So, lately this has become my diary more than a blog to be shared. Which is fine. It’s nice that some people still choose to read it…I don’t know who you are, but I appreciate knowing that I’m not totally alone.
But…I wanted this blog to be fun…funny…sometimes serious, but in a good way.
Instead, it may be saving my life.
I have so very, very many words in my head right now. But none that I seem to be able to share individually. They only come out when I write for me.
I miss…well…Me. I miss happy me. I miss the me that believed I was strong. I miss the me that believed that people wanted her around. I miss the me who lifted people up.
I miss knowing that people wanted me around. I miss feeling included. I miss knowing that if there was going to be friends getting together, I would OBVIOUSLY be one of those people. I miss the times when, if I was going to be somewhere, I knew that other people would want to be there, too.
I miss being able to leave my house without feeling panic.
I miss feeling even halfway cute and like anyone could want me.
I miss sleeping without waking up remembering the nightmares from the night before.
I miss feeling hope.
I miss me.
And, in the process of missing ME…the middle of feeling so broken…I’m trying to still be there for others who feel broken…but sometimes I don’t have the words for them…which makes me feel MORE broken because I ALWAYS have the words to help other people.
The new therapist says that I’m going through an all new trauma in the past 8 months. She says that anyone would consider the deluge of events to be traumatic. But she also says that my original trauma is making it harder to process this trauma…which is why she’s making me go through the old trauma…step by step. Which hurts. Writing down every aspect. In steps. It’s all in the forefront of my mind now. All at once. And I know there’s a purpose, but I’m finding it hard to dig out of.
I’m finding it hard to find me, to remember who I am, under the pile of the memories of the people who told me I’m nothing.