The Dark Hedges, Northern Ireland

The Dark Hedges, Northern Ireland
Home is where the heart is...

Sunday, October 9, 2011

Move On, Already

Who gets to decide when it's time to move on?

The most frustrating part of having PTSD is that I'm not in control of the moving on process, because PTSD isn't about moving on. I don't dwell on the past because I enjoy feeling miserable, I focus on the past so that I can change the thoughts and beliefs that solidified around the trauma, trauma that actually occurred in the past, but thoughts and beliefs that make it so that I can't sleep in the present because my days are filled with anxiety and panic. . . .and my nights are all about escaping from some kind of pending doom that threatens my existence. This is why I focus on the trauma from the past. . . .because it's not really in the past at all.

PTSD is so not about moving on. . . .

This morning I woke up feeling like I am having a very public pelvic exam. They say, "You're only as sick as your secrets," but to process the dark and twisty truth in my blog. . . .well, I just end up feeling like I'm having a never ending and very public pelvic exam. So why do I blog about this process? Because it's the truth of who I am, the truth about the life I would never have choosen, but it is what it is. . . . whether I like it or not. So if someone wants to know me, really know me, then this is it. . . .the good, the bad, and the ugly. And it may be too much for some people, but that's ok, because there is another reason why I blog about this process. . . .

When I first started my journey of healing, I didn't know who to talk to, or where to go for help, because these things weren't talked about. But I had gone to a women's conference at UCR where I sat in on a 30 minute resource session for all-things-supportive-for-women, and that's where I first came in contact with what came to be my "bible," The Courage to Heal. This book was the first support I had, and so I read it in silence and desperation, sometimes only one paragraph at a time. But had it not been for the courage of Ellen Bass and Laura Davis to write about their pain (and their healing), I may not have made it out of that dark and twisty forest of silent shame and guilt. The Courage to Heal opened a window for me to find my way out, and so that's why I share my blog. I need to write it for myself, but I also need to let other women know that it's ok to talk about the pain. . . .because talking about the pain is the only way to move on through the pain.

Maybe there's no such thing as moving on. . . .maybe it's all about moving through. . . .

Keeping this stuff inside is like shaking up a carbonated soda bottle without releasing the cap. . . .that pressure is what's creating the anxiety and the panic and the sleeplessness, so I'm going to keep on writing until I don't need to write anymore, and that's just the way it is. Because there are parts of me that are like little POWs, children lost somehwere in time and space within my inner world. That's exactly what it is. . . .the silent wounded POW parts of me remain MIA. . . .so, no. . . .I'm not moving on until I can find them, and bring them all back to safety. . . .no matter how long that takes.

My MIA "inner children" won't ever show up on someone's breakfast table milk carton, but they are missing and scared, nonetheless. . . .and I don't know any parent that ever really gives up hope of finding a lost child, no matter how long ago that child may have been abducted or disappeared without a trace. So, I may not have mattered enough to the people who were supposed to love and keep me safe and protected along the way, but I matter enough to me. . . .so, no. . . .I'm not moving on. . . .I'm moving through, moving through the pain and debris, moving through in search of me.

No one else has to help my find these lost and frightened parts of my life. . . .but I do. . . .I do.