I shouldn't be over-identifying with Meredith Grey.
I can't help it though. Therapy is just - oh god, guys it's hard. And it hurts. It hurts so fucking badly. We started digging into the PTSD this week and I just- Look. I know there are other people on my FList who are suffers so I'm going to say straight up that my triggers tend to not be the sort of thing that most people are dealing with.
Mine are all focused around the hurricanes. These stupid fucking hurricanes that happened 15 and 6 years ago, respectively. I WAS EIGHT AND SEVENTEEN. And when Dix brings up "moving" the reaction is in every part of me. Memories hit me like a wave, my throat burns and my eyes sting, and oh god I hurt all the way down to the pit of my chest. I cant feel old moving injuries and see rooms I "lived" in flash behind my eyes like a slideshow on speed.
Compared to some of the horrors other people have gone through - nearly losing your home a few times, being homeless, moving around 26 times in 6 years is nothing. It's really nothing. So why am I still spontaneously crying and shaking - jesus fuck - two hours later? Why can't I stop obsessiong? Why I am I writing ENRAGED letters to my father that I will likely never ever send? I dont know. I dont know how to deal with this side of it - the shock of FEELING this much bad all at once.
I just - I want to not be crazy. I don't want to be dark and twisty. I dont want to be a Dixie Cup human being - use once, crumple it up and throw it away. But I am. I'm dark and twisty and I'm a throw away person in my daily life and I'm isolated and terrified of intimacy and and and.
Every time I think we're fixing something I just find more pieces of myself. They're smaller the farther down and they get sharper. Each new piece cuts deeper and bleeds longer. I'm tired and I'm afraid I'll run out of fingers before I can put anything back together and I'll just be trapped in this limbo of alone miserableness until I get old and my body gives into age since I'm not the kind of person who can do that sort of shit themselves. *sighs* It just - the next 50-60 years seem so long, empty and lonely already.
How am I supposed to bear that? I dont know. Anyway yeah. Therapy was fucking rough today.
Mine are all focused around the hurricanes. These stupid fucking hurricanes that happened 15 and 6 years ago, respectively. I WAS EIGHT AND SEVENTEEN. And when Dix brings up "moving" the reaction is in every part of me. Memories hit me like a wave, my throat burns and my eyes sting, and oh god I hurt all the way down to the pit of my chest. I cant feel old moving injuries and see rooms I "lived" in flash behind my eyes like a slideshow on speed.
Compared to some of the horrors other people have gone through - nearly losing your home a few times, being homeless, moving around 26 times in 6 years is nothing. It's really nothing. So why am I still spontaneously crying and shaking - jesus fuck - two hours later? Why can't I stop obsessiong? Why I am I writing ENRAGED letters to my father that I will likely never ever send? I dont know. I dont know how to deal with this side of it - the shock of FEELING this much bad all at once.
I just - I want to not be crazy. I don't want to be dark and twisty. I dont want to be a Dixie Cup human being - use once, crumple it up and throw it away. But I am. I'm dark and twisty and I'm a throw away person in my daily life and I'm isolated and terrified of intimacy and and and.
Every time I think we're fixing something I just find more pieces of myself. They're smaller the farther down and they get sharper. Each new piece cuts deeper and bleeds longer. I'm tired and I'm afraid I'll run out of fingers before I can put anything back together and I'll just be trapped in this limbo of alone miserableness until I get old and my body gives into age since I'm not the kind of person who can do that sort of shit themselves. *sighs* It just - the next 50-60 years seem so long, empty and lonely already.
How am I supposed to bear that? I dont know. Anyway yeah. Therapy was fucking rough today.