Today the kinesiologist started me on light therapy, as my body requested the first time. Her equipment was returned, so she could lend it to me. She tested my arm on various colors, and it wanted red. She tested my emotions on various issues, and today's issue came up as "anxiety, fear." So she lent me the light box and a red film. My instructions were to put the red film over the light box and stare into it for 15 minutes while thinking or saying to myself the anti-anxiety/fear mantra: "I truly am grounded." (Who makes up this stuff???? But I'm desperate to feel better, and quite curious...) I'm to do this once a day, with an interval of at least 24 hours between each session. She mentioned that some emotions may arise; this is a way for the mind/brain/body entity to cleanse itself of stuck emotions.
The first 10 minutes of today's session were uneventful. I was a bit bored. Then suddenly the thought arose, "I'm not mad at 'Aaron,' I'm mad at God." This has been a suspicion of mine for a few weeks now. I allowed the thought (alarming for so many reasons) into my mind and didn't push it down. Then the floodgates opened.
It's not fair. The timing was so unfair. Why did I have to re-meet him when I was at such a low point in my life? I was still in recovery from the divorce, trying to take care of an infant and a toddler, confused, exhausted, and barely scraping by. I wasn't at my best or even at a mediocre place. I didn't have the resources of energy or time or anything else to make my best impression, or even a true impression of myself. Why couldn't I have started dating someone else, some schmoe I'd never met before and who meant nothing to me? Why couldn't THAT guy, the schmoe, have been the one who betrayed me? Why did it have to be "Aaron," someone who has been so tremendously important to me? He wasn't at a good point either, and wasn't representing his best self. Why did I have to lose something so valuable, so precious to me before I had a chance to rebuild my life? The timing was terrible. It was cruel. Wrathful. I didn't have a chance to really be the person I know I am, because I had too many other stressors draining me. Now I'm pretty sure "Aaron" hates me, and I can't correct his misconceptions of me. It could have been anyone else. Why him? The fates hate me. And I hate them back.
I'm crying, but I'm determined that this will be a releasing cry, not a wallowing cry.
And I'm continually struck by how the song I wrote a month before I got the bad news really captures an important part the essence of Him, What Happened, How It Affected Me. The fates may hate me, but the muses give me prophecies.