Erracticism

One thing you've noticed if you're regularly following this blog, is that it's been very sporadic lately.  Posting one day, then nothing.  Or maybe two or even three or four days in a row.  Then nothing.  Very erratic.  Which is why I made up a "new" word:  erracticism.  There's eroticism for erotic.  So why not erracticism for erratic?  (And yes, my spell check is having major issues with this word since it doesn't exist.  But then that's the advantage of being the possessor of a deranged mind.)

As I walk this path which I really didn't expect - or want - to be travelling at this, or at any other, time in my life, I find that it is not an easy forward direction.  

Recovery.

I call this phase in my life recovery.  Recovery, I've found is very erratic.  I start going in one direction thinking I've finally found a solution - only to find myself back in bed.  Bedridden temporarily.  Not able to move.  Not able to read.  Sometimes not even able to sleep.

And/or the itching crops up again.  Every time I think I've got it tamed, it finds ways to remind me that it has no intentions to lie low and be tamed.  The good times are when my skin actually feels like skin, not like an inside out pincushion being pricked ceaselessly from the inside.  Minor itching on the torso.  Warning signals are when the itching extends from the torso to the limbs.  I know I'm in big trouble when the itching makes its way to the scalp, the eyeballs, inside the ears, the toes, the fingers.  You name it, nothing is sacred when I'm in a major flare-up.  There are times I feel like screaming.  There are times the discomfort is so severe that I can't even find words to use.  Those are the times I throw some cream to Papa Bear and make motions.  Fortunately, he understands.  He hurts when I hurt.  He feels badly when I feel badly.  He feels helpless.  Because there's nothing he can do - except apply the cream.

I started out this blog early this year with definite goals in mind:  to start writing again, to hone my craft in the pages of this blog, to work towards a certificate in writing from a local college, to start exercising with an aquafit program, to attend a Bible study regularly.  In short:  to start moving forward.  To put the past behind.  To explore options.  To re-enter the outside world.

At first, it seemed like everything was coming together.  I started the blog.  People even read it!  I took a course in grammar via computer - enjoying the interaction with others in a "safe" environment i.e. the class message board.  I regularly attended a water walking class at our local rec centre which meant I was getting out regularly and interacting on a very basic social level with others i.e. hello, good-bye, how are you this week?  I attended the Bible study faithfully.  Never missing a week.  That was hard being in a room with roughly 25 other women.  Ironically, the Bible study was on Grace Fox's Moving From Fear to Freedom video series.  My original intention when invited to attend this group was simply to get out and start being around people.  Socialization.  Little did I suspect that I would be thrown into confronting fears I didn't know I had.  Fear of people.  Fear of rejection.  Going back time and time again was hard.  Not because of the people.  Because of the fears.  Because of the lies I'd internalized from the severely stressful situation in 2011 which has changed my life - for better or worse.

I found these people scary.  Which would make them laugh manically if they heard that.

So where am I going with this?

Where am I going indeed?

Recovery is not only hard work.  Definitely not for the faint hearted.  But it's also not a steady forward movement.  It goes forward and backward - sometimes unexpectedly.

It's erratic.

I ask your understanding at the erraticism of this blog as I struggle through this morass daily.  As I keep moving unsteadily and erratically forward.

Thank you for walking with me in this.

Instructions Not Included

Ever tried to assemble something?  Looking at 52 pages of small print instructions - in the dark of night with only a flashlight for illumination?  A flashlight with weak batteries.  Add a strong wind which blows the sheets of paper about like leaves in the fall.  The letters swim about on the paper changing shape and form.  For all the good, they're doing, they could be written in another script entirely.

A nightmare?  Your worst nightmare?

You ask yourself:  Is this a dream or is it real?  Am I going to wake up from this?

In my experience with trauma, especially the latest trauma in 2011, I learned the difference between a nightmare and a horror story.  A nightmare you wake up from.  Horror you don't.

Most importantly, I learned that recovery from severe stress, etc. does not come with any instructions.  No doctor, no counsellor can give you exact directions to follow to get well.  There are too many variables in the equation.  In fact, in my journey, I've been the one researching, problem-solving, describing symptoms to my health care team.  It's been a trial and error process.

I've been blessed that my counsellor not only is well-versed in trauma but has experienced it in her own life, thus enabling her to walk beside me step by painful step.  It was my counsellor who first described my experience as "horror" and suggested that until I faced the horror, it would not magically go away.  It was my counsellor who told me a piece of her journey through trauma and how she learned that after the acute phase settles, the physical body starts to act up some six to 12 months after the trauma.  It was my counsellor who give me a huge piece of wisdom:  when the victim is experiencing both emotional and physical symptoms, taking care of the physical symptoms comes first.

Even then she couldn't tell me what to do.  She could only support me as I stumbled and bumbled my way through the morass.  She could - and did - provide a safe place for me to tell my story - over and over again from this viewpoint and from that viewpoint - ad nauseum and to work through all the complications of recovery from severe stress and trauma.

My doctor, likewise, has provided a support system through regularly following up with me re: medications, emotions, etc.

Both have provided a lifeline.

Both have allowed me to direct my own journey towards healing.

Both have affirmed me as a human being in this journey.

Both have helped restore my sense of self worth, that there really is some value left in this old bear, by repeatedly affirming the conclusions I am drawing and the way I'm directing my healing journey.

Recovery doesn't come with easy instructions.

But it is possible.

I'll be exploring this issue of recovery minus instructions in later posts.  Until then, keep reading and keep healing.