Messages

Cptsd is sneakily persistent sometimes. If we don't just give up entirely, we find out that patient learning might indeed be a part of the healing we still need.

Welcome back to a safe haven where you're free to continue learning, and yes -- heal.

Thanks, Cascade!

These have brightened what for me has been a very moody, grey day. Contemplative, creative, and
meaningful.

Welcome back to this place, where we can't always seem to find words. And that's okay, sometimes even necessary. 

Sometimes it seems like we have lots we feel we'd like to say, but not the words with which to express it more fully. So much of this 'stuff' runs deep; it's almost as if it gets stuck in the attempt to bring it forward.

We get it -- sometimes it stifles, and other times it's just where we need to be, as we adjust and reflect on what to say and how to bring it out as we'd like.

And/or maybe it's just not time.

At any rate, welcome back ...    

Nice to have touched on a bit of your soul, injured though it may seem.

If it's okay, I have one more point I'd like to share. It follows on something I learned via some other members on this site. They, like me, discovered the 1911 novel presenting the fictional tale of a 10-year old girl who found herself via finding and replenishing an old abandoned garden she found. Written by Frances Hodgson Burnett and title The Secret Garden, it's also been serialised on BBC in 1975 (accessible via YouTube). My point, though, is not to suggest one should read it or see the filmed version (there are others but the BBC adaptation is the best one, IMO). Either/or, though, makes for a good read as well as a well-done film adaptation).

Personally, I hit on a realization after reading and seeing the film, though. While not explicitly touched on in either version of the basic story, my thoughts hit on the notion that the best gardens can be helped via composting -- taking old food scraps and discaded portions and planting them as compost.

My therapist chimed in on this as well, suggesting that maybe my old life could be considered as a form of mental compost, discarded but reformulated, even as it's elements are buried alongside the new seeds of the replenished inner garden.


Sometimes, if I remember that amidst the still present waves of anger and rage about my old story, I can re-imagine all that old bitter story as a form of compost while I'm finding the new life (garden). Those waves are now out there, in the raging sea, while my new garden is starting to grow, under ground/inside me.

This may seem as only imagination, but for me it's all I care to ever carry forward from my old story. Like an old movie as well, I've tried to give it its own space, but to only use the parts I can compost into nourishing the present garden.

This attitude adjustment is far from being a panacea. But that's more due to the original c-ptsd symptoms being so severe. Now, if I remember to utilize the idea of the past as compost, I feel more empowered to move on; to let my garden grow at its own pace, even when I'm so impatient and anxious to realize that better life I feel can come about. Maybe it is, if I let the compost and the seeds do their magic.

Take good care, Dalloway --   

This sounds soooo famiiar to the way I live with all of these horrendous ins/outs and yes, the intense sadness on seeing other people expressing love so easily with each other.

I so wish I could wave a magic wand during these episoodes. But I've been at this stage for so long my only conclusion is that this journey dealing with the aftermath of Cptsd is indeed a lifelong project. Yes, I can play the acceptance card, but I still hurt. Can't shake loose from its grip and yea, the anger (almost always hidden, deep inside). It was/is unfair but I'm here now.

That being here now has become the good news, as it's at least a starting point. But that word 'least' stings, as it still keeps me stuck. Or does it, in reality? I need to flip that, to loose the old binding habits of shame, anger, etc. And brace myself for all the times I fail  to move the needle.

My therapist helps, and truth be told I have progressed from the wreck I was; despite 'accomplishments' in various creative artistic fiels that I loved and was good in, at the end of it all I still feel lonely, spent, very angry, and sad (repeating myself, eh?).

