Recovery is uncomfortable at the moment. In the absence of any obvious obstacles or struggles, I feel uneasy. I am waiting for misery to strike, perhaps so I can resume my old ways and everything can get back to "normal". After all, depression and/or anxiety have been the norm for me for most of my life.
But now, where the turmoil and mood swings and desperation and fear used to be, I have a space to fill with actual LIFE. Books to read, friends to talk to, and a zillion other things I can just do because I want to.
But I still find ways to torture myself. I question my relationship, my feelings. I revisit old traumas and pick at them like old scabs. My dreams are still reassuringly unpleasant, but they seem strangely out of sync with my general state of mind, which is not fearful but a little more gutsy and robust.
Why am I doing this? I think it is a combination of habit and a longing for some security. I am, of course, in a much safer place these days, but everything feels slightly strange, unfamiliar and precarious. Part of me thinks: Surely this level of stability is just not sustainable? But this question misses the point. Of course I will not always be this stable, but at least now I have seen it is possible. I know what it feels and looks like, so hopefully I can return to it should I ever lose it.
I think it is also self-propelling - stability seems to breed more stability. However, there is something in me that does not want to give itself up to recovery, a part that almost doesn't want to get better, and this can only heal if I let go. Perhaps I fear losing myself if I relinquish that part of me.
What resides there? My first instinct is to say it's the trauma of the abuse by my husband. I see his eyes and feel his anger again. Perhaps the suicidal part of me lives there too: she still makes an appearance now and again. And my punitive side is there too, although her voice is much quieter these days.
This is all stuff to work on in therapy I think. As for how it affects the rest of me, I have come to the conclusion that seems to crop up again and again: I must keep an open heart and an open mind, to stay connected to my core.
If I feel overwhelmed, I live a minute, an hour, a day at a time. I ask my heart how it feels right now, and often I find that I am ok.
I am also practising to be more patient. Sometimes I feel a dark storm is brewing in me, and the tendency is to whip up some kind of angsty drama with my boyfriend. The aim is to get him to meet my needs, for validation, reassurance.
To pull the breaks on that is not easy. I have to put aside some pride - it's not easy to admit that deep insecurity is skewing my perception of reality. And I somehow I have to cope with the feeling that I am drowning. How do I do that? I struggled before, but it is easier now to remember that I am not drowning at all.
I am on dry land, snug as a bug. But it doesn't help if he just reminds me of that alone -- I have to know it too.
Anyway, I have to learn to live with the strangeness of being largely fine, and stop myself from sliding back into more familiar territory of anxiety and sadness.
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