On Bedbugs, Incest, and the Apocalypse

On bedbugs . . . beware . . . after fifty years of virtual absence, they’re back! Fortunately, when I learned this first-hand, I had three years of trauma therapy under my belt and knew coping strategies.

On incest . . . the different parts of our brain can have such contradictory images of our family, and when one part finds the courage to speak the secrets long kept, vertigo follows.

On the apocalypse . . . sometimes there is comfort in living toward an imagined cataclysmic end when attention to the new responsibility brought on by the present day’s healing is necessary.

Of the first two, I could have lived forever being kind and empathetic with another in this experience. But seems like I became bound to statistics unwittingly, and not by my own doing: the 1 in 5 people who have dealt with or know someone who has dealt directly with bed bugs, and the varying statistics of girls sexually molested before age 18. Before I could skip and jump effortlessly, my small body became the possession of another who was known to me. Like elusive bed bugs, another lived in the crevices of my life, coming out when all was still and quiet, feeding unseen, then disappearing in the dark, unseen in the light.

Of the third, my first remembered experience of chilling fright was reading The Late Great Planet Earth as a young teen! Following my older brother’s path, I learned way, way too much fundamental religious fear at an impressionable age. Except for my mainline Protestant parents’ counterpoint, I may well have gone across the great divide. Would that I had known young the solid grounding of a good horror film or the sacredness of my sexuality.

Blogging about these three aversions that I know too well, I wish to speak myself into connectedness with curiosities and interests, healthy and confident people, and the whole child me who fragmented before she knew her spine.

As you read my words, if you think it’s “tongue-in-cheek”, it probably is; if it almost appears as humor, I tried my hardest; if it sounds like sarcasm, it probably is but could also be anger hiding next to the bed bugs. Thank you for reading my words as I re-connect to my interrupted self, to a world I can trust, and to people who are not afraid of the bigness of life.


et cetera