Recently I have been having headlines of teen suicide, jumping out at me in papers and online news bulletins. Initially I jump away, out of fear of PTSD trigger. But then the fire of justice inside burns up and I look back and read on. It makes me livid. It makes me mad. It makes my blood boil. It makes me want to do everything I can to change it all. And most of all it makes me so sad. I have since used the anger that this subject raises, to overrule the PTSD that it taints to trigger. There are so many words I could share about this, and I will do soon. For now I want to share the following to lay the foundations of the story.
I don’t know if this use of anger method I’ve adopted is ‘right’. I don’t know if this is a good method, or a not-so good one. But I do believe anger is a real tool to express energy once suppressed. And suppressed anger and energy only ends in tears. I guess this is me attempting the ‘mind over matter’ take on PTSD, to a certain extent. I don’t know if this is how it works. I don’t know what the ‘after effect’ is. If I could be bothered (which I can’t) I’d write down every thought, every thing I did, and every state I felt, to see correlations over the days and weeks of my mood and anxiety state and see whether such things as the above help or hinder. But, like I said, I cannot be bothered and so I will just have to hold out hope that I roll with the ebbs and flows of life and my healing journey. And that whatever I choose to do in that moment, is something done listening to my guide of intuition and not my head, that sparks of PRESSURE.
I feel stuck in a bitter sweet, bitter sweet circle of healing. So many have said to refrain from talking about all the trauma that has happened in my life. These many people, a lot professionals, say to step back from it – even if just for a little amount of time – to let it settle from its heightened state, before you start to ‘work’ on it. In my soul I feel this to be true. But then there is that part of me that feels so much is there, on the tip of my tongue. And I feel suppressing it just digs it deeper and further into the nooks and crannies of my body. But what about a balance? This is what my soul sings for. This need to connect with the trauma and the pain, but not necessarily in a speaking, wordy way. This is where the details get triggering, and the images get frightening I crave and long for physical healing, physical release and mind-body connection with the damage that has been done. I do too, long for emotional sharing, but I long for it in a broader, day-to-day emotional health kind of sense. Not-so-much the digging up kind of sense.
I wish there was a guided way to do this. I wish someone could tell me how to do it. How to go down this path, without turning crazy or without doing it ‘wrong’ and ending up overdosing. But I guess there is no way of knowing, apart from holding a trust that whatever route you head down, it is the right one for you at that time. And within this trust, to gain awareness of the ‘worst-case-scenario’ angst processes that end up ruling your being so you can distinguish what is YOU and what is anxiety talking.
I fear listening to a song for fear of it taking me back to the time before I overdosed. Or the time after I did. I fear opening up that wound and increasing the chances of doing it again. But like I share here breaking the silence is the best medicine for suicide survivors. And I long to do that. I long to follow what I so strongly preach. And yet I am terrified that by sharing it and speaking about it, may leave me wanting it. Yet I know this distorted theory to not be true. I know it holds no words of wisdom or words of help at all. It is simply the classic ‘worst-case-scenario’ voices of anxiety having their fair share of speech. And this surely shows a sign of health: the fact I dread it so much that it halts and alters my daily plans and thought process, shows I do not want it…right? But it is hard when lines become so flickered and fluttered with such an intense subject. It is hard to trust it is just anxiety or a dampened mood. But it is. It really is. It is now something to which I long to let go of the fear that I will do it again, and see that embracing the moment in time and the new burning energy I feel within my self, can help you move beyond that. And because it happened before doesn’t mean it’ll happen again.
What is a life, if it is so constantly lived in fear of the road ahead?
Come out of the shadows and share. Let us all get a glimpse and stare at the beauty and admiration we all hold within ourselves when we come across someone who really CARES. Cares about themselves and about their subject, and does not worry about whether it is cool. Whether it is ‘PC’. Whether it is ligit. They just go ahead and share it anyway. And there is always someone, if not hundreds of someones, out there who connect and light up and are grateful and want to do the same. So lift your arms up and let the inner strength spill out. Because no matter how lonely, how fragile, how fearful, how unsure, we feel, there is always something to be said. Even if it is just to help shift the rattling thoughts from your head. I long to be like those people I admire. And maybe, in some snippety way, I am. And maybe, somebody would look at me and think the same, yet I sit here wishing to be different. To be something else. To be more of that, or more of them.
What if we are just simply perfect, the way we are? It is just our worrying and our loathing that trips us up?
Today I was feeling so cruddy cruddy cruddy crap. I felt sick to the bottom of my stomach with hate for myself. I tried to run from it, by spending the morning in the woods. It worked for a bit – I felt at peace and at home. But I was cold. So I tried to come to a cafe to bypass it and fill my time with niceness on the blogosphere. But it didn’t work. The voice of hate felt stronger than any outside distraction. So as I stepped foot off my bike, unable to bike any further up the hill because I just felt so SHIT, I realised I need to FEEL this feeling. I needed to hear this voice. This feeling, this voice, is just like any other feeling or inner critic’s voice, that therapy folks encourage you to feel. Be it anxiety, fear, worry, hate, anger: feel it and it plays itself out, just like a song. But these kind of self loathing and hate feelings I really fear…I mean really fear, because of what it tends to lead to. That I would be better off no longer here. I hate to type that, but it is true. I catastrophise. I become dramatic. If I cannot live in any inch of happiness, what is a life worth living? The problem is right here: any kind of down talk and self hating, loathing and wishing for difference, then tends to mix itself with anxiety about these thoughts. The lines of truth and worry, and sure-thinking and deep rooted anxiety, blur into a haze of hate. For me and for the situation. The ball spins round like this, whirling and un-understandable and unmanageable.
But then. What do you know. After typing and sharing, and expressing and hating it, for a few hours, it has shifted. It has softened. Just like they said it would. Just like I knew it would really.. And the feeling has reached the end of its haunting heart wrenching song. It has gone on its way, and has been replaced by a song of confidence and a song of longing socialising. For which I was intensely worried about before this. So now I am off, for a dose of friends. Something I have not had in a few weeks. My knees still clatter and my stomach still flutters but my heart knows that this is what life is about and just longs for a giggle and a share without a care of all that shitty life stuff going on out there.
See: it really does work. The feeling really does bring itself to an end, provided you give it the ear-time it deserves.
Tonnes of love.