Yay for therapy! I'm glad it's helping you. I can vouch for it - my own upbringing in a rural, fundie-infested town, undiagnosed AuDHD exacerbating my 'differences' from my destined-for-MAGAism peers and their bullying/mockery; dark unspoken family history that nonetheless made 'home' a place of isolation and weird vibes (and when the secrets all started blasting forth - hooowhee); and then years later the death of The Great Love Of My Life in '95 - all combined into a very bleak state of cPTSD which finally, a decade ago, resulted in implosion (after pushing myself too hard going back to uni and finishing a double-lit degree, reading 5-6 books a week, writing two papers per week as well, &c &c nonstop for four years). I hit what we now know was 'major autistic burnout' and went away for an ... erm, stay in Casa del Cray-Cray in a severe depressive/exhausted fit. But out of it all, I eventually found a fanTAStic therapist who's been guiding me through reconstructing myself, rebuilding who I am (or was, before getting pummelled too much). It took something like 5-6 years (being put on a poorly-chosen wacko-med by a former doc for 7 years didn't help any) to finally be able to break down walls and at last confront my cPTSD Ground Zero - my lover's death - last year around this time. Like you, I do better writing things out than thinking/discussing them, so (with my thurpist's advice) I wrote out this confrontation with memory and sent it to said thurpist, reliving/trying to recall what happened day by day in the last week or two of his life (the days coinciding exactly - or as close to it as I could manage - with the same date 30 years ago when as he was dying). It was beyond gutwrenching, but it workt: as in, it opened up long-walled-off memories and emotions. Only problem is, now able to feel them again, the emotions are at high tide right now, since it's now a year since that breakthrough and thus once more the anniversary of those dark days. But I know it's something I need to reincorporate into 'myself' rather than hide/avoid it. (Not to do a free plug for my own Substack, but - mostly for my own sake - I've been rereading/editing/rewriting-in-parts that year-old memoir and have been posting the entries, if'n you'd like to take a look at a spiritual reconstruction in progress ... if probably a perpetual rebuilding for the rest of my life.) But anyway, I'm being long-winded again. Congrats on entering therapy - as you said, burying and avoiding traumatic things past just allows them to grow even more monstrous in the shadows. Eventually ya gotta go back and not necessarily slay, but tame those dragons as best you can. Best of luck wisht to you.
So true. Maybe I’ll send out a GoFundMe to help with the expenses. It’s so worth it, but definitely not cheap. :-p
That said, I wouldn’t give nothing for my smartie with a heartie therapist. Or my friends who listen to all my shite. All are worth their weight in gold. :-*
Yay for therapy! I'm glad it's helping you. I can vouch for it - my own upbringing in a rural, fundie-infested town, undiagnosed AuDHD exacerbating my 'differences' from my destined-for-MAGAism peers and their bullying/mockery; dark unspoken family history that nonetheless made 'home' a place of isolation and weird vibes (and when the secrets all started blasting forth - hooowhee); and then years later the death of The Great Love Of My Life in '95 - all combined into a very bleak state of cPTSD which finally, a decade ago, resulted in implosion (after pushing myself too hard going back to uni and finishing a double-lit degree, reading 5-6 books a week, writing two papers per week as well, &c &c nonstop for four years). I hit what we now know was 'major autistic burnout' and went away for an ... erm, stay in Casa del Cray-Cray in a severe depressive/exhausted fit. But out of it all, I eventually found a fanTAStic therapist who's been guiding me through reconstructing myself, rebuilding who I am (or was, before getting pummelled too much). It took something like 5-6 years (being put on a poorly-chosen wacko-med by a former doc for 7 years didn't help any) to finally be able to break down walls and at last confront my cPTSD Ground Zero - my lover's death - last year around this time. Like you, I do better writing things out than thinking/discussing them, so (with my thurpist's advice) I wrote out this confrontation with memory and sent it to said thurpist, reliving/trying to recall what happened day by day in the last week or two of his life (the days coinciding exactly - or as close to it as I could manage - with the same date 30 years ago when as he was dying). It was beyond gutwrenching, but it workt: as in, it opened up long-walled-off memories and emotions. Only problem is, now able to feel them again, the emotions are at high tide right now, since it's now a year since that breakthrough and thus once more the anniversary of those dark days. But I know it's something I need to reincorporate into 'myself' rather than hide/avoid it. (Not to do a free plug for my own Substack, but - mostly for my own sake - I've been rereading/editing/rewriting-in-parts that year-old memoir and have been posting the entries, if'n you'd like to take a look at a spiritual reconstruction in progress ... if probably a perpetual rebuilding for the rest of my life.) But anyway, I'm being long-winded again. Congrats on entering therapy - as you said, burying and avoiding traumatic things past just allows them to grow even more monstrous in the shadows. Eventually ya gotta go back and not necessarily slay, but tame those dragons as best you can. Best of luck wisht to you.
A friend is known for saying:
“Any time we do self-work it not only benefits ourselves, but it also benefits everyone else that we cross paths with.”
So true. Maybe I’ll send out a GoFundMe to help with the expenses. It’s so worth it, but definitely not cheap. :-p
That said, I wouldn’t give nothing for my smartie with a heartie therapist. Or my friends who listen to all my shite. All are worth their weight in gold. :-*
Clint. Sounds good. Remember to look at your poster prompts. “Small successes piled up like a poo emoji. “ Fondly Michael
Yessir! Reminds me of a greeting me and a co-worker used to have almost daily:
Me: How are you, boo?
Her: Bah.
Me. Meh.
Her: Poo!
And then we’d laugh like kiddos and get our work day started. Good times!