It's certainly no cure, and any healing is quite hard to pick out, but here's where I feel helpless. All I can really do, I guess, is to use an old image I play in my brain -- there I imagine I'm on a long road, and I'm drifting free of the traffic the further I move along. The best thing -- I glance in the rear-view mirror and see everything moving back, getting smaller and more distant. When I'm really distressed, remembering that little vignette is a needed reminder -- that I am far enough ahead, at last, that I can feel and know that I'm on the right road, even with its blasted bumps and detours -- really good news, those detours; I can wander further off, into a new horizon. Still lonely, still angry, sad, but also at least feeling more attuned to myself.

It's all I've ever wanted. Alas, it takes accepting some loneliness, some at least gives me the chance to stay ahead on the long trail, not knowing where I'm going, but sensing I'll be okay.

Meanwhile, how I wish I could just squeeze your hand and reassure you that, based on what you've shared, you're on the trai as well. And so are so many others we meet on this forum every day.

 

Despite the rough ride, Merlin, I hope you feel this forum as a safe place where you can research more on Cptsd, read what others here have had to say, and share your story, if and when you feel inclined to do so.

Welcome 

  Thanks, Chart, for those interesting insights per your own bumpy roller-coaster ride with ye olde inner critic. He's pesky and irritating, and worst of all very creative at tripping one up.

A few months back, I even imagined building him an impressive private studio, complete with writings, visuals, and recordings (all imagined, mind you) of my faults and setbacks for his utter delight. But I've learned he doesn't always stay there, and can't resist bothering me again, and again, and even after that.

That's where I tip towards letting the ever-threatening frustration/depression from taking over and bringing back my doomed feelings. All I seem able to do is to flail in terror that this can't be happening again. Except ... it always does. I think i'm accepting that, but at east having enough resilience to recover and find the trail again. Cautiously, as I know it's still a rough roller-coaster.

That roller-coaster is a big part of the false illusion that I'm going someplace and whoosh -- I'll get there, somehow. I'm better off not doing that quick ride anymore; instead, I pick up my walking staff and head off into my life's wilderness, hoping ye olde inner critic can stay put in his own room, content with my old foibles while I wander into the future on my own terms.
Undoubtedly the inner demon will yet again try to trip me up, but my hope is I've enough of an assortment of self-healing coping tools (like humour!) tucked into my travel pack.

I've learned a bit more with this experience, thanks to your help and meaningful suggestions. You and everyone on this thread (and others -- mine and others) has been kind enough to have stopped and helped me move along, hopefully strengthened by ideas, yes; but even more so from knowing there are people here who care. That still intrigues me, having come from an environment where needing help was just a sign of weakness, and worse -- unworthiness.

Thank you so very much!

Thanks, Cascade,for revisiting this old post, then sharing your experiences with this topic. It also shows the value of occasionally roaming through 'old' topics and finding these nice little nuggets tucked in. Surprising -- yet still so relevant, even years later.

For much of my life, I've had problems with external hugs. Based on various traumatic incidents involving touch, my brain would interpret almost any touch as a danger sign.

As you found, Cascade, using the self-hug was a simple but effective tension-releaser. Thanks for the reminder; dredged out of the forum archives, as it were.

 

Today ...

 **I'm grateful for this forum's message -- that we are alowed, just to be present with each other. Some of us never knew it possible to be accepted, loved, or even tolerated.

**I'm not only grateful for this space and the people who hang out here, but I remain in awe of the love that always shines through. Very often the love is misted over by tears, yet still it shines in spite of it. Thank you for being here.

**Knowing we're able to, in spite of our residual fears, be present in any way we can in such a cruel world revives my fading sense of hope.

That this glimmer of hope even exists brightens and expands the confines that too often cloud its presence.

These are the seeds (yes, even the compost) which nourish and renew the hope so hard to find. Thanks again 

Congrats on finding the notes and unraveling it via tidying up.

I have a little thought on top (or under) of what I wrote earlier. It involves our old favourite -- The Secret Garden.

I'm not sure if it was in both versions, but something from the 1975 BBC series I really liked inspired my thoughts about discovering unknown and/or new possibilities.

