I am wide awake tonight, thinking about trauma. What a time to be alive!
My psychiatrist is very concerned about my unresolved trauma. When he diagnosed me with PTSD I almost choked on my sweet tea. "How can I have PTSD when my trauma began at age 7? That is literally decades ago. I'm fine. "
Isn't that silly? I actually said that to him...a psychiatrist...that I am seeing...because I am not fine.
I'M FINE SIR, I'M FINE!
I have to laugh at my level of ridiculousness sometimes, I am just a girl who uses humor to hide the real things. I put the real things in the vault- that's where the stuff I can't handle goes. :)
Underneath the jokes though, I'm sad. I hide it well, because that is what I am good at, but in reality, I struggle.
I struggle with feelings of hurt and anger.
Why didn't anyone fucking help me 20 years ago? This all could've been resolved. I could've been president by now, or at the very least have graduated college or formed some healthy interpersonal relationships.
I feel lost and cheated.
Who would I be now if someone had just been there then? Would I have nightmares? Would I jump every time someone comes up behind me at work? Would I be able to sleep?
These are the thoughts that lived in my brain all throughout my childhood and adolescence. I was a hurt and confused little girl who turned into a very angry girl, stormy and filled with bitterness. I remember that girl well. I remember her well because in many ways, she never left. She is still here. I can look back over my life and watch my own regression, like watching a movie I have seen a thousand times. "OOH OOH this is the part where she starts to struggle with her self esteem because of X, Y and Z!" It is absolutely insane to me how the human brain can try to teach itself how to be ok. Insane and incredible.
The way my brain copes is to picture my trauma as that little girl, and the little girl as a ghost. It makes sense, right? I feel like I lost who I was...like I lost someone close to me. I even remember when that feeling first started. I was the same age my kids are now. I told my grandmother about it one day, in the best way I could at such a young age. I remember it so well. I told her, "I feel weird and kinda lonely, but not because I don't have friends to play with. I feel the way I did when we moved to Chicago, and I was far away from you. I feel like I am missing someone, but no one is gone." I am sure that my grandma had no idea what to do with that, and I get that completely, but knowing everything I know now, I can't help but feel for little me. The little ghost girl who accompanies me everywhere.
As I move forward in my life, in my treatment, in my jobs, in my everything, she moves with me, and I think that this has become my way of coping. When I am having great days, I imagine her smiling in a sundress, running through johnson grass. On days where I feel broken, I picture her holding my hands. When I accomplish something, when I am proud of myself, I imagine her voice saying, "good job, YOU DID IT." I'm sure I sound bonkers with all this, but it is what helps me, and I feel like to a certain extent, we all carry around little ghost girls and boys. Maybe we are all haunted, but I don't think that is necessarily a bad thing.
What do you think?