I hate to admit this, but I am fragile. I suppose that is no surprise to you, but like I said, I hate to admit it and that admission begins with myself. By now, it shouldn't be a surprise to me either, but sometimes it is.
For the last month (two, three...sometimes I lose track of time) I have been doing a lot better. I mean the emotional roller coaster that is my life, had smoothed out quite a bit. I was pleased and during those times it is easy...I will submit even reasonable....to feel hopeful that I am healing and that the worst is behind me. Unfortunately, that is an illusion. At least for now, maybe someday it will be true, but for now it is not.
So I one day I was cruising all through the daily agenda, as we all do, when BAM, I hit a wall.
Perhaps later I will explain what the trigger was that caused my mental house of cards to come crashing down, but for now it is still too close and too painful to discuss publicly. One phone call, and suddenly I felt as if I were 4 years old again....alone, afraid, in pain, with no where to turn.
Remember I explained to you about my Haunted Mind. I think I need to revisit that and explain it better....but for now suffice it to say that I was in a room and I was four years old and so afraid. Then suddenly I was across the hall and I was an adult, calm and emotionless....call me Spock. Then suddenly back in the room where I was four again, and crying. I spent hours like this switching back and forth between these two rooms. Later, an angry room was added, an angry child.
I am in Spock mode now, or I wouldn't be writing this. Sometimes when I am in that 4 yr old child space, I do write, but only in my journal. I can't share that right now, but some day when I have some distance from it...perhaps. I have thought that some day when I am healed (if such a thing is possible) that I will write a book, it would have my blog posts, but interspersed chronologically would be select entries from my journal..."the rest of the story"... I think for you it would be like watching the movie, Gone with the Wind and then later reading the book. The story line wouldn't change, but a lot of details would be filled in.
Call me Mrs. Dumpty is my way of saying that today I feel like an egg. An egg when you hold it in your hand and squeeze it is unbreakable. Seriously, try it if you haven't before. Squeeze as hard as you can and it will withstand the pressure. Sometimes I am like that. I can withstand a lot of pressure. But take that same egg and hit it on a surface, and it will shatter. Sometimes I am like that. Sometimes I am fragile. I really hate that, but that is life with PTSD and Dissociation. I hope that I won't always be this way, but for now...
Call me Mrs. Dumpty.