I measure my life in anniversaries. One year ago… It’s been a year since… [this trauma or that]. I need to add more frequent progress measurements to my skill-set for living fully, to help myself more quickly and effectively along the process of recovery. Life careens at speeds I couldn’t imagine pre-midlife! 🙂 I don’t have time for this shit anymore, and I’m not interested. I want to heal faster and move on to the great joys and opportunities my life presents. I’m extraordinarily fortunate.
The Year of The Answer is NOW. I’m creating the future I want now. I want to see more significant healing in all future “years from now.” Next, I plan to see fewer and fewer traumas, because I finally understand how to spot danger (or believe myself when I do). I trust my intuition and make safer choices. I deserve to be well, and I owe no one an explanation! I AM WORTHY.
I’m tripping out over what just happened!
I’ve been working for Big Brothers Big Sisters for a month now. Just this moment, I decided to empty my shelves of books I no longer need – for donation – and came upon my Spain journal. I LEFT TO VISIT MY FRIEND A YEAR AGO TOMORROW! I only realized yesterday that the was anniversary was so close upon me.
The journal begins, “Um, I’m being held captive in a 3-story mansion with a pool and poolhouse, and a view of the Mediterranean, by 2 drunken, violent addicts who deserve each other.”
My trips this year – to the Gulf Coast and NYC – were eclipsed by a previously un-experienced level of anxiety. Except for 10 days in the home of my best friend’s family in Texas, I was freaking out the whole time I was on the road! I’m not an easy traveler. I’m not an easy person. But this was full-blown panic. I couldn’t help but consider that I’m still suffering from PTSD. I cringe to hear myself say it, because that illness belongs to heroes. Selfless, courageous people who would die for me without even knowing me. I’m just a spoiled girl who travels the world, and doesn’t do it very well! Boo hoo.
But it didn’t take long after Spain to realize that I was the perfect candidate to suffer under the “care” of my former friend Christine and her disgusting life-partner, Brian, because I reverted to the child who couldn’t leave. Who had to find a way to love the people abusing her! And make sense of love that hurts. I was never safe then, and I couldn’t protect myself or get away. In Spain, I turned into the terrified, dependent girl who still grieves in me. Until I got out. And I did get out.
* We called ourselves Chrissy Squared: 2 girls and a childhood nickname shared.