For some time now, an eerie idea has been haunting me: What if I managed to truly recover from the majority of my PTSD symptoms and instead of enjoying the feeling of a serene, relaxed here and now in my body with a sense of being safe, instead of the anticipated big sigh of relief, I’ll meet abject boredom? What if my mind somehow reinterpreted the insanity of an overcharged nervous system that I’ve been living with for so many years (decades and practically all of my life since almost day one) and had me believe this was the heartbeat of life, a nervous energy that permeated all my days, all my feelings and informed some of my actions? What if arriving at the anticipated liberation from the pressures of said nervous systems and the physical manifestations it has been producing for so long left me feeling completely …. dead inside? Unmoved, indifferent, bored “to tears” as the expression goes save the tears? What if I missed feeling on the edge and being hypervigilant for most of my waking time?
Suddenly, it dawns on me that I had never even tried to imagine whom I would be minus the condition, minus the often agonizing symptoms and the challenges they create in my daily life. I had been so obsessed with getting rid of them that it never even occurred to me what I’d do and whom I’d be once they might be gone… And now that I’ve been fighting hard to find a hospital with doctors and personnell well trained in trauma therapy with a special focus on the somatic aspect of things, now that I’m zeroing in on actually getting specific help taylored to my therapeutic needs and thus relief and potential healing coming within reach for the first time – I can’t help but start panicking over above questions and what the aftermath of hospital and therapy might feel like.
I haven’t had an abode to myself for a year and the bulk of my former household is stored away in moving boxes and those boxes sit in my bio family’s garage or basement. I only unpacked the utmost necessities in order to get to have clothes and a few pots and pans to fix breakfast, coffee, meals etc. The housing arrangements prior to that year offered reduced privacy and felt limiting, only a hair short of stifling. I have signed a lease starting in November and am undergoing the necessary huge amounts of paperwork that I need to hand in with authorities paying those meager benefits that make the remains of our social security system. So, currently I know one thing: I’m most likely coming back to a largely empty appartement in a new place, where I don’t know anyone and which is likely not going to be furnished (or poorly furnished, like an oversized palette/panoply for a bed with a thin mattress on, no closets, no sofa, just a tiny desk with a computer screen and some electronic equipment). I know that. I expect to feel as empty and lost as I did in the first few weeks after my ex-wife had separated from me and with me needing to find another place to live as the former one was beyond my budget and the layout of rooms wasn’t conducive to having a room mate (to be honest: I would not have been comfortable having a room mate without the possibility of having a place to get to completely retreat to when needed). So that’s going to feel weird, possibly depressing. I also know that I haven’t found a new perspective in terms of what professional occupation to go for when released from hospital. I also don’t have any mental GPS left in terms of what to look for. Which is ironic as I think I have a bunch of good qualifications from my previous career and life that might still be needed by someone and possibly even pay decent money. (largely technical stuff, online content/special interest writing, SEO marketing, content management systems, some basic marketing skills, at least one language I think I know well enough to communicate in on a professional level etc.). In short: When fast forwarding my outlook to the time after being released from hospital, there is… a blank slate. (well, technically not entirely blank as I’m not an infant anymore and as life has left its mark[s] on me in a multitude of ways and outcomes).
Shorter even: It’s scary. The one thing I don’t deal too well with given my condition is not getting to plan ahead, not knowing what’s coming at me. (yeah, trust issues, haha! That’s a no-brainer, isn’t it? 🙂 ) But that is precisely what I’m looking at over the coming months.
Guess, whether I’m ready or not, I had better embraced the utter unpredictability of life, its potential perils, its pitfalls – some of which I’ve fallen prey to – and force myself to make room for the mysteries and wonder and opportunities that are also [said to be] a part [of] of all that.
Boy, oh, boy…. I hear that there can be an easier path to travel…? Apparently, not for me. At least not until now. I’m still around, because I’d like to know what it all feels like minus all this anxiety and worrying… maybe even become what they call a “happy camper”? Contrary to what I just expressed above, I think that might feel nice. Just getting to be a happy camper.