244 - A God, In Power

Lin

I've been listening to Evil by Melanie Martinez on repeat for the past few days.

And I've never related to a song more.

Honestly, it's equal parts fury and relief that other people have experienced this same thing that I have, for me.

Nobody deserves to have to deal with narcissists, sociopaths or psychopaths in their lives. Ever.

Frankly, I've been considering learning from my new Reiki course.

But I've been too afraid to do it.

Whenever I end up wanting to do something that could potentially be a larger part of my future, my mind almost always shuts down after a while, or sometimes, even before I get around to trying it.

People have often told me to ground, to calm down, to stop thinking so much - but I can't. If I could, I would have figured out a way by now.

My ideas come in, but the moment I act on them, there's this sense of impending doom surrounding even touching the things I love, or could love.

Like my body, my mind, my soul, are all waiting for some kind of divine punishment for even thinking about doing what I want to do.

Overwhelm doesn't even begin to cover what this experience is.

Given my trauma, and the way that the voldys, and others, have ferverently made a point of blocking me or restricting my hobbies and anything remotely fun from coming my way in the past, it's no surprise that I'm struggling with this now.

Despite so many neurotypical people having an off switch for their brains, we neurodivergent people, especially if we've been through trauma, don't.

Even if I did, I don't think I'd want it.

Yet a part of me yearns for some kind of volume switch that I can turn or slide at will, at least to be in partial control of what emotions I feel, and how much of them affect me at any one time.

That way, I'll only be taken by surprise in ways that actually benefit me, as opposed to destroying my brai every time I want to do something.

Candidly, it took me quite a bit of energy to get myself to partially clean my body with facial wipes, and brush my teeth today.

Something I haven't been in a position to do for a while, due to my anxiety making it nigh impossible to do even the simplest things sometimes.

Just to remind anyone who's about to call me a tramp again: this is very common in both neurodivergent people and people with mental health issues.

Virtually, your ableism is showing.

Truthfully, I do want to be clean - I just can't see myself getting there whilst I live in this house.

When I move out, two of the first things I'm planning on doing once I get there are to clean some clothes of mine and take a shower, as the room I'm getting has an en suite bathroom, which fits my needs perfectly.

Strolling through the Parc du Thabor, I sigh. Artio decided to take us here today, as the botanical gardens here are beautiful, and the place overall resembles an English park, which will help to connect my Breton and English heritage, among other things.

Where are we going?

Artio grins.

Oh, you'll see.

Further and further we walk, the Sun beating down on us. Yet I can't help but feel joyous, and not just because of the Sun. Somehow, I finally feel like I'm home again - that knowing that I am safe, and loved, has sunken in for me. My faith, somehow, has been restored - and I can be free.

Artio stops, and I realise what she was leading us to.

Before us lies a huge rose garden, filled with more species and cultivars than I dare try to name from off the top of my head. My eyes fill with tears. 

She did this for me.

Someone's arm wraps around my shoulders, and I look up to notice Terrence offering me a pack of tissues. I take them, nodding.

Trugarez, both of you.

Artio smickers, ruffling my hair.

Ma plijadur. You deserve to know just how loved you are.

Then I come to an even more winding realisation:

This whole garden was planted for me and my Maman, wasn't it?

Terrence nods.

Consciously or unconsciously, it was for the both of you. Don't doubt that.

As we have this conversation, my Maman hugs me from behind, the smell of roses and honey wafting over my shoulders.

Ma môr, this is all ours... And I'm so proud of how far you've come in realising just how important you are.

Finding the tears flowing again, I reach for the packet of tissues and blow my nose, dabbing at my face.

Of all the times I could choose to be emotional...

We all laugh slightly, the summer breeze caressing us with love and light. And I understand now why it feels like I'm home.

My family are my home - and I've come home.

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