After coming back home, things seemed normal at first. Then the healing began — and as my body started to heal, my mind began to scratch itself, pulling up memories and layers I thought were long integrated. But inside I heard “Not yet. One more encounter with the dragon.”

As the chaos in my body unfolded, two deeper truths surfaced — two encounters with myself that shaped everything.

The first was about my preferences regarding partners. I thought I was okay with that part of myself, having told friends that I like both women and men. I’ve only had relationships with men but have wondered what it would be like to be with women. I had only fantasized about it before.

Recently, very feminine energies started visiting me — new, fresh presences. One of them showed me that it’s beautiful to like what I like, and that I shouldn’t hide it anymore. I even started watching scenes in shows with same-sex relationships to see how I’d feel, and I have to say, I really liked some of them — sometimes more than the usual man–woman stories.

So I’m opening this side of myself — allowing myself to love and connect with women too. For me, being with someone is never just about sex. It’s about connection, energy, resonance, and feeling. Energy communication is the most intimate thing that can happen between people, whether or not there’s a physical relationship.

The second truth rose from a much deeper place — one I had avoided for years. It was rooted in the old abuse–victim pattern, the sexual energy virus, and how parents can shape your entire life. I’ve been to therapy, spoken with their souls, and thought I was finally at peace with the past. But I wasn’t.

My parents, to me, are the perfect example of abuser and abused, each becoming the other. My father abused my mother — not sexually, but with words, shouting, and beatings. I witnessed it as a child. He drinks every day. Some time ago, my mother started drinking too, and they’re caught in a game of toxicity.

I’ve tried to understand it. I’ve asked my mother to leave him, but she doesn’t want to. She says it’s too late. It didn’t start this way; they were in love once. My father’s parents didn’t approve of their marriage, but they made the mistake of living in the same area as his parents and sister, and soon everything turned into a soap opera.

My grandmother told everyone that my mother had slept with my grandfather and even questioned if my father was truly my father. He didn’t believe it at first, but over time, hearing it daily, it broke him. Though he himself had been mistreated by his parents, he found ways to take it out on my mother. Abused, he became the abuser.

Whenever something from his past resurfaced, he would start attacking my mother over trivial things — money, jealousy, paranoia.

This led me to some confronting inner explorations. I started watching Hannibal — the series about the serial killer and the empath — and something in their chemistry, in the idea of growing and becoming through intuition and darkness, really resonated with me.

I imagined: if I were a killer, who would I kill? The answer was clear — male abusers and female victims who allow the abuse to continue (to themselves and to others). In other words, people like my father who was cruel, and my mother who let it happen.