My Healing Story
The wound is the place where the Light enters you. I know what bones breaking sound feels like. I know what being depressed feels like. I know what being in the emotionally abusive relationship feels like. I know what being suicidal feels like. I know Xanax. I know what being on drugs feels like. And I know what being healed feels like from all these dramas I have experienced at some point in my life. Based on the thousand-years old Shamanistic Tradition of Healing Art in order to be a healer, you must come from a healed place. You need to be healed yourself. My personal healing journey, working through all the layers of emotional and physical trauma taught me many tools I still use in my work today.
Welcome To The Heroes Fall
I grew up in a very busy, relatively wealthy and an emotionally detached family of lawyers and psychiatrists with a lots of self-destructive, emotionally abusive issues. I am a mix of Jews and Hungarian Gypsies. They do mix and I’m proof of that. People always seen my mixed heritage as having the best of both worlds. I’ve always seen my mix heritage as being a special walking meal-deal for Nazis. Something like buy one and get one free deal. As a child and as a teen, I was a free spirit, always exploring, often getting into trouble with any type of authority because I questioned things. I got kicked out from many schools due to behavioral problems. I knew there’s nothing wrong with me. When I was twelve years old kid, I was already reading Psychiatric Journals and many books about psychology and psychiatry from my parent’s home library. Usually while sitting on the toilet. Yes, prioritise self-time. I felt different, and a bit lonely and alienated. Not only on the toilet. Especially in adolescence, there was no one I could talk to about my deepest thoughts and feelings. I was told so many times I am too much to handle. I simply didn’t fit into the box. I never did my homework properly. I must have skipped at least half of my classes during my high school years. The sensation that I don’t belong has walked with me almost everywhere. It’s like if the children don’t grow up, our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up. It took me a few years to realize that I am alone on an island surrounded by badass rebellious music. I tried to get into classical music to make my father happy and proud. Listening his favourite Bach, Dvorak and Rachmaninov. I still clearly remember going with my father at opera houses, almost every single week, being seated in the private balconies. My father’s favourite weekly place to show off his wealth, prestige and high status. I was learning and mastering the social rules and dogmas. When I started loving my Christian Dior tuxedo I altered my true self to make it fit into the society. Unconsciously, I begged my father to love me again. My dad has been emotionally abusing me and my mother for a very long time. Being rejected without reason by someone we love, someone we could trust is perhaps the worst thing that can happen to a child. I was forced to grow up too fast, too violently. Growing up too fast is a justification, because being mature beyond our years is never a good thing for any kid. I knew that in order to survive I need to become extremely strong like an army soldier. Yes, boys don’t cry thing. Holding back all my repressed feelings, emotions and being overly protective of my self. Don’t trust too much, don’t love too much, don’t care too much. I started to have all those goodies of anxiety disorders, panic attacks and a very intense stomach cramps on a daily basis. I have believed that I can’t ask for help and have to do everything on my own. I have believed that if I recognize the trauma and abuse, that I will be weak. And that feeling of being vulnerable was totally unacceptable. When my father died, the first feeling that passed through my body in physical waves was not grief. It was relief. I didn’t attend the funeral. My heartbeat has stopped beating for him a long time ago. Yes, I was that monstrous son who feels relief when his father dies. It took me many years and tons of meditation to understand who he really was, to understand his enormous emotional pain growing up in an orphanage and being abused as a little kid. He was just doing the same thing to us all over again. Recycling and projecting his own trauma on his own family. It could be much worst. My dad had a chance to become a phenomenal father by overcoming his childhood trauma – commit to loving the ones you’re with. Chances given. Chances wasted. My dad wasn’t a phenomenal father and I permanently forgive him for his terror. Sometimes we have to let go the coulda, woulda, shouldas. Time was passing and I welcomed myself to the wonderful world of adulting. I have made it to the promised land of the rat race, success and dark circles under my eyes. I became a good boy who’s obeying all social rules and expectation. Studying again properly, attending at a synagogue and eating kosher. Someone told me that I could be a great rabbi or a psychologist. Somewhere deep inside of me, I just wanted to be a better skater. In short, I become like everyone else around me. Thanks heavens and by a happy chance, I felt in love with Carl Jung’s Shadow Work Process – the dark side of our personality. Most likely, the only one of the non corruptible truth in the psychology. I’ve studied an human behavior and “scientific investigation” on human beings long enough to get sick of it. I strongly believe that the mainstream psychology is one of the most disturbing human experiments in history. The scientific study of the human mind and its functions has massive difficulties with its basic definitions, concepts, and categories. The meaningless process of manipulating individuals in a society to respond in a manner generally approved by the society. And here is a very super speedy forward.
