The fear and anxiety surround me. It’s like being sucked into a black hole.
After all the assurances that talking about memories will help, it turns out that was a lie too. Talking about them has resulted in shame ever-increasing anxiety. I’m aware that I’m a mess but seemingly helpless to do anything about it other than make it worse.
Time, give it time.
I’ve heard that over and over lately.
Those are easy words if you’re not being ripped apart inside.
Have more faith. Trust.
I’ve heard those words even more than time, give it time.
It sounds simple…if you’re not plunging into a terrifying darkness alone, with negative thoughts and old scripts roaring, commanding attention.
I make plans, write lists, determined to get myself together and move on.
And go nowhere.
This is the longest I’ve struggled with the same set of related memories for a sustained period of time.
At first I tried to dismiss them, only to have enough of them confirmed by a relative that dismissing them is no longer viable.
I’ve tried to distract myself (using not always so safe much less healthy means) from them, only to find it even more difficult to deal with the fallout from the distractions along with the real issue.
Maybe it’s time to stop fighting them and see what happens. Just possibly, that’s the bravest thing I can do right now.