Redistribution of Wealth

There is a theory of International Relations in which an infrastructure is “shaken down” and there is a complete redistribution of wealth, resources and power. An example of this would be a coup d’etat or some form of Revolutionary activity. (Forgive me for dusting off my Masters Degree and using it for a moment!)

While I am in theory very appreciative of the idea of redistributing the world’s wealth, Robin Hood style, and am just as frustrated as the next person by the gross chasm separating the “classes” in this country, upon my firsthand experience with the practical applications of this theory, I find myself revising my opinion.

Saturday night I was totally and completely robbed, burgled, thieved, taken advantage of and violated. I was in the house, watching a movie, and someone entered my room on the second floor via my window, made free with all my electronics, purses, wallet, and my jewelry. All of it. All of the bracelets, necklaces, rings and earrings that I inherited or received as gifts from my dead grandmothers. All of the things that had been dragged across the ocean, twice, on my own back. That escaped with me when I liberated myself from my Hellish situation. Who were dear friends to me, comforting presences in a life that has been somewhat nomadic. I liked my stuff. Each thing meant something to me, more than the sentimentalism attached to who it came from. Whether it was how they made me feel, or what time in my life I received them, each piece represented to me something about myself.

It is entirely wigging me out that someone was freely making his way through my room as I was downstairs, watching a movie and relaxing….feeling safe (moron that I was). And it is creepy to think that when I heard a creak, I walked around the first floor to see if anything was amiss – and that had I ventured upstairs to my room – well, I could be posting this from the afterlife. I feel disgusting – he watched us, made sure we were engrossed in the movie, closed my door to give himself time and minimize the noise. I feel dirty, exposed, vulnerable.

And I also lost that safe haven, that little bubble I had created for myself of my own – my nesting area where I shut out the world and was in my own Sacred Space.

Desecrated. Violated. Gone.

I am no longer comfortable in my room, in the house. I feel the energies have shifted, its funky, dirty, strange. It feels cold to me.

I am complately depressed. Not only about the loss of meaningful items, but also about the loss of security and safety I had. I feel adrift again and rootless. Back to tumbleweed mode. My privacy has been violated; my innermost sanctum has been breached. I am not so materialistic as to mourn the loss of Jewelry – merely the meaning attached to them and the indignation that with all I have thus far been through – these are MINE.

I hate being a victim. I hate feeling like a victim. And I am just so, so depressed.