notes and observations.. stage 3027/b

[jamesG.1]

stage after stage after stage... that's the thing with C-PTSD. Oh well, you run with it, only way.

The last few months have been a bit of a roller coaster, the point between lockdown and normality... whatever that is. It's really perfect for creating aggravation and uncertainty, I find - that mix of on and off. You can do more, for sure, but you run into a mass of inconvenience and inefficiency, and the momentum you crave to make life feel back on track just seems to suffocate under a wave of niggles and restraint.

Restraint is the thing. I feel like I'm held in this constant state of tension, my senses held in place... waiting for life.

One interesting observation that throws a lot of light on C-PTSD.

I decided to replace my phone. I am really not interested in tech, but my iPhone needed swapping out for something with a better camera for art and the likes, so I went and grabbed an android. That led to me discovering my ancient email address was about to expire. Mayhem. I had to go through decades of web connections, personal contacts and passwords. It made me VERY unhappy. It dredged up so much feeling, the abandonment, the attacks, the time wasted, the rotten freelance clients, everything.

Finally, after about a month of this process, I suddenly realised what a good metaphor the whole exercise had been for recovery. Yes it was nasty while it lasted, but ultimately I'd started with chaos, but finally, I'd got to a stage where I had a fully functioning phone as good as the one I'd started with. Now, after settling down, I realise it's better. BETTER.

That's the point really. My life is like a phone. It seemed stable and happy, familiar, but once changed was forced it went through the same period of chaos and unfamiliarity. Gradually I've loaded the new apps, learnt the operating structure and now I can live in a rational, normal way again. But while you have this effectively dead new device stage it's really stressful, your life has been bricked, rendered useless by change and you can't see how you'll ever be able to do even the most basic of things you used to.

Recovery is about accepting the trauma of recovery, in addition to the trauma itself. I really feel that I had two traumas, one the collapse of my life and the terrible behaviour of my nearest and dearest, and then the horror of C-PTSD itself, a very frighteneing and bewildering event. That's the phone metaphor right there. The phone breaks, then you have the chaos of learning a new one. You can't just swap the sim card of your life and get started again, like I thought I would because the sim is ruined, cracked in half by C-PTSD. It's like a flood.. yes you nearly drowned... but after the flood you face a wrecked house, destroyed possessions.

So how does this help?

Well, I think now that I am well progressed enough with recovery to see the recovery as inevitable. Like my phone, finally, it just feels like life again, just like my phone now feels like a phone again, and I don't have to think about it and can just... live. Accepting this and switching off the endless struggling and thinking is now where I am. It's a challenge because it is all about habit really. I'm used to the panic, hooked on the cortisol, ever ready for trouble.

But in all honesty, I've never had stability like this.

One day, like the new phone, the new life has to stop being new. You have to accept you've arrived at a destination and are no longer fighting to get somewhere. It may not be perfect, it may not be ideal, but it's most definitely not the terrible place you came from. I'm now ready to start overriding the habits of C-PTSD and to see them for what they are... habits. The past will not repeat itself, though it will keep on rhyming forever. But, if you have taken the vital step of cutting the cord to the sources of the abuse, condescension and pain, you WILL be on your way to a proper life. Resetting that life is not immediate, like the new phone, it will take time to learn all settings, load the contacts and make it yours, but it WILL happen.

The sooner you start that process, the sooner it will end.

[Libby183]

As ever, jamesG, you have come up with such a pertinent way to describe what we are doing on our journey of recovery. I could really relate to your phone metaphor.

You seem to be describing the sort of place I am in at the moment. I am definitely in a new phase, out of the extremely dysfunctional marriage to my late husband. I know I will never have to go back, but I am still getting used to this new life, but, as you say, it is better.

So, life is better, but then comes the split with adult D. It was ultimately her decision, as a result of the trauma around her father's death, but it has hilighted to me, just how much abuse, pain and condescension she was causing me. I was trying to heal the rifts, to no avail. So now I am learning to live without her. I am not there yet, but I have dealt with so much, I will cope with this. I am holding on to your line that recovery is inevitable.

Thank you again for all of the understanding and hope in your post.

[rainydiary]

jamesG, I appreciate you calling attention to how even recovery can be traumatic.  That resonated with me especially.  Thank you for sharing this reflection.

[Papa Coco]

Great phone metaphor JamesG.  At first, I was likening it to my current house-clutter crisis. My wife and I have lived in our current home for over 32 years. We raised our children in it. We took my wife's mother in and cared for her for 14 years before she passed of old age in it.  Today we have so many memories—and possessions—in it that we can barely move about. But I retired from my job last year and have been decluttering/reorganizing ever since. Very traumatic. I'm throwing away things we, and our children, and our mom once valued, and as they go into the bin, I feel like I'm throwing a piece of "us" away. But then...once it's gone...I feel light and clean and ready to start something new. The problem is that it's taken a year so far, and if I continue at this cautious pace, I still have at least another year to go before I'll feel organized and decluttered.

