Twisted.
I can’t help it.
I feel like my heart has been grabbed, twisted, and pulled.
Kicked.
Mostly it’s in my head.
Memories of times gone by that I can’t fix or reconcile. Memories that I’ve tried to deny. I got really good at it. It started to feel like just a story. Or a lie. A suspension of belief/experience that even the details are fuzzy to me.
Things that still drag me down.
Lies I’ve told myself and false smiles that I’ve shown others.
Disdain and disregard, foolishness and an inability to really let some things go.
It’s nightmare season. Usually this happens in the fall. It’s back now.
Insomnia.
I’m restless.
I find myself jerking out of that sinking feeling before falling asleep.
Flailing in discomfort and panic.
I’ve written obliquely about this here on this site.
I’ve written an article in another publication that my family or friends would never find … allowing me some sort of outlet but failing to approach and own my scars trully.
I pretend that I’m beyond it. That I’m whole. That nothing at all is wrong and that I’m healthy. Ok.
And most of the time that’s true.
But yeah. The subconscious nudges what the overconscious chooses to deny.
And the nightmares are back.
*sigh*
I am the victim of sexual assault.
There. I’ve said it.
12 or so years ago.
Nominal half assed attempts at therapy.
Intermittent seasons of insomnia/dreams.
And now, just extraordinary… just… an inability to feel confidence in my ability to keep from cracking. I’m feeling quite brittle.
I think I need to get some serious help.
****
While therapy and medication are indeed extraordinary assets and venues for many individuals, I’ve had a relative disdain for the over prescription of such treatment as a panacea for life.
We’re really a spoiled pack. We, or at least I have never seen war or starvation first hand. I admit that I can be extraordinarily selfish, lame, and weak willed. And I’ve always had in the back of my head the notion that there’s no reason that anyone should feel entitled to a life that isn’t without the occasional hic’s. Who said life was always supposed to be happy and cheerful and good? You think you’re on the set of Friends?
Dumbass.
This is your 20s. It’s *supposed* to suck sometimes. It’s *supposed* to hurt sometimes. It’s *supposed* to be baffling and confusing, frustrating, and exhausting sometimes. After all, that’s life. If you don’t have occasions of that, then you’re doing something tragically wrong. You’re not living.
I’m living. Oh I’m living. But it’s like I’ve only looked down to see my feet for the very first time. And I’ve only just now realized that I’ve been walking barefoot over crushed nails. I can still walk, certainly. But getting some shoes is a much better idea. Also, moving 3 feet over to the right to the path of soft grass.
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