Demons and Fairytales

“We bury things so deep we no longer remember there was anything to bury. Our bodies remember. Our neurotic states remember. But we don’t” Jeanette Winterson, Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?

I remember being disheartened when I read one woman’s statement from a site she’s dedicated to healing from PTSD, “You will never be the same. Ever.” I’d like to say that statement is false, but the more years I live the more I experience that statement as a truth. I pass the same face of the mountain several times as I make my way to the top. Sometimes this brings up issues I’ve struggled with before, and sometimes it’s an entirely new set – which is what I’m facing now and this set in particular is something I never wanted to think about. Ever.

Hurt me once, shame on you. Hurt me twice and I'm coming out of this storm with boxing gloves on!

I guess I have to stand and face the music sometime, because my psyche really won’t leave it alone. Intrusive memories that trigger a mild relapse . . . . and the skittishness and neuroticism returns. Damn. It. I’ve been told on more than one occasion to remind myself where I am. It’s easier said than done. I know where I am; it doesn’t stop the memories. The only thing I know of that really works is a hell of a lot of self-care and telling myself on a daily basis that I’m okay – and I am okay. I could have easily been just another statistic; I’m still beating the odds because I am one tough mother f-er.

So where does this leave me with this particular set? Sometimes memories feel like the heaviest thing, even when you’ve shaken them out they leave traces, like a permanent wrinkle at the very core of your being. I’m getting out my iron. I guess I’m just going to have to talk about the abuse even though it grips me with an odd concoction of fury and sadness. This means I’ll be doing a lot of handwriting in my journal . . . . which I will more than likely burn once I’ve purged myself from my current plague and then I’ll put on my smiley face knowing I’ve conquered yet again. There is a way through this – I just need to find the most effective method. For now, the only approach I know is more self-care . . . expressions of gratitude, reflections of the Universe, believing in myself and dancing. Most likely bellydancing.

Note that smile. If I were my demons I'd start running. Just sayin'

“You might not feel it. You might not want even want to grow, but you will. You will grow back that part  that broke off, and that growing, that blooming – cannot happen without the pain.” – Kelle Hampton, Bloom

I’ll be reminding myself of all of the glorious and good things in my life. I have many. In addition to two doting dogs and many other things, I’m fortunate to have someone in my life that chooses to see the best in me and has exuded a calming patience towards me that I can say with all honesty I’ve never experienced before. He says he’s lucky. I think I’m the lucky one. I’ve never felt more at ease with myself in the presence of another human being. He’s given me more beautiful, perfect moments in life in the short time I’ve known him than I could ever ask for and every day I’ve spent with him has always been another ‘best day of my life’. True story.

You've already given me one. 

I never knew someone would walk into my life and I’d finally realize why it never worked out with anyone else. No one else could ever compare to him. I thought it all was a lost cause and he walked (literally – tango style) into my life and reaffirmed my faith in everything that I needed to know and believe in. I feel like I’m living in some sort of unexpected fairytale. He always tells me I’m beautiful. Always. I can tell he means it and a little part of me breaks away from my self-conscious, disbelieving self and I know I can believe him because he means it. While I can’t say he’s fixed me, he’s certainly sped up the process. I don’t have to ask him to be there because I know he always will be. 

It's you. It's always been you.