You've given me food for thought. Perhaps faster change is sometimes the better action. Before we purchased this home, we moved every year or so between rentals. Like with your phone metaphor, those decluttering events went very quickly out of urgent necessity. They were a painfully wonderful way to keep only what we needed and to reorganize with a fresh start with every new residence.

Your post showed me the difference between a slow transition and a fast one. My decluttering still has another year to go. I suddenly now see that a more rapid "tearing off the bandage" may have restorative value worth taking a second look at.

Pain has a purpose: To force change. We feel pain when we're doing something that needs to stop. In the case of trauma, I allowed my FOO to keep me in pain through emotional bondage until I was fifty years old. With the narcissism and untreated trauma they all lived with, their toxic ways digressed deeper into chaos every year until I ultimately said, "They've finally become so mean, even I can't love them anymore." And in one quick move I estranged from every, single member of my family. My personal growth and healing got new traction on that day. I've gained more healing in the last 11 years than in all the first 30 years of my therapy combined, because in 2010, in one swift act, I destroyed my connection to the lifetime of abuse so as to give myself the space required for a fresh start.

From the ashes of war, new civilizations grow and from the ashes of a burned forest, new vegetation flourishes. You must first tear down the old house to make room for the new one. Getting rid of what no longer serves us provides the necessary space in our hearts for improvements.

With anything, from lifetime trauma, to decluttering an old house, or to switching from iPhone to Android, I wish change was easier, but it is what it is. And in the end the changes we finally make can be as life-altering as a rebirth.

[Pippi]

Thank you so much for this conversation.  "Your life has been bricked" really resonates with me.  As I've delved deeper into healing over the past year, I do feel pretty "bricked," because my old ways just don't work any more: My incessant striving for new achievements, staying busy, trying to perfect my appearance, zoning out with food and alcohol.... For some reason, none of these are working anymore, and I have not yet figured out how to use my new phone, so for the time being... I'm bricked!  I rely on a stubborn belief that new skills will emerge, in time, if I keep aiming my ship toward healing and truth and self-compassion, and that instead of dissociation, addictions, and other coping mechanisms, I'll find my way to a new set of habits, ones that are self-compassionate, more fully alive, and meaningfully engaged with others.

The metaphor I often think of is a forest.  I imagine myself having left the "safety" of the village I have lived in all my life, because I finally realized it wasn't "safe" at all.  It's just all I knew.  I'm making my way, deliberately, through this forest, and it's scary and unknown.  There are often dark shadows and long lonely nights.  But there are also openings, when the sun shines down through the trees and I feel peaceful and calm, and I know I belong here, on this path, right now, in this forest.  I know there is no chance of returning to my village.  It's gone. There is no path back. So I keep moving forward, step by step, wondering what I'll learn next, what wonders I'll encounter.  My own little hero's journey.  I often think of a quote from Joseph Campbell:  "If you can see your path laid out in front of you step by step, you know it's not your path. Your own path you make with every step you take. That's why it's your path."

[Dante]

Pippi, the example of the forest was beautiful and spoke to my soul.  If I was capable of tears, it would have brought tears to my eyes. 

[Pippi]

Thank you, Dante. If it were one of the rare occasions that I was able to cry, I'd cry with you.   

[jamesG.1]

Interesting thoughts Pippi.

It's a good analogy, and a demonstration that it's all about perception. If we chose to travel and there was no trauma, it would be an adventure. Instead it's a trial.

My feeling is that it's a journey where we travel backwards, and we don't see what is coming half the time. Learning to face forward as we walk is a huge part of it.

I'm also incapable of tears, buried too deep for now. It will come.

[BeeKeeper]

JamesG1,

OK, even if you didn't cry, I am. The metaphor and relationships between the broken sim card, the trauma of recovery in addition to the trauma, bricking, all of it. I had to stop to breathe. I'm glad you are at a point where you're able to articulate these concepts, since it helps me relate to others, even virtually, which is better than isolation. I've thought about all these experiences, and feel them like a revolving carousel daily.

Thoughts which struck me as potent:

Recovery is inevitable.
The past will not repeat itself, but keep rhyming forever
Mayhem (my favorite, succinct, colorful)
Resetting that life is not immediate...it will take time to learn all the settings.

IT WILL HAPPEN

Thanks for the post.