Trauma can be beautifully painful. It rises up to the surface, without warning. It makes me feel like I am a soda can that has been shaken one too many times. Popped open carelessly and left to bubble over. I have been dealing with these feelings a lot recently. My past feels more vivid than it should. It’s the equivalent of a painting that has recently been restored, but doesn’t quite look like the original. The worst parts are brighter and the positives have been left dull and drab. I’ve forgotten the laughter, but I remember the tears.
I have a lot of reason to be optimistic these days. When I began this blog, I was living in a residential treatment center for mental health. I did not believe that I could return to school or hold a job. I would never have imagined what the future would bring. Since 2017, much has changed for the better. That being said, I am also envious of who I was when I was 22. My essays were fresh and full of a hopeful energy, that today I am having a difficult time harnessing.
I am married now, to a man who is wonderfully understanding. I have a beautiful dog. We live in a lovely apartment. Sun streams through the windows in the mornings, gorgeous and calming. I have over six years of sobriety now. I do service to help other alcoholics and I have a sponsor. I’m in school, trying to become a court stenographer.
So, what could be wrong?
The truth is, I don’t know.
The truth is, there is still an ache deep below the surface of my objectively good life. Perhaps that ache is caused by trauma. Perhaps it is my fear of losing everything that causes me to avoid living in the light of day. I’m afraid of pushing away the people who I love most. I’m afraid of losing them, like I’ve lost many others.
I refuse to numb the ache and I live with it, every day. I wonder if it is trying to tell me something, tell me to change. I don’t know how to change, or the right way to change. I sit in my apartment on a beautiful sunny day, with my curtains drawn. I’m scared to venture out, because maybe I don’t want to know what is causing the ache. Maybe that’s too scary.
I resent those who don’t seem to live with this ache, who seem lighter than me. I feel like everyone is lighter than me. They can all float and I’m stuck on the ground. I’m mired in my yesterday, afraid of my tomorrow. To stay in my present seems impossible. The moment I feel like maybe I’m safe and steady, the trauma resurfaces, and I’m back to where I started.
I’m ready to start working on this trauma finally. It cannot continue to define me. I’m ready to push forward. It’s time to be present for today. I know that it will be a difficult journey, but I am resolved to find my way, one step at a time.