Thursday, April 16, 2015
i had a flashback nearly 3 weeks ago.
i was with my husband when it happened, but i didn't tell him. i didn't tell anyone.
i didn't journal about it.
i didn't think about it.
i didn't acknowledge it in any meaningful way.
i held it in for nearly a week, letting it eat at me and drain my energy away.
and then i wrote about it.
then easter came, and i got triggered again.
i kept treading water. telling myself i was okay, all the while knowing i wasn't.
on tuesday, my therapist and i delved into it.
i was a wreck before i got there.
we dove straight into it, and i was so anxious i couldn't remember the process. a process i've done dozens of times.
i processed. i relived it. i talked about it in detail. i cried. i hurt. i talked without pausing to be worried about what i was saying.
i came home and laid on the sofa all afternoon and evening. i felt miserable and hurt and damaged and sorry for myself.
and then i went to bed.
I slept through the night.
I woke up feeling better. Lighter. More lucid.
I didn't hate myself. I hated what had been done to me. I hate that more time was stolen from me. I hate that he's not being punished for his crimes.
But I don't hate me.
I made choices I wanted to make. I did things I wanted to do. I made a list and got some of it done, and felt good about it.
I did things that just a day or two ago seemed impossible. I felt alive again.
Rest comes from lots of places. Sleep, yes, but sharing and taking care of myself are restful too. And necessary.
Today I'm resting in who I am, and putting aside what was done to me.
linking up with Tuesday at Ten