An Encounter

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non-subject ~ an encounter
aww ~ november 3, 2010
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I laid down around 4:00 pm today. I thought I'd take 10 to 20 minutes to get grounded. I had an appointment at 5:00 with my psychologist, Dr. McColloch. I'd thought earlier about cancelling the appointment; I wasn't sure what I had to discuss.

I still hadn't heard from NY State Office of Professions regarding the complaint I'd filed against Knapp. I called the state last week and was told that the complaint had been given to an investigator who was currently out of the office. I was given the investigator's voice mail and left a message.

I've not heard back yet. I guess I'll call again next week if I don't hear anything before then. I'm feeling antsy.

Maybe someone from the Office of Professions has written me via snail mail. What if they have written and I've missed it?

I jumped up from the bed and ran downstairs; I was bad about letting snail mail pile up. I thumbed through envelopes looking at return addresses.

Nothing.

I walked back upstairs, down the hall, and into my bedroom. I closed the door. I walked over to the CD play and pressed play. I lay down on the bed. The Australian aboriginal didgeridoo began to sound through the boom box, the volume just loud enough to help me relax.

I breathed in invisioning my breath coming in through my heart area. I exhaled, envisioning my breath going out at my belly.

How do you feel Carol? I asked myself. Relax. One with the in breath. Two with the out breath. I focused in my heart area.

And there we met. My personas which are a part of me. Which if and when I choose to share about them, some people may think me insane. But these parts of me comfort me.

We all met at the rock in the meadow, where we have often gathered. Nanna, the little girl in the blue dress, named after a nanny goat, a take off from scapegoat and shame. Abe, the Pillsbury Dough looking image, who came into form from abandonment as I worked with some grief issues some years back. Sally, the horse, the timid and fearful one. Myself, who is me as a grown-up. The Tender, who is the aged man that oils the gears at the water wheel, in the gear house, to keep the machinery moving, to keep parts turning so they don't rust. The only one missing was the gentle giant gardener. I had named him John almost a decade ago. He was the first persona whom I met in one of my recurring house dreams. But today he was missing. The rest of us figured he was out tending the gardens.

All were downcast as we met at the rock. Well, the Tender wasn't at the rock with Abe and Nanna and Sally and I. The Tender stayed at the gear house; but I could see him. He too was worn; the gears were moving slowly, creeping round at a snail's pace.

There was gloom surrounding our little gathering. Nanna and Abe asked, Why did John leave us? Sally the horse had the same questioning look in her eyes. They were asking about my ex-therapist John Knapp, not John the gardener.

I don't know, I responded. I guess I scared him or something. I think we should have compassion for him, not anger. I miss him too.

A tear trickled down my fleshy cheek as I lay on the bed, the Healing Project music still playing in the background.

I hope I soon hear from NY. I guess I'll call next week if I've not heard from them.

I haven't shared with Dr. McColloch about my inner personas. I guess I should do that today.

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Note: The above is more from my personal journal and/or other writings as I moved through the inner turmoil after the Knapp trauma which happened the end of July/beginning of August, 2010. The sharings are simply my thoughts at the time processing through events that took place with my ex-therapist, John M. Knapp, LMSW. To access an ongoing index, click here and scroll down to the section entitled June 26, 2011.'
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