I realized that the last few weeks, most of the posts on the blog have been a bit evasive, and somewhat fluffy. I think that's because that's where I am. I'm working my darndest to avoid the reality that surrounds me, and am trying to keep things as light and fluffy as I can.
But reality is setting in, which usually happens after a day of isolation and introspection. And I'm going to give you a rare glimpse into my mind with the hope that maybe, just maybe, someone out there can relate and won't feel as alone as I do right now.
Last week I found out that the episodes I've been experiencing were actually related to PTSD. I didn't take the news well. As nice as it was to find out that there is a name for what has been happening all these years, it was also rather disturbing.
My therapist read the criteria for PTSD of which I meet nearly every single one. I think that what is hardest for me to digest is the fact that though my siblings and I grew up in the same house, with the same parents, I am the lucky one who is dealing with this. I'm the one riddled with mental and physical health challenges. The one who hyperventilates walking into my parents house.
And in some ways, I am lucky. For years and years I've stuffed my emotions, avoided feeling anything, resisted letting myself get attached to anyone, and ignored my feelings until they exploded. The last few months I've been working to avoid learning to feel feelings, and be with myself while they wash over me. It's finally sinking in that in order to move through, and past, these PTSD episodes, the only way to do so is to let those feelings be felt.
Let the feelings be felt. Just typing that terrifies me. But the blessing in finally coming to terms with this diagnosis is that now I have no choice. It is time. Time to start feeling my way through this hell, cause what is on the other side has got to be better than this.