Post Traumatic Quack Disorder. So, after my last post I thought I had 'arrived', destination duck in sight I could emit a quack of relief. That wasn't too bad in the scheme of things. Just under two weeks recovery and I am back on my webbed feet, shaking subsided, diamond duck!
I couldn't have been more wrong. This first ducky dip was just the tip of the iceberg. Little did I know that there were further depths to plunder, spaces so dark to fall in that the darkness itself took on an animated quality. I thought I was done, complete, 'through the worst', yipee I am all better now. Possibly it is a good thing not to know what's round the corner, not to know you will fall further and further again. More than once I might add. Phew, exhausting, scary and so so dark.
But, like a roller-coaster, you are not automatically finished after the first dip. Oh no no no, there are many twists and turns to come and huge, gargantuan dips too. Strap yourself in!
I've lost too many days to count in a haze of self-medicating, sleeping, self loathing then repeat. I have startled more people than I dare to consider (cue self-loathing etc). But still I have journeyed to the depths and beyond. If I am honest, I have been in such pain at times that I have wanted to cut myself to release the pain. A nice, big fleshy cut with fresh blood to transfer this pain into something physical. I have let myself down. I have let others down. None of it has been good for anyone. I have so much love and support it is unbelievable. But I must travel alone because it is my journey. Fuck I wish it were someone else journey. Having said that I wouldn't wish this feeling on my worst enemy (if such a thing exists as I can't think of anyone to fit this category). If I had to give one adjective to describe this journey/descent it would be SCARY. Bloody scary and one of the scariest things I have ever contemplated. Yet here I am fully immersed in it, feeling the weight of it and shuddering under its power.
So, if I am honest, while writing this I went and poured a beer. I am not sure why but can probably guess it was the uncomfortable nature of the topic and the associated feelings it unearthed. As I sat writing this, with tears sliding down my face, the shame and self-loathing started to claw its way into my psyche. What I did next is something I haven't done til this day. Half way through said beer I wandered up to the people I am staying with and disclosed my indiscretion. The relief was immense but still the guilt, shame and self-loathing lingered on. It was a bold move and I was received with love and support. The compassion and warmth I was shown further served to affirm my actions.
As I sit writing I can hear the waves of the sea lapping on the shore. I can clearly see it too from the doors out to the veranda. I am in one of the most peaceful and picturesque settings I can imagine but still the craziness goes on inside my brain. It is not enough to quell the voice in my head but I am learning and relenting to the charm and magic of the place. Of course I beat myself up. 'Why are you doing this when you are here in this amazing, most tranquil of place?' I really can't fully answer that. But what I have learned is that the interior monologue in your head can sometimes bear no relevance to physical setting.
I have been encouraged to focus on the positive, the fact that it is the first time I have essentially stopped mid-destructive behaviour and quacked out a little 'help' . I got it and I have been so well supported I realise how lucky I am. If I had no one it would be easy to slip and slide through the cracks down the black hole of self-ruin. I can see how it happens and I really am grateful I have the support I do. My heart goes out to those who are alone, who do not know such foundations. It reminds me of an image I had when my nephew was born, two years ago. My brother's child. All of our family converged at the hospital (two sisters, Mother, myself, sister in laws parents). I had a strong visual sense of a pod of dolphins circling and surrounding the situation with a tender protectiveness. This picture has stayed with me since. The dolphins now being family and close friends. Not a porpoise in sight :-)
Later on, after feeling a bit sheepish, I learned to gain strength and power from my action rather than descending into self-criticism. I simultaneously feel a lot stronger and more calm. I am far more self-aware of my behaviour, the triggers and the consequences. Every step is a stride closer to recovery and each day I grow more robust. This is not to say I won't slip down the hole again. I am certainly employing all the help I can garner in this journey to restoration. I have a wonderful, eccentric, Chilean psychotherapist to help me along. In sessions I am confronted with difficult questions and a call to face the chilling reality. Luckily we laugh and swear a wee bit so that lightens things up. I am going to try some support groups. I dance, I box, I run, I fall and I am laughing again. It is a journey from which I hope to emerge a better version of myself. One with more wisdom and understanding, tolerance and lightness. I will leave you with an article I read in the Guardian recently that really resonated with me. See what you think. Kia Kaha x
Why I don't use heroin
#mentalhealth #selfmedication
No comments:
Post a Comment