Practicing
Writing Prompts for the Broken-hearted, Eden Robinson
I have been toying with the idea of a thru-hike on the Colorado Trail during the summer after this one. The idea has been in my periphery for a few years, and I want to pin it down with a plan.
My life has felt relentlessly nonstop for a few weeks. I feel no space to breathe. When I do take a second to unwind, my mind cannot shut-off. There is no sense of control or curiosity or creativity or freedom. I have lost touch with those.
In therapy this week, we went over my treatment plan. As I was looking it over, I saw my diagnosis - or what my therapist would be charging insurance for: post-traumatic stress disorder chronic. It was a helpful reminder of what I am working with and a knock-knock-knock on my door that lets me know: hey sometimes life is hard and there’s a reason and it is valid.
Oftentimes, I don’t zoom out enough to consciously take note of having a hard time. I hover above the surface, never admitting to myself that I may be struggling beyond my normal burden of stress. I don’t know where this came from or why - perhaps as a young girl I got into the habit of never staring down the barrel of the truth because it was too much to bear with too little in my control. I didn’t get diagnosed with C-PTSD until months after my symptoms initially started, because I never admitted to myself or my therapist how terrible and insane and chaotic my life had gotten.
My life doesn’t feel as intensely as it did three or four years ago, but I do recognize those same feelings. I’m not actively having flashbacks, but there has been incessant thoughts and rumination on the past. There has been apathy and dissociation and depression. There has been an overwhelm around others, intense anxiety and the inability to concentrate. There has been the manic planning of a future adventure in order to satiate the part of me that needs an escape plan. I feel a sense of disappointment in myself when things become like this - as if I should know how to better manage myself by now.
But. I am practicing giving myself grace. I am practicing allowing the parts of me that need me to be perfect to exist while not believing everything they say. I am practicing what it means to let myself have a hard time and still be kind to myself in the meantime. I am practicing I am practicing I am practicing what it means to be me, twenty-five, alive in my life. It is hard practice and sometimes I would like a day-off.