The Feelings Part 3

I’m trying to see this period of my life as a good thing – an opportunity to unpack the trauma I’ve been avoiding and do the healing I need to do. I want to be able to take this mystery condition that I still have zero answers to in stride and not be angry and grumpy and depressed about it, but I am not there yet.

So much of my day to day is currently consumed by pain and fatigue, it’s impossible not to get upset and discouraged about it sometimes. But I am also learning some good things, like:

• I am extremely loved and cared for by people I’ve never met (thank you, holy shit <3)
• I am really good at choosing my family and have a strong community
• I have the capacity to be more present with people I care about

I feel guilty and self-conscious about being so open with the giant trigger that is living my life with a ghost disorder that also constantly reopens trauma. I feel guilty for making the decision to step back instead of plowing through, because on some level I still feel like I deserve to suffer and actively choosing against that feels like blasphemy.

So much of my CPTSD is manifesting in my body and my instinct is to take all of that angst out on myself instead of understanding that none of this is my fault. I worry that by being open about the infinite layers of pain that come in waves is too much and that I’ll just wind up drowning people in my whirlpool of depression. But then people reach out to me to say that my candidness is helpful. My community immediately reminds me that I don’t deserve suffering and taking care of myself is the right thing to do.

So I’m trying to keep that perspective: I deserve to take the time to heal and get better, and doing so doesn’t make me an awful terrible selfish person (fundamentalism is still clacking around).

I’m discovering a lot of very specific traumas that this whole illness is sitting on: There’s medical neglect and anxiety, and then there’s the deep seated fears that resting will get me in trouble, that I am a nuisance if I can’t do what I usually can, that I did something to deserve this, and that I’m useless because of it. Doing The Work of trying to heal 18 years of bad experiences while sick is exhausting, but I’m trying. I think in some slow small ways I’m succeeding.

I’m still getting eaten alive by brainfog and anxiety and the grief that accompanies realizing that I really am disabled and I really do need help, but I’m Doing the Work, and I’m asking for help, and even on my worst days (like today when nothing touches the pain) I can tell that I am loved and I will eventually be okay. It might be different, it’ll take me a while to get there, but I can at least imagine getting there, and that’s progress.