A few years later: One bullet is passing through two walls and getting stuck in a third. The third wall is my wall. There is a man who’s shooting and stabbing his wife to death during a marriage counselling session and then fatally shooting himself. The horrified psychologist is screaming and running to another suite. Yes, sometimes psychotherapy goes wrong. Deadly wrong. I am in another suite, just around forty feet away. But I can’t hear anything. Simply, I love my headphones and music is my escape from all bullshit of life. When the homicide detective said that I was lucky that day, I believed him. It was simply the truth. And this the end of the story. Surely, a bad psychologist can cause a lot of harm. The term “iatrogenic neurosis” to refer to problems that originate from having a bad psychologist. That day I felt a little bit strangely. That bullet in my wall was a thing no one ever tells you about becoming an adult. But life goes on. I was having my first stable job, making some money, paying my first mortgage and jumping from one relationship to another. Dating girls and boys. Confused. Unclear. Pretending. I lost myself so much in the chaos, seeking approval and love outside of myself, deeply disconnected from my authentic nature, copycatting my family emotional DNA. Finally, I made my choice. I felt in love with a beautiful girl. Got married. And got divorced. And then a psychedelic drugs came as a good idea to have fun with. Experimenting and trying to get out from the ordinary life. My regular dinner menu was a decent portion of a hash with melted butter and honey sprinkled with magic mushrooms. I still believe that psychedelic therapy might be a useful tool to help a person break through their normal barriers to better understand the root of the emotional problem. However, I did not get a Michelin star for my cooking ideas but I got a toxic psychosis. And many other issues related to my abusive childhood suddenly kicked in. I started to have wave of panic attacks, one after another. They kicked in so badly than I ended up one night on the floor praying to God to save my soul. You know, like Elizabeth Gilbert at Eat, Love and Pray. I did not book the trip to Italy or India like Elizabeth Gilbert did. But that week I gave up on my religion and decided to save myself. Piece by piece. In any case, seeing another therapist was a good idea. Finally, there was someone who can listen to all of my stories since I was born. I got a final confirmation that my emotional life has remained at an adolescent level, which is also known in psychology as Peter Pan syndrome. He covets independence and freedom, opposes boundaries and limits, and tends to find any restriction intolerable. In short, I was an adult who is socially immature. But there is no such thing as being socially immature. I would use the more appropriate term The Evolving Self. We heard this a million times that we are in the same boat. But it’s not that. We are in the same storm called LIFE, but not in the same boat. Some have yachts, some canoes, some are swimming and some are drowning. And that’s absolutely OK. I think its quite obvious to say that time helps to learn how to navigate through out the storm. Everyone learns and experiences uniquely. Anyhow, throughout my therapy we came out to the only one healing point: Life without drugs is boring. Yes, I already knew that. The trick was how to make my life exciting without getting high every night.
During the psychotherapy nobody talks about the heart and brain or about the term heart brain. A harmonized heart and brain is state of harmony that we create for ourselves in heart-brain coherence. And it is the easiest and fastest healing therapy of all. Allowing our awareness to move from our mind to the area of our heart. This theory had never been taught in a psychology class. Talk therapy is the basis for psychotherapy and counselling today. The most of psychologists and psychiatrists are looking at people as if their problems were “all in their heads”. No one is mentioning the human heart. The human soul. Despite evidence that psychotherapy has a positive impact on psychological disorders, the failure rate of mainstream western psychotherapy is 50%, between 10% get worse and 40% experience no benefit whatsoever. That’s half, or more. In a nutshell, too many people who enter traditional psychotherapy aren’t helped at all. And ironically, some therapists are examples of the kinds of problems they’re trying to treat. Absolutely yes. I overestimated the effectiveness of modern psychotherapy. Yes, I used to be a clear cut case of a spiritual emergency. My life was a mess, strained to the point of destruction. I have missed the complete sense of what it means to be alive. I forgot about the beauty of simple stuff. Like the earthy aroma of a morning coffee, and saying I love you, I am Sorry, Please Forgive me and Thank you. I was deeply confused, depressed and many other big little dramas of a daily life. The Eternal Boy was dying. Yes, the heroes fall. Mythologically, the hero’s goal is to find the treasure, the princess, the ring, the golden egg, elixir of life. I searched for something but I didn’t find anything.
