Trauma is a funny thing. You can soothe it, throw therapy at it, medicate it. You can meditate it away. massage it. heal it. You can get your chakras aligned and chant affirmations. Ego reinforcements, crayon drawings and power walking. When the panic comes, you ground those feet firmly to Mother Earth and count the sounds you hear. You do the work, whatever's necessary, and eventually you feel better. Most days you breathe OK and often you laugh. Sometimes you forget about it altogether.
But it's always there just waiting. Something happens, years later and it comes right back. The trigger is pulled.
Someone was nice to me. Someone said "I get you", to me yesterday. A vague feeling of discomfort slowly over 24 hours, turned into abject panic as I realized that I don't want to be "got". Being so makes me feel vulnerable and that scares the living shit out of me. I started remembering all sorts of things I've worked really hard to forget and as anyone who's experienced such memories knows, once they start, they don't stop. I cried in public today, something I haven't done in over three years. I had a hyperventilating anxiety attack on transit and almost had to get off. Thank goodness I had my purple yarn with me and the sun was hitting it just right. Thank goodness there was a good song on the mp3 player to put on repeat.
When I got home, I danced to very loud rock music and cried a whole lot more. After I was tired out, I made and ate three tasty tuna salad sandwiches. Then I wrote an ugly blog entry that I'll not post. Some things are best kept private. I'll transfer that one to my journal. Still, today needs expressing so I'm writing this entry instead. Soberly (yay for sobriety) as I listen over and over to Suzanne Vega sing:
I'll set my house in order now
and wait upon the Will,
It's clear that I need
better skill at steering.
That line is the horizon.
We watch the wind and set the sails
But save ourselves when all omens
point to fail.
Songs in Red and Gray 2001