I will never accept that there is a "reason" I had the opportunity to endure my unique package of trauma. I will never believe that there was a "purpose" or that it was the only way in which I could "learn and grow". I don't believe that. I refuse to believe that I could not become a worthwhile human being without being raped or abused.
When I left Therapist after my last appointment, there was a huge sense of futility. I felt that I was trapped in a life engineered by someone else without my permission. It seemed that everything I had done to build myself in spite of past experiences was worthless. I thought about it for a few days. I realized that the feelings were distorted by distress and discouragement. I wanted to talk but had nothing to say.
Thursday I woke up feeling that maybe things were coming to a stop. I didn't feel like crying alone anymore--I still felt like crying, but for the first time I wanted to share everything that was making me sad. I couldn't, because saying the words was still too hard.
Yesterday I finally felt like me again. I've realized nothing profound. I've made no amazing discoveries. I didn't find hidden reserves of courage. I just waited long enough that I could live again.
I have thanked God every night for the past ten days for beautiful sunsets, fall flowers that last through the frost, music that uplifts, children who love me, a husband who cares even when he doesn't understand, friends that keep being my friends--even when I've forgotten what that means, loved ones who let me say what needs to be said (ugly or not), people who remember that I love roses (thank you--they're beautiful!), those who don't know me but lend encouragement when I need it the most, fresh air, Godiva chocolate cheesecake...
I haven't run for a week. I've been too tired. It's time to begin again. A friend suggested that I make a goal each day to eat more than one meal. I've met that goal for two days which isn't much, but is certainly a start.
In my thinking time I have come to many realizations about myself, and made some decisions about things I'd like to change. After all, I can't change my past, but I have complete control over how much I will allow it to influence me. I told Therapist that I would not live with PTSD for the rest of my life--that I would be rid of it, regardless of the prognosis. He said, "That really wouldn't surprise me. I expect you to keep a journal of the steps you take and I want to see it when you're finished." I don't know if that's a realistic goal--I don't particularly care, either.
There's so much that I wish I could talk to Therapist about. Sometimes I don't want to do things by myself. I'm going to wait, though. There are a few things I want to do before I meet with him. I don't know if I'll have the opportunity, since they involve other people, but I'm still going to try.
There is still a part of me that wishes things were different.