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EMDR session #4
May. 21st, 2009 07:16 pmDove right in today. We got deep... delving into the incident with the cocked handgun to my temple. She asked where my starting point was and I said "rage" and "terror" and "stunned" and "offended". I started to cry immediately as she started tapping, and then to bawl, and then to completely start wailing. I cried that I hated him and then I went in a direction that I completely and totally didn't expect. I went into the stuff that I did because I loved him, and because I feared him, and how ashamed I was (am) of some of that stuff, and how some of that stuff, even now, threatens me. And I cried some more. And I began cussing like a sailor. A LOT of rage poured out, and then the fear that the rage would consume me, and the shame that I had done things that the person I am today would never dream of doing.
We didn't finish. We ran out of time. The emotions moved from "rage" and "terror" to anger and fear. The shame didn't even begin getting dug out.
I'm supposed to "container" this when I'm done, and I haven't done that yet because I wanted to post this first. As I left, when I see the image, the very vivid image, of myself pressed up against the wall, with a gun at my head, it's softer now, not as dangerous. You know, these days, if someone were to put a gun to my head, my first thought would be "are you fucking nuts?" I might die, but I'm not afraid of death, just not looking forward to it. And anyone that killed or harmed me significantly would have to deal with the many people who would see to it that justice happened (and many of those people NOT in law enforcement). So no, neither rage nor terror is the first emotion I would feel... before I felt either of these, I would feel absolute astonishment that the person was *stupid* enough to threaten me.
Now, containering. Picturing the black and red rage, the fear, the anger, the terror and the shame. Picturing it being poured into a badly glued together slate blue biscuit jar painted with roses that smells of 100 years of roses. Picturing the lid being placed on the jar. Picturing the safe under the slate stone being opened, and the biscuit jar being put in the safe. Picturing the safe being locked and the slate being replaced. And walking away until next week.
We didn't finish. We ran out of time. The emotions moved from "rage" and "terror" to anger and fear. The shame didn't even begin getting dug out.
I'm supposed to "container" this when I'm done, and I haven't done that yet because I wanted to post this first. As I left, when I see the image, the very vivid image, of myself pressed up against the wall, with a gun at my head, it's softer now, not as dangerous. You know, these days, if someone were to put a gun to my head, my first thought would be "are you fucking nuts?" I might die, but I'm not afraid of death, just not looking forward to it. And anyone that killed or harmed me significantly would have to deal with the many people who would see to it that justice happened (and many of those people NOT in law enforcement). So no, neither rage nor terror is the first emotion I would feel... before I felt either of these, I would feel absolute astonishment that the person was *stupid* enough to threaten me.
Now, containering. Picturing the black and red rage, the fear, the anger, the terror and the shame. Picturing it being poured into a badly glued together slate blue biscuit jar painted with roses that smells of 100 years of roses. Picturing the lid being placed on the jar. Picturing the safe under the slate stone being opened, and the biscuit jar being put in the safe. Picturing the safe being locked and the slate being replaced. And walking away until next week.
