It’s weird how the body remembers. Weird in a fucking fascinating and amazing way. Almost all of me just wants to follow the pattern that I have always followed at this time of year – going quiet, retreating into myself, going into survival mode, to just keep going, to not share what’s going on, to equally – alongside this – feel as though I’m falling apart, feel as though the ground is stripped from beneath me, feel as though my relationship with eating goes right back to the messy beginning…feel as though I’m crumbling and I’m alone.
Almost all of me wants to do that. But then there’s a little part of me – a growing, healthy part of me that knows that ain’t how I do it no more. That I don’t stay silent no more. That I share now. That going solo ain’t how it’s done no more – that ain’t how my life is lived no more. But fuck it takes a lot of discipline to follow that rule, and I sure as hell sway and drift from it. The past couple of days I feel like I’ve been tiptoeing between old and new patterns, I’ve been battling between the old turf of withdrawal and the new turf of going-out-there.
My whole body feels ready to fight, full of the need to be 'on guard'. My jaw has been at clench central and my body charged. Terrified. Scared. I just want connection with women. I just want nurturing company and nourishing conversation, connection. I want to now feed this wounded self that's remembering, with the goodness I know now. The goodness I now know how to find from others and myself. This wounded self that's surfacing and had to deal with it all herself the time It, happened. I want to feed her, nourish her, hold her. Let her know she's safe.
Except I'm not really doing that so much. I guess I am, but I'm also battling with food. I made myself sick, twice. I've been dropping in and out of shut down, and up and over anxiety explosion. But in there somewhere is a healthy ground of touching in with, and releasing, my emotions and ones that I am giving a voice or a creative release, just not as much as I'd like to.
It's like the amount of pain that rises, my body and brain just can't handle around this time of year. These kind of anniversaries, memories, are full on. Whether they're acknowledged or not, they swing by and leave their troubled trace. When I look back over the last two years, the last two anniversaries, I didn't realise this was what was happening. Last year I totally fell apart at this time, and was terrified. If only I'd known. If only I'd have had the understanding I'd had now. And the year before last, I switched more into the mode I am in now – withdraw, get back onto the trouble-with-eating-and-food wagon. And I got obsessed with running. People got concerned and voiced how my hips were out again. (I, obv, loved it.) But I kinda had the food thing happen last year as well. So maybe that's what happens around this time…maybe my response to intense personal space invasion and trauma is to have a battle with food. And to have a battle with emotions.
It makes sense. And it also makes sense why my pms is booming this month. And the difference this year to the last two is that I'm talking. Those last two, I didn’t know what was happening and I didn’t even hardly mention the trauma AT ALL. But this year it’s different. This last year, the trauma has begun to be integrated into me and my life, not buried deep in the earth. So no wonder this anniversary, this year, feels different to the last two – like I’m dancing between healing and health, and the old patterns I only subconsciously know. Not consciously anymore. This is a first for me – to experience this traumas anniversary with my new self. My newly formed, and ever growing, healthy self.
It’s as though I’m totally fine and totally not. Which, makes sense too. The totally not bit is the memory, the way my mind – our minds – and its stories are so convincing, and the way that my body pumps out all these messages telling me the trauma is happening again or about to happen or has just happened…it’s false information for this current moment but its not false physical memories that are here in this current moment. They’re just here for the past.
This time three years ago, a trauma that changed me forever, happened. Every day something happens that changes us. Every day changes is. And every day has it good and its bad bits. It’s just that this time three years ago, the day’s bad bits were motherfucking gross ones.