My journey with CPTSD has taken me down a long, winding trail, and while I've given up searching for a “cure” I am still charting a course in which to feel healing. While that roaming has already stretched over 60 years, I've learned to accept—grudgingly at times—and understand that what's past is passed. The catch there—it still hurts, and the ache can threaten my hard-won quest for peace. Getting “over it” is a false model of security. I haven't given up hope, it's just that I don't search so desperately for it anymore. The hope isn't so much a turning towards a new morning as it is an appreciation for tears left behind and those that remain.
I used to think I should be able to step past the biography; from a name change through exhaustive self-help reads, spiritual seeking, and more—you name it, I traveled far and wide thinking there was just one more step needed, one program to follow, a magic bullet or a miraculous revelation. The trip included nine therapists—you read that right; mine was a classic “freeze” response, and I bailed out of formal therapy frequently. In the end, all the outside pursuits could only provide a thin salve for the stinging inner wounds, and iit's primarily on that inner trek that I've truly been able to find the trail again.
That probably doesn't surprise many on this site—it's why I was thrilled to find it. For you are traveling here too, stumbling sometimes, but you don't need to “try and understand” because you already know the route with its raw numbness, fear, and elusive peace. So I look forward to sharing in that peace, learning and living with new friends. It's like settling down before a comforting fire on a long winter's night. We all know so well how vulnerable and lonely this path is...I can sense you, though, through the tears; squeeze my hand and don't go away.
Thank you.
