hard times
That last blog post took me… so long to publish. I’ve been having some doubts about my writing and its put a damper on how quickly I can get my thoughts out. I keep typing, then deleting, typing again… deleting, again… on and on, in circles that form rings around my eyes, confused for lack of sleep. Or compounding the fact. Either way…
I am doing okay. I started seeing a therapist once I got my approval for Medicaid, a truly big change as I’ve always had private insurance. I told my therapist on day one that I don’t see myself as a ‘“life-long medication taker” but more on the end of “chronic talk-therapy individual”, though who knows if that is even true without updated diagnoses. Thankfully, I’m on a waitlist for psychiatric evaluation. Never a dull moment in mental health with me!
Overall, I’ve had to adjust to a few changes in my routine and it has taken a toll on me and my day to day joys. Its still a fresh wound that I’d rather not dig into right now, forcing me into a corner of radical acceptance. I know I will be okay, and so will my boy… I just hate knowing what he has stacked against him. It isn’t fair but I must be the peace he comes home to, always.
How do you accept your fate, knowing there is active disaster lingering on the horizon as you move ahead? You prepare yourself and anyone else you can that needs it. Feelings twisting your insides to a bilious form, forcing out in desperate sobs that go without comfort. You force yourself through because you have to, not because you want to.
I am trauma and muck that has hardened over time, now cracking at the seams by heat that agitates the weak points of these walls that have not be reinforced in awhile. I am persevering despite every fiber of my being catching flame, screaming “NO! THIS ISN’T SAFETY!” and fanned alive by misguided regulation. I am stuck in the in-between, somewhere I am familiar with but would rather not be.
Opening up to my physician yesterday, she reminded me that my trauma is still valid. That it is real. Plenty of people give me reassurance in that but I think I forget what I have been through more often than I have truly understood. That maybe my lack of processing isn’t actually processing at all… and it has been rearing its ugly head in ways that could put me at risk.
Despite all of those feelings, I think I am okay. Or at least I’m telling myself I am.
Sometimes, that’s all we can do to get through the hard times.