Another non-running post - if you're looking for inspiration, head over to the Facebook page for a humbling/inspiring video.
Thanks for your comments to my last post. When I wake up in the middle of the night I furtively read them on my phone, and they help. Not sure what I was expecting - The End of The World As I Know It, I suppose - but I am buoyed by your kindness. Something like a thousand people looked at it and either clicked on by as instructed, read it and left no hurtful comments, or read it and left nice ones. I came very close to pulling it back down after I posted, but after the first couple of comments it felt right. Secrecy is part of the problem, and writing is often how I can best express myself.
I told my therapist I had blogged it and he looked a bit befuddled - like, you barely speak in here, and you blogged it to the world?! (Or that was my interpretation; in good therapist fashion he nodded and asked how it made me feel. I grunted something unintelligible.)
Some things are coming into clearer focus. I'm sort of believing that I do have a good life and a good marriage; this is not a lie. The lie is that the bad part that is there is my fault. It's like finally getting the code to an encrypted message that I'd given up trying to puzzle out. So many things start to fall into place. This is a relief, but also very painful, because the message is so ugly.
One thing the therapist said made me laugh out loud. I said I could absolutely see why so many people with PTSD become addicts, and that I sometimes wish substances worked for me, because I've tried and they don't much. He said, "Oh. Well. The people who get addicted are usually the ones who can't dissociate on their own, so they need something to help them do it. Since you're so skilled at it, drugs or alcohol wouldn't add much."
Hm. Maybe you had to be there. Then I asked how he knew that I dissociated so well, and he looked at me like, are you joking? Seeing I wasn't, he said, "You're doing it all the time here ... you know, the self-hypnosis and so on?" And I felt so busted. "Is there anything that would help you feel safer here?" he asked. All I could come up with was better tissues. Or just being able to talk WHILE dissociating - maybe to a warm beach somewhere?
Random people keep saying, "You look sad," and that's hard. I hate to go through the day like an Eeyore. (I can turn it on, though; a reporter came to see the big student project I direct and in the article called me "spirited," said I "get along with everyone," and that I am a "wise mentor." Spirited! Ha!)
I am trying really hard, and (as always) you guys help. Thank you.