(no subject)
Some people talk to me about life and moving on like it's a path through a lush green forest, a nature hike that I'll come out of feeling like I've accomplished something and become a better person. It feels more like a minefield set up through the BBC Quarry. It's grey, it's treacherous and there's no way I know that any step in any direction, including backwards, won't ensure my sudden and miserable death.
This is my journal and I haven't even known what to write in it for the past two months because everything I want to say is too close to the point or too much or just feels unnecessary. Largely because there's really no way to say it without looking like I'm trying to elicit pity. I'm not. I don't deserve it, I don't want it and I wouldn't enjoy it. 'Hell and back' is probably the most succinct phrase I can use, and there are people who will roll their eyes at that and if that's you, you can go fuck yourself. BYE.
All I'm going to say is trauma has its effects. Once you experience real, true terror and you're staring it in the face and there is very, very little you can do about it except beg for help, you can't undo that. You can't undo the effect that has on the way you face your everyday life. All you can do is try to reintroduce yourself back into life, to remind yourself that that moment is over whenever you trip over something that reminds you all over again, because you can't live a life not engaging with anything. At least that's what I'm trying to tell myself.
I'm trying to remind myself that there's no plan. My life isn't a bulletpoint in an outline waiting to unfold in strict detail. The problem is when you find out you've built your life around something that isn't real, something that hurts you more than it helps, what do you do then?