In the children’s book, “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe” by C. J. Lewis, the youngest child during a game of hide and seek, looks into a wardrobe and discovers a portal to a mysterious world of Narnia.
This is how I see the land of disassociation disorder.
Where you have the ability to slip into a portal that takes you out of this world, into a pretend place where life is beautiful all the time.
Escape, until it is safe to return, failing to record the happenings while we hid in the closet of our minds.
This gives us a blackout affect or an on and off again visual of reality’s time line. What happed as we slipped through the portal?
The past 6 years I have been dealing with all the stuff that went on while I was frolicking in my far away land, trying to go back through feelings and emotions.
This reminds me of what I heard, “Emotions are time travelers.” So I use them as my vehicle to transport me back in time.
Mostly it is to see what I missed, what spaces I left out, where I built myself without these crucial points.
It’s like I had sculpted a life based on the land I escaped to.
A very overbright rendition.
Now I am bringing into my magical space all the stuff I ran from.
Adding the dark patches and smashing the sunshine pretend images of love and kindness.
It’s to find myself standing in the portal between both worlds, the dark and the overbright and re-creating what is real.
On this pinhead in time, I have to sort everything from both sides holding them up to reality’s discerning eye, leaving behind my ability to turn straw into gold, and weaving the most plausible story.
I am now without a magical closet where I can leave things on the shelf untouched.
In the portal, the space or second between the two worlds, I live there now minus all magic.
A convergence of both into one.
Combinations of old fantasies and stark bare reality.
The fantasies allowed me to survive, but in the end they were still fantasies.
I now see the land, the brightness, and the fluffy white clouds of escape and thank it for welcoming me in as a child, for protecting me when I couldn’t protect myself.
A space of refuge in a storm, I lived there for 46 years.
6 years ago to this day, my magic closet stopped working, the darkness flooded my bright world, shattering all the fantasies in its wake.
Flinging me into reality and slamming the portal shut, locking me out of the closet naked and terrified.
Alone in the cold truth, everything I ever ran from came home to roost in that one second in time.
All my fears were realized, all my feelings were validated, my mind’s disassociations clashed into one bang, fantasy met reality, and it was all wrong.
Horrified I died as me.
Dead but alive, another wonderful oxymoron!
In order for me to live, I had to rewire and unravel and re-write the history of me, dissolving fantasy after fantasy, to find the me I had run from.
I had to begin the long walk back to me.
Uncovering and unwrapping the entire pretty pretend fantasies and sit with reality.
Some pieces were harder to unwrap and see.
Knocking on each door in my fantasy only to hear,
“Love doesn’t live here anymore.”
I M Perfect lady 