Say

I'm depressed. I say it again, and it tears another little hole in my soul. But if I don't say it out loud then I'm doomed to stay stuck.

I say it to my husband when he asks how I'm doing. I'm not proud to be saying it again, but he is kind and generous.

I say it to my therapist. She reminds to not worry about the why, instead think about things to do that help. She understands my panic and fear. The terror that I am losing ground -- going back to the dark place I lived in for so long. She offers me hope and a plan.

I say it to my best friend. She offers sympathy, but doesn't dwell on the depression. She offers distractions and fun and relaxation in the realization that she loves me even when I'm depressed, but doesn't feel any need to fix me.

I say I'm depressed and it's not as bad anymore. 

linking up with 31 Days of Writing and Five Minute Free Writes

Know

I think I know things. But then I forget them. That must be how it works, because I keep "learning" and "knowing" the same things over and over again.

Over the weekend I read a quote that I really liked:

"During sexual abuse, children feel & incorporate the rage, pain, shame, and sense of perversion that the perpetrator is projecting. They take these feelings into the very core of themselves, & they are badly traumatized by the emotions surrounding the assault, as well as by the assault itself.” Repressed Memories: A Journey of Recovery From Sexual Abuse by Renee Fredrickson, Ph.D.

I immediately copied and pasted it to my my Facebook wall. Then I went hunting for the book cited. I found it on Amazon in short order and noticed it had a small number of reviews and they were mixed at best.

I scanned through the reviews and quickly saw the recurring issue of repressed memories and whether or not they are valid. 

That was all it took to send me panicking down a rabbit trail I thought I'd long left behind. Did I make all this stuff up? How accurate are my memories? Can I be trusted? And so I deleted the quote from wall. Black and white. All or nothing.

The fact is, that description still rings true to me, regardless of what mistakes the author may have made in her professional life. The physical damage done to me was enormous, but the emotional toll it took has been the most long lasting. Physical wounds heal in their appointed way, but emotional wounds are often neglected or ignored outright. 

These were the questions that made up my panic driven life for years, and I fell right back into that trap. It took a couple of days to pull myself out of it. This morning I woke up with a clearer picture of reality and the role that my memories play in my life. 

And once more I know that I'm not crazy, just hurt. And I'm putting that quote back on my Facebook page.

linking up with 31 Days of Writing and Five Minute Free Writes

Learn

It's Sunday morning and my dh comes home from Malaysia tonight. He is flying from Hong Kong to Dallas, TX right now, and hopefully getting some sleep.

What have I learned while he's been gone? That I don't sleep or keep a schedule well when he's not around. And that video chatting is better than not hearing from him, but it's a far cry from face to face time spent together. Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled that I could see his face and hear his voice, but there is a stilted nature to these conversations. Maybe we need better equipment. Maybe it's just the distance between us, but it was difficult to converse casually with each other. 

I knew I didn't sleep well without him before he ever left, but as I mentioned earlier this week, I spent some time trying to determine more specifically why. I thought about the idea of safety. The concept that I'm not dependent on him to "keep me safe". I am an adult. Fully capable of taking care of myself. 

I don't know that I've fully conquered this sleeping alone demon, but I certainly made some progress.

linking up with 31 Days of Writing and Five Minute Free Writes