Near-Death & Go Back Kiddo
In the middle of this saddest time, my life suddenly changed. Just like that. I was crossing the street, music was blasting through my headphones. Yes, my headphones again. Looking left. Looking right. Stepping safely to the road and in a split second, my whole life changed. I am struck by a tram and my body is rolling under the wheels. I am brutally crashed and trapped under the tram. Firefighters are pulling me out little by little. These data are from the police report. Personally, I don’t remember anything from that crash. No memory whatsoever due to my traumatic brain injury and the loss of consciousness. I remember only to listen My Chemical Romance before stepping into the road and a very pleasant metaphysical sensations afterwards.
Meanwhile, “Somewhere Else”: My short life flashes before my eyes. It’s a movie reel, catching all important nanoseconds of my life, frame by frame extremely speeding backward to my childhood. All images are black and white, mostly, beautiful memories. I am around a three year old and running in a field of flowers and giggling happily and that is the end of my movie. Suddenly I am in a tram filled with soft light surrounded by a few strangers. No one talks. Everyone is silent. Males and females. Maybe some child in the corner. Everyone is sad, scared and emotionally numb. The energy is very heavy. I don’t feel good at all. Confused. Lost. Scared. I look around and I am seeing my body surrounded by paramedics. That body it’s me but at the same time my body it’s not me anymore. I don’t breath at all. Suddenly, I am seeing at least ten open hands in the sky reaching me out. I can’t see faces, but all those hands are in the purple color. I feel the need to go there and hold them for a while. Immediately, I am being lifted to an abstract vortex with a bright purple light by my lovely grandmother who died long time ago. She was always my rescuer. Like my heroes from comic books. She is smiling. The same way when I used to live with her as a little boy. And after a few seconds, she disappearing with a beautiful smile again. I am seeing a sharp laser green light hovering over my body that may feel like strangely pleasant electric shocks. The light is taking everything from me, my pain and even my fear. Something or someone touching my heart. Something or someone filling up my heart with nothing. I feel completely empty and so light. It is an absolute nothingness. It is an absolute lightness of being. Almost like getting a fresh new pair of wings. I can fly. I feel unbounded love for very fist time in my life. And that nothing is everything. I can’t remember exactly who was that man touching me, but I remember exactly what he said to me: “I was there with you under those wheels all the time. Always believe in your heart and be more grateful in your life. Nothing in your life is your fault. It is no one’s fault. It’s not your time yet. When you leave a hospital , go home and light a candle. It is a miracle that you are alive. Work, love and have fun. Go back kiddo now.” The voice was so peaceful, calming and beautiful. Unfortunately, the rest of my story coming into or out from the Light is only blurry. I still remember seeing a lots of geometry symbols and a lots of colorfoul mandalas running through me at nearly speed of light. Yes, a typical LSD trip could look like this if only there is no blood all over your body, deep wounds and a serious brain injury involved. I believe I was in the next world, God’s world, my eternal home whatever you want to call it. I had an enormous sense of being home. People in science often think you can’t possibly believe in anything supernatural, superhuman or supernormal. Yes, the voice could come easily from an ambulance, police or firefighter crew checking my eyes and vital signs with the flashlight and maybe saying something to me. Maybe the electric shocks came from an automated external defibrillator from the near by ambulance to deliver a shock to the heart. I was clinically dead for two minutes. I survived and I am lucky to be alive. Because of a miracle that not only saved my life, but changed everything about it. It changed my definition of death and it changed my definition of life significantly. To make a very long story short. A mind that is stretched by a new experience can never go back to its old dimensions.
I woke up from a coma and relearned not only to walk again, but I relearned to live again. Appreciating the little things like my morning hospital coffee and the playful rays of the sun. My hospital nurse nurse told me that the plastic surgeon spent a few hours repairing my crashed face. She warmed me to not look in the mirror for a few days so I was looking directly at the sun. I held the sun in my hands for hours and I was imagine walking on the beach, surfing or skateboarding again. Replaying joyful events in my injured brain like my birthdays, making love, revisiting places I used to love so much. The happiest stories of my life all over again and the sun was always getting brighter and bigger. It was just a playful game. I couldn’t physically move my body that much, but I knew I need to do something more physical with my body than playing with the sun . That feeling that you’re stuck somewhere and having a hard time to go anywhere was killing me. I knew only one thing : My body maybe belong to this hospital bed, but my heartI don’t belong here. I want to go home. Totally irrational. Totally liberating. The doctors warned me that without monitoring and IV fluids most likely I might die during that night as a result of the premature discharge. I signed a tons of paperwork and left the hospital against medical advice. I don’t recommend this to anyone. But always follow your heart.