When I was very little we lived in a tiny white cottage tucked away beneath the hills. It was a beautiful little sanctuary. We were only there for two years. For those two years we were all genuinely happy. When we moved away, reluctantly, a little piece of me was left behind. Seven stayed. She couldn’t bear to leave.
During one very intense session, Anna and I went back there to that cottage and brought Seven ‘home’. But it doesn’t feel like we made it all the way and now Anna’s gone and it feels as though we are in some sort of black void waiting… we’ve not quite completed the journey. I want to take Seven back there and to bury myself in those hills.
I have cried for 3 hours on and off tonight. The grief has ripped through me as if it’s fresh and raw and brand new. I guess my system has fragmented this pain into a little box to dilute its intensity. It’s insanely painful tonight. This grief, it rips apart all the grief my body has ever felt. It tears at the old scars. It opens the wounds. Demands that I feel them.
This grief, it is the doorway to it all and it is demanding that I feel it. I read over my last few sessions and final phone call with Anna. God what I’d give to call her right now. I have a session with Mark tomorrow thankfully. Just got to get through the next few hours.