Thank you for sharing your coffee musings, Nas.
You put words to an instinct that came back to bite me a bit this week, that realisation that my own healing seems to have no end point that I can see. I can only see my own progress. And the occasional bit where I get stuck in something I don’t understand for reasons I don’t always understand. And sometimes resent
I can only speak for myself but there is definitely a pre-PTSD me, a PTSD one, a post PTSD one, and a something else where I seem to find myself now. Idk if there is a post-something else, we’ll see…..
I miss the pre-pTSD me a bit like missing my teenage self who was in actuality so beautiful and bold and lovely although I didn’t know or see that then, and much as I miss her, I can no more go back to her than I can go back to being 14 with colt legs.
I fear the PTSD me. Actually, she terrifies me like an unseen monster under a child’s bed. I’m pretty sure she’s gone now, vanquished in inches, but I fear her return so much that even a hint of her paralyses me. Bc I am really not at all sure I could survive a second visit.
I admire the post PTSD me because I know how much work it took to build her. Like a beautiful bespoke dress….I know the stitches sown at midnight, exhausted, the tiny specks of blood from a pricked finger that no one else can see. I’m not sure I like her much, she’s rather earnest and tiring, but I do appreciate her.
And I don’t know the Now Me yet tbh….so my jury is out. I know she is different in lots of ways from the pre-PTSD me and I’m not always sure how I feel about that tbh. (I get a bit impatient with her bc I think I want her to be speedier and shinier than she is
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It was my experience too that nothing started to heal until I was so desperate to heal that it was an absolute priority. Pretty sure at times it may have made me look or sound a bit bonkers to people who knew me before. Not sure I cared much though. You don’t worry much about your hairdo if you’re drowning, do you? Very ‘heal like no one’s watching’ indeed. I don’t talk about it much now bc usually I have no words for it (and as you all know I am a creature of multiple words ha ha)….so I very much appreciate your words and links to others’ words.
I don’t know what happened to my h or what his experience was if it. Or how much he suffered or how much he chose to heal. A vanishing spouse comes with their own tumbleweed sound effect, I find
But if he experienced anything close to what I survived, much as I resent the bits he unleashed on me, I feel some compassion for that. Albeit a rather tentative, guarded and unspoken compassion. (Insert tumbleweed sound effect here
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And in the same spirit, a poem….which I think one can see as a half empty of half full glass. I choose to see the last line as encouragement bc that is still my Babe-ish nature
https://waxwingmag.org/items/Issue9/28_Smith-Good-Bones.php
T: 18 M: 12 (at BD) No kids.
H diagnosed with severe depression Oct 15. BD May 16. OW since April 16, maybe earlier. Silent vanisher mostly.
Divorced April 18. XH married ow 6 weeks later.
"Option A is not available so I need to kick the s**t out of Option B" Sheryl Sandberg