WRITING THROUGH TRAUMA
For a long time I didn’t link my writing to my trauma. For a long time, I tried to convince myself my traumatic experiences had no impact on my life. And for a long time, I ignored the sadness that swam through my body paralyzing my mood, my behavior, my actions. Now that I’m older, I had to come to terms that I was, as the young kids say, de-lu-lu ; which means delusional.
The last year had been tough. I struggled with my mental health. It was so bad that my season of sadness stretched past the three month seasonal time frame that I was accustomed to. I tried everything to get out of this dark space, this torturous place of pain, but nothing helped. Writing was no longer a medication that would ease my pain and help me feel better. My brain refused to accept and acknowledge joy.
For months, I cried and buried myself under the covers. For weeks, I force myself to do things that will allow me to feel like I’m living again. For days, I prayed to God asking him to deliver me from the sadness that shadowed and followed me. And when nothing worked, my therapist stepped in & found me a place of refuge.
Two months she said I would be there. Two months locked away in a hospital seeing therapists, social workers, medical doctors, psychiatrists, and psychologists. Two months turned into three, then four, then five. And after six months, I was back home with plans. A crisis plan. A survival plan. A plan to exist and be here living in the moment.
So, for now, I hope you will come on this journey to stay alive with me. I will be writing about crafting stories, embracing joy, and living in the moment.