Recovery
re·cov·er·y
noun
a return to a normal state of health, mind, or strength.
the action or process of regaining possession or control of something stolen or lost.
A common theme in my writing is recovery. Resolving to be better, finding something that’s lost - because often in trauma situations, what is lost or taken is not something tangible. It’s years or safety or the very conception of being.
Trauma does damage to the mind, but also to the body. Trauma can be forgotten by the brain, but the body always remembers. As Bessel Van Der Kolk, M.D. says in The Body Keeps the Score,
“Of course we experience our most devastating emotions as gut-wrenching feelings and heartbreak...We’ll do anything to make these awful visceral sensations go away, whether it is clinging desperately to another human being, rendering ourselves insensible with drugs or alcohol, or taking a knife to the skin to replace overwhelming emotions with definable sensations.”
I didn’t write the piece below this week, but I think it’s representative of how I’ve been feeling lately, in my attempts to recover what has been lost.
I’m reading a book on trauma and how those who have lived through unimaginable pain, whose skin is a canvas for unkind things, often destroy themselves again for the comfort of familiarity.
I’m so used to instability that it’s no wonder this is who I’ve turned out to be.
And sometimes I pace in my living room at night, headphones in, lights off, eyes closed, praying, and I open my mouth to swallow the silence of infidelity, of aching lust and insecurities. It’s all numbness, like my throat is padded cotton, and I wish the end of summer was enough to kill heat, to cover skin and impulsivity.
I used to write exclusively creative nonfiction, so this was once my typical style.
Next: gratitude.
I’ve added a new section in my gratitude writing, titled, “Things I’m working on.”
Things I’m working on includes: Not emotionally spiraling, not letting Instagram control my self-worth, Sandy’s job comes before our relationship, believing I’m a decent writer, that I look pretty with tattoos, that my parents have to make excuses to talk to me (and feeling okay with that).
Writing gratitude everyday has also proven to be rather difficult, since I don’t feel grateful everyday, but I think that’s the point of it.
Finally: the memes of the week.
