Saturday, Oct. 28th,
Today I had an anxiety attack. I had watched the John Bradshaw tape and he said a suicide attempt was not an adult acting but the inner child reacting to a previous hurt. His speech was in Santa Fe, New Mexico. I don’t know if it was that or what he said or if the anxiety was covered up before but I suddenly wanted to “black out” or “blank out”. I wanted to take pills to forget—forget what? I wanted to lay on the carpet and be numb in the bookstore, but I didn’t. This afternoon I cleaned house and tonight I took Jen and Asia to “the Scream” –a fun house for Halloween. I went to the bookstore and got Rosamund Pilcher’s new book-Coming Home. . .
I’m feeling, again, like I don’t know why I’m living and I would like to be someplace quiet with very few demands. I forget a lot of things. I wonder if my mind is fried or if this is depression or stress doing this.
You are someplace quiet with few demands now. I don’t know if you got there by your own hand, or if God just brought you to Him (super) naturally, but I do remember the “good-bye” dream I had, of walking through dogwoods and cherry trees, the petals falling on us like velvet rain. I remember the sense of peace, of you telling me that you were “really OK.” I remember you smiling, and I remember thinking about how long you wanted exactly this, but couldn’t have it.
I wish you didn’t bury your anxiety here. Of course you were anxious about a lot, but did you not see the synergy here? If God Himself were to say, “Yo, Elaine, how much clearer can I make it?” Would you turn to Him and say, “Make what?”
A suicide attempt is the inner child reacting to a previous hurt. You know my theory, but even if my theory weren’t sound, I *know* you felt unloveable and plain. I *know* you never felt good enough or accepted. I *know* you felt you were never getting enough of the right kind of attention. And then the divorce comes, and you lose your safety, your sexuality, your loveability, your attention, your everything. And the inner child cries, and cries, and cries, and feels unwanted. And if the child is crying because her basic trust is betrayed, well, that makes sense, too.
It wasn’t the location: although that should have clued you in to listen.
It wasn’t anything else that happened in the day.
It was the statement “I don’t want to remember” that you made. What don’t you want to remember? If you had remembered it, you might have healed.