnant, he confessed that there once had been no semen in the condom but he didn’t want to upset me by telling me… uh???

Only once? Back then I didn’t wonder, many years later I did. And why ”didn’t want to upset me”? Considering what happened later, what would come, what was laying before me… I think he wanted me pregnant so badly, so wanted me to be his… what? Prisoner?

Oh, how he played me, and I had absolutely no idea…

Writings from the Heart 1 – the first steps

Let’s call her Vi, the woman I recently reconnected with. Her name isn’t particularly important, but it’s easier this way. To have a name on people. Anyway! We shared the playground hours with the kids for a couple of years, went to the Zoo the two families together, joined a couple of parties. You know! Family stuff. Then I got pregnant again, and we moved to another part of the city. To a larger flat. And lost contact.

Life went on. Another five years. We moved to the countryside. He bought his evil horse. Things got nastier and nastier, and finally, I did the only thing I could do under the circumstances. I fled. For my life. For my sanity. And I had to leave my three little girls behind.

“Now, now! Wait a minute”, you say. “What kind of story is that? You dig in a pile of sand, visit the Zoo, and you party. And get pregnant. And then suddenly you are the run-away bride!”

“Ten years! I managed to stay for ten years!”

“One year or ten. Who cares. That’s a lousy story.” You turn your back on me and start walking.

“Yes, it was! It was a really lousy story. Those ten years!” I’m screaming out loud after you, and finally, you stop. I can see on your back, that you’re taking a deep breath, and so you let the air out in a huge sigh. Then you turn around, and really slowly you saunter back to me.
You look at me, and say: Can you let me hear the real story now?

This “You” doesn’t actually exist. But it sounds good, doesn’t it? And it gets me a little bit more in the mood for writing. It’s hard, you know. One part inside me drives me to write about the old times, and what happened back then. But there is also another part of me, that stops me before even one proper word is written, and the whole thing is tearing me apart in tiny, sharp pieces. Wanting to write, wanting to free me – and at the same time hindering myself from remembering. Hindering myself from cutting my Gordian knot into pieces, and thus destroying its power over me.

 

He must have played me along from the very first beginning! And he succeeded! I fell! I fell in love! Well, the fact that I thought he looked gorgeous might have helped as well. A little bit of Tom Selleck mixed with John Travolta, though I don’t think I knew about those guys at that time. In the late sixties.

I have absolutely no idea how he did this, but at first, he sure managed to make me curious about him. Soon my 16-year-old-heart beat for him, and he kept on playing along with me. Of course, I didn’t realize that at the time. But there was the smile, and the eyes he gave me. For a second or two. And then he was busy doing something else.

There was also this scent. This aftershave cologne he used in excess. It announced his whereabouts. First I could smell the perfume, and my heart started to beat, then he turned up. Came around a corner, or showed up behind a shelf. When he had managed to catch my eyes, he smiled and disappeared.

Oh! Is that why I now have such problems with perfumes and other strong-smelling stuff? Especially those too sweet or a bit sharp types. He always used Pierre Robert’s in the green bottle. P.R. and it was really sharp-sweet, even a bit nauseating. 

“It may be so”, you say and I jerk involuntarily. I had forgotten about you, sitting there listening to my sort of boring story.

“It’s a bit better now,” you continue and hiss your brows halfway up your forehead. Just like Magnum, and a chill travels down my spine. A not a particularly pleasant chill. It was just like him as well. Oh, I came to hate that brow-maneuver!

“Please, continue”, you say and look rather disciplinary at me. “Was that all he did? Look at you with a smile and then vanish?”

“And the cologne.”

“Yes! And the cologne. And don’t you worry about that. If there is any connection between your problems with perfumes now and what happened a long time ago, your issues will probably disappear after this.”

“You think so?”, I ask with a tiny voice, but you are now silent.

He did ask me out in the spring. I don’t remember how long I had waited for this, but thinking back now and calculating in my head, it must have been like eight or nine months! That long? Really? But so it must have been! Can’t remember otherwise.

I began working in that store at the end of the summer, nothing particularly happened before Christmas, and after that? He had a girlfriend then, and it hurt my heart a lot when I saw them together. An older female colleague of mine saw it and said to me. “Don’t bother about him! He’s nothing for you!”

But did I listen? Of course not! Romantic teenage girls don’t listen to these kinds of remarks. They believe in the great love, and think they will end up with the prince, and a castle and the white horse and then be living happily ever after. That doesn’t happen. Never! Instead, they will be standing there all alone, with a camel. Or a hyena…

“Aren’t you a bit cynical now?”

“I thought I was funny…”

There is silence for a long time.

“So! You ended up with a hyena?”

“Sort of…”

“Then, why aren’t you laughing?”

But for the time being, I’m silenced, and inside my chest there is pain. Something wants to get out, and this something seems a lot like tears. Many tears. Big tears. Overwhelming tears that makes it hard to breathe, and your eyes all red.

And there is absolutely nothing to laugh about in the past.

 

… to be continued…

Writings from the Heart – foreword

Sometimes you want to write. Not only want to, you need to! Desperately, to get things off your chest. Even deeper than that. Old stuff that keeps on lingering not only in your chest but in your muscles, your joints, your entire body. It gives you pain and stiffness, and nothing that you do to heal it gives any relief at all. It also gives you anxiety, panic attacks, and food addiction.

But this kind of writing can be very hard to begin. Words don’t come easy, if at all. You’re looking at a blank, white page and there is only emptiness in your mind, emptiness in your heart. At the same time you know there is so much you need to let go of, to free yourself from.

I began this blog in the summer of 2018 as I wanted to write down my memories of my mother, and the issues I had with her. Hopefully, I would come to peace with her. She had been dead for many years, she passed in October 1983, but even if she still had been alive I’m not sure I could have talked to her about my feelings and experiences with her.

Writing about her, though, and indirectly to her, went well. And yes, I came to peace with her. She even visited me one afternoon later that year in her invisible spirit form, and said she always had loved me very much. It was a stunning moment, I had never experienced anything like that before. It made me very happy. Read about that here!

Now, I have more to add. Not about my mother any longer, nor my father, nor siblings nor any other close relative. I need to get my first husband, the father of my three daughters, out of my chest. That marriage was not a good one.

We first met when I was sixteen, got married when I was seventeen, and I gave birth to our eldest daughter only about two months after I had turned eighteen. This story began in the late sixties, and ten years later I left him. Actually!  I fled for my life, to keep my sanity, and I had to leave my daughters behind.

But those ten years had damaged me more than I realized. Despite the fact he a couple of times hit me, that was not the main issue. It was the way he had treated me. From, I guess, day one after we were married. Or even before?

Fairly recently I moved back to the area where I used to live fifty years ago. A couple of weeks ago, I was talking to a woman with whom I was friends with back then. It’s really nice to reconnect with someone like this. Nice to talk about old times, feel connected. Having a background. But she told me something about her life, something that happend forty years ago, and suddenly I got this Aha-moment… I thought to myself: how much did this marriage of mine actually damage me…

Already at that moment, I knew I had to write it all down to be able to let go of it, completely… I won’t let the past mess with the life I live now, it’s way too precious to me…

to be continued…