I am sick to my stomach and I feel a pressure in my chest.
This is what a panic attack feels like at the start.
This evening has been one long trigger.
I have triggers around my material possessions being fucked with. They are an extension of my person, my self — when they are messed with, it is no less than a violation of my boundaries, a transgression against my sovereignty.
My house, my possessions, my body — these are all my domain. They fall under land that is Morag.
This is why things have been so hard lately, because it’s been necessary to allow other people to mess with my things. I cannot feel frustrated with these people, because they are kind, and they are helping me out.
But they are triggering me all the time.
Tomorrow I have to sort through my things and pack them. This means finding them back from the places they have been hidden. This means rescuing my art pieces from unceremonious dumping in random areas. This means holding back the panic attack long enough to get done what needs to get done.
This means making the place a mess again before needing to clean it up totally, so it looks like I was never even here.
I am so tired, and I just want to sleep for a week. But I am on deadline, and I need to reclaim my sovereignty before it gets trampled on further. I need to move my things out of this place that is no longer my house and into where my new home is — or I will continue to feel unsafe; I will continue to be triggered.
This is not an area where I can ask people to stop triggering me. This is an area where the onus is on me to not be in a place where I can be triggered anymore.
And that sucks, but it’s what I must deal with.
This work — tonight’s work, tomorrow’s work — this is the Morrigan’s work. Because She demands I reclaim my sovereignty; Ze demands I claim myself, my ownership of my person, my belongings.
That means rescuing them. I’m on a rescue mission, and I must complete it, no matter how difficult it is for me.
The Work is never easy, and it is even harder when it is Hers. Ze does not believe in kid gloves.
I fall into puddles that cannot contain me.
Her work is betimes perplexing as it is fulfilling; tiring as it is enervating.
Sometimes I wonder what in heaven’s name I am doing. My fingers are worked to the bone; I could sleep for a thousand years.
But it will always be worth it.