It's funny how after so much time is passed, I sometimes still cannot bring myself to say 'hostage taking'. That's what it was. There are other things you can call it - but hostage taking is the simplest, most honest name. And yet it still gets caught in the back of my throat.
It's been 730 days since "that day". 2 years. 730 rollercoaster rides through the days that have come.
To be honest, I thought this year would be easier. You just assume that as time passes things get easier. But that isn't always the case...is it?
Last year, John and I strategically went away. It was just the two of us. Far from home, no visual reminders of September 14th, 2018. It was perfect. We were able to acknowledge the day, reflect, and then distract. I think that was the day we went to Central Park. We walked and walked and walked. We walked so much (like pretty much every other day) that by the time 5pm rolled around, we were exhausted and done with being surrounded by people. We went back to our apartment, ordered take out, and cuddled up with a movie.
Again I say, I thought this year would be easier. We were both back to work, into a routine, and didn't do much to address the day before hand. I was wrong.
I slept like shit the night before. I didn't get to see John that morning because he had already left for work before I woke up. That sucked. The girls and I were running behind and had to rush out the door. That's never a good way to start the morning. When I had my morning break I sent him a text just saying hello and that I loved him.
Silence. No response. After about 30 minutes, my anxiety went into overdrive. Why wasn't he answering? Was he having a really bad day? Did he turn off his phone just to disconnect? If he did that's fine but why wouldn't he tell me so I wouldn't worry? These - and about a million other things - raced through my head until I was able to connect with him.
And this is what it's like in my brain pretty much every day. The fear that "Oh my god. Has he done something awful? Was the ptsd too much? Is he leaving me?" always lingers in the back of my mind. Sometimes it's way, way back there. Almost like it's finally ready to leave. But just when you think you're in control, it comes back to the front just so you remember that the fear lives on.
And those feeling that I felt continued on most of the week. It wasn't my best week.
That anxiety can be paralyzing. It can stop you from living your life because you are constantly finding yourself on watch mode. I am tired.
It's only recently (pretty much since I started this blog and started using writing as a way to process) that I've started to acknowledge that this trauma affected me WAY beyond what I thought. And that all the pushing aside of it was really only going to be able to last for so long before it was not an acceptable coping skill anymore. I think that time has come.
But...There are fears. There are resentments. There is anger. So much anger. Buried deep.
And I am afraid that I do no have the capacity to really start unfolding all of those layers.
It's all of these things that I am only just now making a conscious effort to acknowledge because carrying them around like that crusty old lipstick you just keep shoving to the bottom of your purse isn't working anymore.
You know that saying, if it ain't broke don't fix it?
That may work for a washing machine. But for a human, a wife, a mother...I feel like if I don't start the fixing, I will break.
I think I am going to end it there because this had been a draining post to write but I felt like it was important to acknowledge this week and the feelings that came with it.
Next time I think I'm going to dive deeper into what "I think" has been holding me back from processing more of my own trauma that September 14th, 2018 brought into my life.
Until then,
Take Care and Be Kind ,
Daniela T