There was a scene where Mary and Dickon were sharing dreams of what to include in the new/old garden. Mary exclaims [I'm paraphrasing here]: ''...but let's not make it a PERFECT garden, Dickon. Let's leave some of it a bit wild -- maybe we'll be surprised by those parts coming up on their own, from underground.''

I just thought how well that scene speaks to cultivating that sort of outlook while planting any of our own secret gardens. And how, who knows, we might be surprised, and delighted, at our new discoveries.

Take care 

 Congratulations  

Thanks for sharing the birth of your new outlook. May it continue helping you along your healing journey.

 

I seem to do likewise -- set expectations and goals and look forward to a 'someday' when it all becomes clear again  . And then -- it all goes missing  .

Frustrating, 'cause I was so sure I knew that I could bring back those items, whether they be physical objects like notes, or a certain book; or the old infamous 'mental note' when that certainty wil magically reappear.

I'm surprised and perplexed when that happens. Sometimes the surprise (I've also been having dreams a bit 'far out' lately) doesn't make much sense or bear much meaning.

Well, maybe that surprise is its own message; that in its puzzling nature it might be pointing out a new direction -- like I'm more capable of stretching my expectations.

I say this mostly because I've seemed to have encountered some surprising twists in recent years, especially in learning who I really am, beyond the stuff that happened to me (albeit certain nigtmarish dreams still float in).

Maybe a new and even odd-seeming dream works to point out that I'm more flexible than I thout. Maybe it comes in a weird dream as if it's just a pointer towards the possibility of considering a broader horizon. Maybe its just a way to keep asking questions. And maybe all the maybes are not meant to bear any messae at all; but in their surprise, it builds an awareness of a life beyond my usual, predictable fear-based anxiety.

But Im ramblind, and feel like I'm trespassing in your journal speculations. If so, I apologize. Still, I hope it's still okay to share some thoughts that floated into my being as I read your post.

So hard,those darling friends who come our way, sometimes when we had no human friends. Please take good care of yourself.

Everything you've sared here rings true in so many ways, EdenJoy1. But in my experience, most of those 'normal' folks you speak of are basically charlatans loving their clever disguises at your expense. If one had the luxury of knowing, almost everyone has tripped up in some way, though many are adept at hiding behind their naive superior notions of not being as honest about it as you are.

I also tend to dissociate often, but I've come off of blaming myself, as if dissociation is some grand fault that sets me apart. Yes, it can make me feel bad, or mostly sad, that I have to deal with it, but I also recognize that it is normal for anyone recovering from multiple traumas. Laying off this self-blame stance has made a huge difference in that critically important task -- feeling better and believing I'm ok, always have been. despite those smug 'normal' sorts. Again, if we could see beyond their masks, we'd find many hurting as bad or worse than us.

We're at least trying to go beyond the wounds and healing wherever we can. Sometimes the trick is just feeling a place to start. It's what drew many of us to this forum. I hope this likewise signals your willingness to find new perspectives and learn how beautiful you are just by allowing yourself to wonder. There are few easy answers, but begin by knowing you are probably even more 'normal' that those gloating know-it-alls would be too scared to let on.

I wish you well on this worty journey.

Your writings are always honest, wise, and from the heart. Thank you.   

The painful stuff, as you note, is impossible to fully express. Especially as most of the hurt was senseless to start with. Describing it for others? Well, on here at least there's no dire necessity for any more than what you feel comfortable about. That much of it could ever come close to feeling ok about is nigh impossible. We all know that hopeless feeling, and how scared and vulnerable it is to violate our peace by struggling to find a way that feels safe.

It takes courage just to be here, let alone find words that can fully numb the pain.

There's never any absolute need, either here or in therapeutic settings, to share any more than feels okay at any given moment. It's precisely that courage that shows in the ways you do choose to express yourself so honestly, reflecting that deep heart of yours.

Continue to take care of your heart, Hope. May it be your guide in this process; we're all walking with you as well.