I thought that airing my trauma would heal me and that I was therefore free. I had music playing as a soundtrack to all I did and I felt good. It was beautiful because for the first time I could experience just being, in that, I mean existing. I looked out at the world and could see it’s beauty. This lasted a few months and it was glorious because I could see what others experienced on a daily basis. A life without intrusive thoughts that told you you were broken, damaged and therefore unloveable.
The past week however I’ve felt low. I tried to make excuses for this lull in my happiness and peace. It was because of my period- damn menstruation. It was because of the AstraZeneca Covid-19 vax. Perhaps it was because of a decrease in sex, or my diet since I’d been comfort eating, the lack of exercise, my messy home, lack of sleep. The list of reasons could be endless, but it didn’t account for the utter despair and my refusal to do activities that I know would solve a lot of my problems. Why would I not go for a swim knowing it makes me happy? Why would I not do any of the activities that I knew would help me out of my funk? Had my depression returned and I therefore felt everything was pointless? I cancelled meeting my friends. I cancelled everything that I know works to bring me joy, choosing to wallow instead of getting ahead of the situation. At my darkest a long time ago, I wished for death. I fantasised about dying. It was never about suicide, it was to stop the pain. It was about an end to the emotional turmoil that my soul was experiencing. This, wasn’t it.
This was a state of apathy. I had shed my traumatised skin. I’d felt the idea of rebirth, hope invigorated and could do anything and everything. So why was I now so sad? I had so much to be proud of, but the lingering lost feeling only grew.
I’d been feeling sad because I’d been left behind and that I was now catching up. I’m only now accepting the aftereffects of all that I have been through and I’m upset because I can’t reverse history, scream from the top of towers with “I’m ok now. I can be human! I understand all that I didn’t before! I promise I can now fit into society.”
But the loss is really about love. I was once so in love with a person that I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t know how to accept his kindness, generosity and acceptance. I’m sad because since the day we met, I’ve not really stopped thinking about him, nor trying to make myself worthy. That is a me problem, not a him. I didn’t know that just me was enough for him. I didn’t know that I could be loved for no other reason than being. I never felt worthy, and so his kindness, care, devotion, confounded me. He confused me because I’d been lead to believe that I was damaged.
How can someone believe that when they are so loved? I am loved and I’m lucky for it. Accepting what that is a different matter. Why? Because as humans, we have a need to be understood, to find our tribe where we might fit in. How could he love me if he didn’t fully understand me; nor know what made me unworthy? I saw in him, all that I believe I wanted and needed. With every action he took it made me fall in love with him more! Sadly that had the opposing reaction within me. His perfection, in my eyes, highlighted my own faults. It made me want to compete with an idea of who I thought would be his ideal partner, an imagined better version of me. It resulted in us breaking up, getting back together, breaking up, getting back together. I take responsibility for how and why we ended. It was my fault. I became what I was scared of being, the broken cog. He is now married with beautiful kids, which I imagine that that could have been my life. If only I’d listened to him, and accepted that he could love me just for me being me.
Romanticising the past is easily done. Should have, could have, would have etc. Knowing what I could have done differently or hoping, wishing or praying for doesn’t change a thing. I’ve been feeling sad because the reality of life’s trauma has dawned on my and I have to now, not only accept it, but move on. I will never know the fantasy world I’d created with him, my love; but I’m now irrelevant in his future. I was, just as other ex’s are to me, a passing moment in his memory to get to his true destiny.
My sadness has made me focus, yet again, on healing. It’s freaking annoying because I’m so over life lessons! How many of them do I need? I feel that I’m going through life on expert mode as a newbie and everyone else has the cheat codes. Was I really that bad in my past life? Why am I constantly against all the odds for everything I do? Unaware of CPTSD and knowing the effects of childhood trauma, those who have undergone it end up with the following behaviour patterns:
- fixing others
- people pleasing
- needing external validation
- living on high alert
- de-prioritising own needs
- tolerative of abusive behaviour
- difficulty setting boundaries
- attracting narcissists
None of that matters though. I have no control of external factors and all I can do is continue. The hard part is understanding that I am worthy of love, laughter, happiness and a good life. That I should expect such things regardless of my perceived worthiness, because existing is enough. I repeat, we all deserve and are worthy of being loved, happiness and a good life in the manor that suits us best!
Thank you for reading this far, now buy my book! 😉
Alternatively, look after yourself. If you can, I highly recommend a good therapist.