The Crushing
Foreword: I’m happy to welcome a new guest blogger, Elizabeth, to our site. Also a new subscriber to Dissociative Writers, Elizabeth serves on the Special Events Team and is a member of our 2024 Memoir 101 for Dissociative Writers class. Using metaphor liberally and effectively, she shares her powerful experiences with us. Be aware of potential triggers and take care of yourself as you read. ~ Lyn
by Elizabeth, Guest Blogger
We were small when the crushing began. Time and time again the press handle turned slowly ever so painfully, year after year, pressing our soul. We tried to fight as we got older, pushing against the pain but to no avail and we were left crying and dissolute. Until one day there were no more tears, no more pain, no anything just nothing.
Art Credit: Art Therapy by Jenny Chapman
We soon learned that the crushing that left us so numb was just the beginning. What was left of us was tossed to the dogs. At first, they just pushed us around attempting to make sense of what they had been given. But one day one of the dogs claimed our soul and took it for his use. Using gentle words and a tender touch he began to shape us for his use. We did not realize this manipulation for all we had known was pain and the gentle, tender hand was like balm to wounds so deep.
However, it was not long before we learned the dog's true intent and pain began again. But this time it was different, instead of pressing the dog used knives to slice and dice striking at the most sacred and twisting confusing us as we were made to feel love and then pain in what seemed to be an endless cycle. One day the dog grew tired of his game and tossed our soul to the street.
The streets were better, at least we were free but, in our condition, we soon found that animals will prey. One after another we tried to please, we tried to give but all too soon the game was up and, on the street, we were again.
Then one day a lady saw us. She picked us up, took us to her home, and began to wash away the dirt and blood. The soul, frightened at this change, froze and tried to be small and quiet but the lady was insistent that if wounds were to heal properly dressing had to be applied. The lady was patient with us and soothed us and the numbness started to fade. Alas as they say all good things must end and the lady passed from this life to the next.
But we have learned lessons we have not forgotten to this day. There is much wickedness in the world but every so often if you are fortunate, you find the ones who love.
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🕊️
The wound is the place where the light enters you.
~ Rumi
Lyn