Sometimes my life feels like a hellish maze of PTSD and dissociation. I believe there is an exit, but I don’t know how to get there so I wander blindly through the twists and turns.
|Photo credit: Jiri Hodan publicdomainpictures.net|
Recently I was feeling anxious and jittery. I decided that I would try some journaling to try and figure out what was bothering me. So I opened my journal and I promised myself I would just “free write”. No censoring, just free-write. I don’t have to let anyone read it ever so it doesn’t matter what comes out. Just write the words as they come to my mind. So I wrote, and wrote and wrote, and when I was finished I felt better. I felt purged.
A couple weeks later I had a quiet moment and I decided to go back and read that entry. I was surprised what I found there. I did not remember writing much of it, and was surprised by a lot of what I read. What was written was haunting and painful. What I wrote was true. All brought it back to me in living color. The memory was pregnant with feelings of fear, and as I read, I felt it as if it were happening for the first time.
Now a couple days later, it stalks me. Though I try to avoid it, the feelings are never far from conscious thought. I know the key to feeling better is to talk about this in therapy. It is the only way to air it out and get some relief, and yet can you understand what it will take to do that? I feel trapped. Talking about it in therapy would mean allowing myself to feel it and sharing it with another person. I can’t go there.
So I face a “T” in the maze and in every direction there is pain. This time, I know which way I need to go, but I need some courage that I don’t have right now to move forward. Instead I will sit here and listen to a comforting song, and cry and hope it brings me courage.
Remember The Hunger Games? I need some sponsors. I need care packages. Anyone got some courage, faith and hope you can send?