I think I now understand what it takes for someone to decide that they must go on a hunger strike.
What it takes is this: they have tried everything else they possibly can and still they are imprisoned. They cannot find their way out. Hunger strikes are a measure of last resort and what I am starting to understand about these people is that they must be intense and dedicated and willing to do whatever it takes to gain their freedom.
My hunger strike may look a little more like an anger strike. I am beyond agitated that the residue of abuse keeps picking away at my sanity. It just won’t fucking let go, it’s like a splinter wedged in my gut, surrounded by an infection. In my sleep, in my belly and especially when dusk arrives, my anxiety resides and propagates.
I found a blog written by someone who sounds and writes quite a bit like myself. It is an excellent presentation of what heights a person can rise to when he heals. Reading it the other day, I found an entry where he describes how he was able to arrive at the memory of the moment where he disassociated from his body, that instant when terror took up full-time residence in his cells. Remarkably, this happened while he was sitting quietly in meditation. I say remarkably, because facing this horror cannot easily be reconciled with sitting quietly. While he does not describe the details, he does insinuate that meeting the grief of this moment was anything but peaceful: I know that he must have been incredibly brave to have invited in this intersection of horror and courage to take place inside his belly. His whole being became a womb, and it must have been torturous.
Like me, this man has searched out many routes, including those I have (ayahuasca, MDMA, psylocibin) but he went further and found that a daily practice of Insight Meditation was central to his healing. For myself, sitting quietly was and still is a very difficult thing to do, it feels like I am in the middle of a firing range. But he (the blogger) knew he had to sit and welcome the onslaught.
Ayahuasca, MDMA, Iboga, Psylocibin, Vision Fasts, all of these things I have made agreements with: I have placed myself in their “hands” and asked for deliverance from the evil acts of some very angry men so very long ago. And while I have travelled far, I am still haunted.
Like my fellow blogger, I too disassociated from my body and I am having a very fucking difficult time getting it back.
Some of these words and thoughts I have written before, cobbled together in similar ways. I have worried that stating the facts more than once makes it sound like I have fallen in to a trap, that I am becoming the bitchy victim. Yet I know nothing could be further from the truth. I am light years ahead of where I was only three years ago.
But I am clearly having trouble taking the next steps.