A therapist discussing dissociation and also gives encouragement for those affected with it now this eastern. Remember: you’re all butterflies just waiting to transform
It’s the Easter weekend — a complicated and conflictual weekend for most dissociative trauma survivors. So many layers of your inside levels will be awakened, aware, involved, wondering, waiting, going, sitting, thinking, watching, feeling, remembering, refusing, believing, fighting, crying, calling, hiding, etc. Its a time of being pulled in dozens of different directions all at once.
Lots of headaches, that’s what that means.
And lots of pain. Ouch, ouch, ouch.
So yes… I am thinking of you all, and wishing peace for you. I know it’s difficult. Really difficult.
The Easter season is typically overloaded with the triggers, external pulls, family complications, and spiritual battles. The inside battle within your system may be raging at full intensity.
As best you can, remember to sit with each other, and learn what you can about the others that you see nearby. What struggles are they having? What thoughts are in…
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Right now I’ve placed my professional self in the office chair of my companion, waiting for a new private patient. My stomach is bravely working with biff stroganoff that I bought in a cafeteria right before I came here. I sat down with my iPad and started to read some blogs, which inspired me to start typing myself. I read a lovely little excerpt from a woman’s life, with this question baked in the general text:
If you have never lost yourself, how can you ever find yourself?
It immediately got me, since it so elegantly turns around the meaning of something most people would classify as wrong. I like this small protest against the established, this tendency to surprise and give our brain something new to mull over.
To meet a new human lost in their own nightmare is always something special. It’s knowing we will have to take a journey, sometimes into unpleasant territory. It’s knowing I’ll be there, mostly being a cheerleader and as the one who really tries to see behind masks of fright, sadness or guilt. It’s a discovery, and also feeling someone’s pain with them. It’s feeling my eyes water because once again, someone did what they said they couldn’t: Go into a store when you’re sure you will faint and maybe die, telling you’re best friend what’s really going on
PTSD, the black, sterile letters from the screen are screaming. The clock is 13.30, and a dark something has been sliding between our feet, where it slipped past us silently. Light and dark has always been in conflict with each other, so much that the other colors were miffed by coating of the void left after the fight. It’s impossible to win a war that never had the possibility of victory in its programming, impossible to learn something good from something that’s wrong.
Hours pass by relentlessly, and 8 days has gone since I sat in a meeting-room, learning yet again how wrong everything can go, how madness lurks behind every corner of safety. It’s the bomb exploding when you really tried to step at the right places, the unspeakable acts of people who should be your protectors. Trauma strikes before and after you take a breath, it’s real dangers in its unpredictability, in the soft caress of your skin before a slap, the sudden death where life was moments before. When our mind can’t make sense of it, it leaves you grasping for meaning in something that’s just chaos.
Every one of us have their stories, rarely we go through life without feeling pins pricking our skin. Most of it heal and hide the marks, but some wounds bleed again or the needles strike you at another piece of skin. In my work I’ve encountered different kind and types of wounds. Some still bleed their hurt, some of them are on the brink of reopening and some healed the wrong way, and must be healed one more time. People bear them in different ways and on different parts of their bodies, some visible, some under layers of clothes and some covered by make-up. My job is about this healing process, always searching for hidden ones, making sure their healing properly and keeping them free from infections that threaten the organism. It’s even more important for me to be sterile, so that I make sure that I offer a safe haven to open and plaster the wounds.
Life has been stable in its instability the last two weeks. I keep longing for something lost, and having a hard time resisting whispering thoughts trying to tell me there’s hope.
It’s not long since his arms where there, resting over my shoulder. It’s not long since the beats of his heart reached the ear I placed on his chest. It’s not so long since I felt safe there, and I had the feeling that no matter what happened around me, I would be fine, if I just could lay still and hear the thumping sounds of life running through him. To let go of that safety is pain, it’s trusting that I will do the same thing again, with somebody else. Sometimes it’s hard to believe: How do you replace love that you gave everything for? How do you find the energy and will to use it once again? It’s not that I think somebody else is the only was to happiness, more that I know how good it can be to really love someone and being loved in return. I have so much to give and I hope somebody out there will awake the possibility of me releasing it again.