Leaning in

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.

She of the Gleaming Edge

Glory to Morrigan
Eidolon sovereign
of blooded battlefields
Rich soil, soaked through. 
Everything grows where death walked. 
Queen of the Cycle
Rebirthing yourself anew
Year after year
day after day
my devotion grows
out of blood-soaked clay
Shall I offer whiskey,
that you may sleep and leave the world in peace?
I think I shall offer coffee
That you may have the energy
to do what needs to be done
Shining edge, gleaming steel
cuts away what doesn’t belong
It’s finished now
It’s done.