I went to group yesterday. To say it was an emotive one is an understatement. We all felt the ripples of pain and distress of our fellow group members.
I decided to talk about my current situation and be open both emotionally and mentally. Unusual for me. It was picked up by the group who commented on how open I seemed. That I wasn’t deflecting, my sadness was there, my pain was readable and my openness and willing to start a new journey was clear. I was surprised to hear this. Perhaps I hadn’t realised how standoffish I had come across to the group previously. I could feel emotion and that felt uncomfortable to me. I fought the urge to cry. I’m not ready for that level of display.
One girl was having a terrible time and broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. I couldn’t relate to her story, but her pain of her parents not doing anything, letting things go, justifying obvious behaviours, her confusion and almost child like sobs questioning why really reached into my heart and squeezed it tight. Both in empathy for her but also for my own devastation and let down. As her breathing became more rapid, I felt mine leaving my control. I know I could have lost it. I saw my friend triggered by the whole thing and wanted to comfort her as well. Fortunately our facilitator is very good and calmed the whole thing down. But after I sat with my friend for a while who sobbed in my arms. Her pain immense.
As I left the room I felt so drained. I felt glad id gone and been part of it. Glad id shared, but also the reality that I couldn’t hide from it any longer. I was just as in pain, just as lost as everyone else.
My counsellor is making me see how my daily life is filled with obsessions and routines.
And the group is making me see I have a huge journey to endure. One which I’m open to now, because I’ve finally got as far as I have.
Simply because a Judge somewhere validated my case. Believed my story and saw a case. It shouldn’t have taken that for me to get peace. I know that. Peace should have come from within me. But I have timelessly punished myself for not doing enough. Now I genuinely believe I have done all I can regardless of the final outcome.
But now I’m self aware of the reality I’ve created. The survival mechanisms, the hidden pains, the body memories that are resurfacing more refrequently. My routines that are regimented and make up my entire day. That I exist around. My anxieties, how easily I’m triggered, how isolated I make myself.
Now I’m aware I’m terrified to change any of it. It’s my life. My routine. My survival.
But I’m so very tired. I’m tired of pretending that I’m ok. That yesterday didn’t have an impact on me, that last night I barely slept because of the thoughts in my mind. I’m sad. I’m devastated. I’m heartbroken. I want to wail and cry for myself, but I wouldn’t know how. I’m lost.