Stuck emotions.

Last night was one of my most dreadful watches since I created this blog. I’m quite used to fall into past life mood when it’s totally unexpected, but yesterday it was so much more than that… Sometimes I’ve said past life mood is like having this cloud above your head full of past life memories that haunt you and stalk you wherever you go. Yesterday they were also strangling me, trying to kill me while I was trying to sleep.

The worst of it all is that I started to feel physical symptoms of anxiety before even thinking about my WWII past life. Even with all these sudden changes in my current life, the uncertainty, the lack of hope for the future, my economic situation, the helpless feeling of being unable to control it, I thought I was doing alright. But then again, anxiety and depression are mostly silent and you don’t even realize you’re being trapped by them, while you’re trying to fight against imaginary enemies (or so they say) and stay alive. I try not to worry too much and spend the days doing things I like, so I was a bit surprised when I felt my heart racing out of control.

Then there came the strong emotions, the strong grief. “If you need to cry, just cry, cry, CRY”, I reminded myself… and I did, forgetting whether I had reasons or not to do it, and not caring where those reasons were coming from. The past life memories caught me unawares though… I know it’s May and I know that’s a tough month for me, always has been, when I didn’t know why, and when I did. But this year I had not thought too much about my WWII life. It seems my higher self doesn’t care about my thoughts… so it presented me with some scenes I must not forget, or perhaps scenes I must witness again and again so that I can heal. The truth is I don’t know anymore… But their clarity, strength and harshness hit me like a slap on the face. “You were trying to run away. You thought you could block yourself. You thought it was enough with a short glimpse of it. Well, here is the news: you just can’t do that. You can't escape from your own ghosts”.

And so I saw myself in this beach I’ve seen so many times before… wearing a thin cardigan and my nurse uniform skirt, cloudy and grey sky above me, windy day. It looks like I’m alone, and though I don’t know the exact date, I feel Johann is already dead, and I must have got up soon after I recovered of my sedation, after seeing his corpse lying on the stretcher. I had left my medal and my faith behind. I’m not so sure about “the other” traumatic situation, but I feel my boyfriend’s death was the last straw. I had seen enough of life (and death), I didn’t want to live anymore in a world where mad men were killing each other, I couldn’t bear so much pain, so much emptiness, and the fear to be abused again (or even suffer worse things). I just wanted to shout and let my anger out, I just wanted to cry out loud, instead of hiding and retch in a dark corner of the camp where no one could see me. Only… I just couldn’t. I can’t be 100% sure, but I doubt I shed a single tear for anything I had gone through until that moment… when I gave up. The moment I lost my soul to war.

Following the advice of one of my fellow travellers, I asked Katrina what she wanted of me, what she needed to be healed and overcome so much hatred, so much pain, so much unspoken suffering gnawing at her (me) through the years… The only answer I got is she just wanted to be loved, she only needed someone to care, to show some interest in her. And the only one who cared… was taken away from her. I don’t think she said it all. She has to speak louder. So much louder. It doesn’t hurt enough. I don’t feel the fury. I don’t feel her pain, her frustration, there’s not enough blood on my feet. CRY CRY CRY CRY CRY CRY KATRINA CRY CRY CRY CRY CRY CRY...............................

PLEASE KATRINA CRY, CRY, CRY!!!

That’s all you need to do.