I’ve had a rough few days, more so than normal. The kind of days where I should simply allow myself to relax, to free myself from worry and obligation, but instead I usually imprison myself in fix-it mode. Truth be told, nothing has worked. I find myself desperate to curl up in bed, hand-in-hand with my husband. Hidden away from the pain and worry of life; shielded by warmth and darkness. The sweet silence of dreams of what was or what could be.
I don’t want to engage with the outside world right now. I don’t want to pretend to be okay. I spent a lifetime pretending, and I just don’t have it in me anymore. There are certain seasons of my life, when I am simply incapable of holding it all together. I’m realizing that this is acceptable, I should be allowed to sit in the mess for a bit. Just long enough to feel what I’m feeling, learn from it, and move on. The truth is, I’m in transitional limbo. I’m disconnected from my past, but my future has yet to present itself. Leaving me with no identity, no stability, and no direction.
So here I sit, trying to explain that I’ve tried to gather my thoughts. I’ve made every effort to make sense of each and every humble beginning, but here I sit, full of half-empty thoughts. I’ve decided to share them, as a record of things I clearly need to work through. My mind hold’s things hostage, teasing me with crumbs of knowledge that lead to a wall of disappointment and shame. So, rather than toss them aside, I will share them as a collective whole. A simple mind dump.
Honestly, I cannot understand the way I feel. Yet, I think maybe I understand completely. My thoughts are not connecting, but I’m going to write it out (or ride it out) anyway. I need to get to the other side of these. I need to dump it here, so I can understand better. Life is cycles and seasons, and though this one is familiar to me, it is also significantly different than the others. Over the past few years, I’ve become very aware – awakened to my mind, body, and spirit. Though I recognize this as a gift, I often wonder if life was meant to be lived wide awake. If ignorance is bliss, then distraction is a Godsend.
The problem is, I can no longer distract myself from what is, nor do I want to. But at the same time, I wonder if it’s time to give in, just a little. Something deep inside is telling me to rest. At first, I chalked it up to the cold of winter and gloomy skies, but I know there’s more. The sun is back, the heat is up, and I’m no better than a month ago, worse even. The truth is, I’m a week away from the five-year anniversary of my accident, and I’ve spent more time in darkness than in light. I try to hold onto the moments of shining beauty, but the shadows of life consume them.
I sit here, and I struggle. Equilibrium swimming – thoughts evading. I’m not sure if it’s my neck or my shoulder or my back. I’m guessing it’s all three, the triangle of death, if you ask me. Pain eating away at my patience and resolve; a silent passenger of shame. Physical pain, chip, chip, chipping away at my sanity. The amygdala, raising flags, and shooting flares. Creating chaos in my mind in the simplest of situations. Code red. High alert. Meltdown. The central nervous system is a tricky beast; a silent predator.
The thing is, I’ve struggled in some way for as long as I can remember. I felt the sadness and rage in my gut as a child. My Mom saw it, took ownership over it – I must be just like her. Of course, what else could it be? Manic-depression. Bipolar. Easy answers, and quick fixes. Labels and band-aids. As if a few ink blots could answer the question. No one seeing the depth of my pain; ignoring the silence. Hiding from the facts; adults distracted by their own pain.
Every PHD tossing labels and pills but never answers or solutions. Me dipping in and out – holding onto the illusion of control for as long as possible. Never seeing the pattern. Lack of distraction, disappointment, and heartbreak always leading to darkness. A season of life when all masks are lost, and facades turned translucent. When hiding in plain sight will no longer due. I’m not good enough. I’m broken. I cannot live up to life’s expectations. A time when I hide; making every effort to get back to being the person people need me to be. That’s always been my point of view – what do I need to do to be what others need me to be? Always the people-pleaser. The journey always begins and ends with the expectations of.
I’m driving myself insane. I’m desperate to write, and I’ve started three separate pieces today, but none of them saw completion. The problem is that I can’t connect. I flip from one playlist to the next, desperate to feel something. A twinge of excitement, and spark of joy, but mostly I feel numb. A feeling I am not a fan of – I shun meds because I know we are meant to feel. I’ve chased the feeling of normality with the help of pharmaceuticals, and it always leads to numbness. In my experience, you cannot numb the pain without numbing all that is good. But here I sit, fully aware that what I am feeling is not the numbness of pharmaceutical drugs but that of emotional disconnect.
A symptom of C-PTSD. The way I feel is not easily explained, or maybe I’m overthinking it. I feel nothing and everything, sometimes all at once, but mostly as individual pendulum shifts. The depth of my nothingness seems to lift or sink according to the energy in the room; the person or people I’ve allowed myself to share space with. I’m noticing a clear pattern of emotional and physical exhaustion as a reflection of certain people in my life. People who have wounded and injured me somehow, and who have done so repeatedly. Generally, without consequence, or accommodation. I can feel the shift of energy within me, and it’s a darkness I wish I could release.