Golden

Golden

An abused person masters the art of silence.  You sob quietly, scream quietly, pick yourself up from the ground and assess your injuries quietly.  You discover a way to perform all your tasks making as little noise as possible.

You forget the sound of your voice, and all the little sounds of life become a deafening crime you hope go unnoticed.

This is a busy time of year for me and I'm getting overwhelmed. That means there's a melt down on the horizon.

See you all soon.

I'm lying in bed next to my amazing woman, who, moments ago, i woke up so that she'd hold me while I sobbed. For no reason that I can confirm. I am calm now and I feel her drifting off next to me. It's peaceful.

I spent so many nights attempting to pace away my anxiety and dread in the basement alone. I didn't want the creaky floorboards in our old house to wake him.

Waking him was always bad. Especially if I was looking for comfort. His demons were to be soothed, attended and deferred to. Mine, likely only an excuse for my shortcomings, were mine. What business were they of his?

Hi brain, you obstinate fucker. I drank the clear splashy stuff. I ate the green things. I went under that bright fucker up there. I did the thing with the moving and sweating and whatnot. Now make the happy chemical, you lump of fuck.

Food was always a Thing

He'd tell me he was bored with the food I made so I'd find a new recipe. He would criticise everything about it, say it looked disgusting and ask why I was so stupid.

So he'd give me one to try, I'd make it and he'd love it. If I made it again, it was never as good as the first time. If I made it again he hated it. If I never made it again he would tell me that he loved it and I was withholding it because I was lazy/a cunt.

I have healed a great deal since my first post here. It is a relief that I have been able to make such progress, when, at the beginning, I was certain I was going to remain in my high-alert, traumatized state forever.

However that does make some flashbacks and other trauma symptoms a bit more jarring when they do appear.  Some days you feel almost... normal?  But something will take you back and remind you that you aren’t, and that you’ll never be completely “normal” again.

I was more accustomed to that notion when I was in the thick of the worst bits, and having such a disaster-brain all the time made me not have a “normal” to miss. But now, I have good days to mourn.

I feel spoiled for even posting this, especially when I read from people who are still in early healing days. But I guess that's further evidence of how we're not quite there yet.