I don’t mean for this to come across as grumpy as it does. I am not in crisis. I am no more depressed than I usually am. Nothing has changed bar acknowledgement of the way things are spurred by Cats honesty. This is my life, and for now that is fine. I have lived every day up until now, today and the rest of my days aren’t any different.
Around every corner is a trigger, and then some. Life throws these triggers at me which sometimes forces my healing and recovery of memories and thoughts about these memories at a rate that isn’t comfortable. Today I was somewhat pushed down that road because of highly triggering imagery in a computer game I saw a few minutes of. An hour long conversation on the phone with Cat and things seem to have been “sorted” in my mind, for now, but there are still so many questions left unanswered, so many things left unsaid because I don’t know how to say them.
Cat said something ever so “real” today on the phone that left me feeling quite alone, but thankful for her honesty. She said that sometimes she forgets the extent of what I must be carrying around, with my history. As she goes about her day to day life she doesn’t appreciate how difficult it must be to live with what I do 24/7. She catches glimpses of what it must be like, when I am directly with her in session, and said that sometimes it makes her blood run cold. But I am doing so well at the moment in functioning despite everything going on underneath the surface that I guess to “outsiders” it would be easy to lose sight of the 24/7 difficulties that haunt me, thanks to such soul-damaging abuse.
It is nice in a way, because it means I feel I legitimately have grounds to praise myself on, for once. I do live with this shit 24/7, I do keep things under control, yet I am still sane. Sometimes, that feels like a really big achievement to me. Still sometimes, I hate my self for it. Sometimes, I hate that I am still here, I hate that my life is ahead of me and it is closer and closer within my reach as a “normal” member of society. I hate that the war I have been through in surviving such an intensely dangerous childhood has left me so tired I feel like I’m done… that was my lifetime… do I really have to go through more?
I am finding so much good in my life at the moment, I am so lucky, I know. Cat and I are building such wonderful memories of a perfectly safe attachment. But in all seriousness, does it make up for all that of before? Of course it doesn’t. She knows it doesn’t. I know it doesn’t. Neither of us are fooling ourselves here. It is like being given crusts of bread after being starved for a month. You are grateful for it, like you have never been grateful about anything before, but it would be impossible for that to take away the emptiness, the insatiable need for more. And the rage that comes from that left over hunger is so guilt-inducing it just cannot be expressed, so it festers under the surface causing yet more neurosis.
Because it doesn’t matter what I tell Cat, what she understands, or at least tries to. There are still those times where my body and mind are absolutely screaming (silently, of course) for someone, or something, to take it all away. And much like when I am sitting across from her feeling like I am being burned alive because I so desperately need a hug but can’t ask for it, and don’t believe she would want to give it to me anyway, I am left hollow knowing that there is nothing in the world that will help- no pill, no type of therapy, no respite stay.
And that makes me angry. My life continues to be a game of dodgeball- dodging the great big inflated triggers that feel as if they are aimed straight for me at times. I can laugh about it, and I do. Like when Cat and I were in the car talking about a recent supernatural-type trigger and a massive lorry comes around the corner with “demons revenge” written down the side of it, with a great big image to go with it. Or when upon trying desperately hard to think of something untriggering for ‘wind down’ before bed and everything Cat and I say happens to have some sort of trigger in it- even something that should be innocent, like goats! My history – it’s everywhere – inside and out. I cannot get the fuck away. And no, nobody can appreciate that – not even the closest person to me, Cat, can come anywhere close to feeling the strain of it.
The ‘mundaneness’ of day to day life for the majority of society ends up irritating the shit out of me- so much so over the years I have really developed a pet hate for the phrase “what do you want to do now?” Why would I want to do anything that life offers now (when your “base state” is being housebound)? Why would I want to sit and watch a made up film about made up dreadful situations society thinks is “entertaining” when I can watch the film that is in my own head day in day out? Why would I want to play or watch a computer game with knife wielding maniacs and characters running from monsters and supernatural creatures, when that was my actual reality for 18 years? Why would I want to sit and do crafts when all that does is serve as a reminder that I never got to do this before, and now look, I am rubbish at it. Quite frankly I don’t want to do anything but recover and heal and be able to live as securely, contently and safely as I should have been able to all along. And I know that isn’t going to happen overnight, so ultimately, no I don’t want to do anything.
…and I so wish for just one day my focus could solely be on something other than internal turmoil, pain, grief, stress, and terror…