Pgh Lesbian Correspondents

I’ve blogged many times about my reverse seasonal mood disorders – elevated in the fall, low in the spring.

We are not so old
We have miles to go
We will take it slow
As the years unfold
That’s a lot to know.

This past week, my mood began to dip. Some of this was due to increasing my trauma processing therapy around the sexual violence of my childhood. Processing did go well, but there are still prices to pay emotionally and physically. I’m tired, I’m a bit more anxious than usual, and I’m coping (poorly?) with the memories being more vivid than before.

One piece that’s very hard is the isolation. These are not experiences you can bring up with friends. I’ve tried and understandably, people are so appalled that they shut down or try to offer comfort with their own experiences. Neither is helpful, both are understandable. So I have my therapist and this blog. Writing down some of this validates my experiences and documents these traumas for future generations of my family.

I had a few things planned this weekend, hoping to hold off the depression by keeping busy. One piece didn’t work out and within hours, it all collapsed. I lost nearly $300 of tickets, supplies, etc. Several people yelled at me – my worst social fear. Someone implied I’m not a good person around kids – another deep wound for me. The nightmares. The sense of failure. The inability to pull myself out of this tsunami of pain and sadness.

My health is stuck. I can’t get my testing done because of anxiety. There’s no such thing as a health coach to help. My allergies are horrible, but I can’t get myself to the store to buy the right cold medicine.

We’ve had no applicants for our four kittens.

You see how this list of awfulness can snowball. It feels harder to trudge through each day and cope with typical setbacks wrapped in anxiety, depression, and trauma.

The worst part is that the people who do know my symptom pattern and at least some of the underlying trauma pull away. It reminds me quite a bit of my family constantly telling me to shake it off, calm down, and so forth. So I stop explaining and just take the consequences for being a bad person/friend/neighbor.

The other response is often dumping their own emotional pain on me when I can barely manage this. Intellectually, I understand sometimes they are trying to forge a connection. Sometimes. But it’s still cruel.

As a result of my trauma, I needed endless reassurance to fill the void in my soul. I absolutely anticipate abandonement around every corner. I see people always leaving, especially in the summer, and desperately wish they could occasionally stop and just not be itching to run away again.

That will never change. It’s been embedded on my DNA by unimaginable brutality. I can work around it. I can acknowledge it. But I can’t escape it. It’s trauma. It’s triggered by everything, the good reminds me of the pain, the wins amplify the losses, the hurts ricochet between decades old seeping scars and wounds.

There is little comfort to be had. And this time of year, even that is beyond my grasp because I want life to stop for a minute so I can breathe in between the painful moments. And everyone just needs to keep moving

I don’t want to go with you, I want you to stay with me.

Right now, I’m content to just stay at home. No outings, no trips, no plans. Just the sense of security from being at home. And no one likes that person, trust me. Folks want to live their lives and I wish I could to. But at least if I don’t make plans through June, I won’t have to worry about breaking them.

I may feel 76% better tomorrow, but it won’t last. But limping along until it eases up is all I can do.

I’d rather feel lonely than heartbroken.