Little, cold-weather habits.
The amount of time I have to myself lately is astounding.
Perhaps what is more surprising is that I am okay with that. They said trauma therapy changes your life, but I didn’t think it would be this much.
I’ve always had a difficult time relaxing. Blame it on the mild/severe ADHD, but sitting the fuck down for a second has always been harder than I would like. But lately, I find myself doing something miraculous: I can watch TV.
The constant buzzing in my head, always alert for danger, has finally let me relax enough. Granted, I still need breaks and something in my hands, but the other day I sat still and just absorbed my show. It was a Korean drama, of course. I used to have so much shame about liking romance so much. I struggle with other television genres if someone isn’t watching it with me, but I’m kind of sick of that narrative.
I’m starting a few new habits. French is fun and makes my mouth feel sex with the way I have to shape it for words. I’m trying to not miss a day because that little Duolingo bird is sure to drag me if I do.
Everything feels new.
I feel new. A lot calmer and a bit quieter. I don’t have to be on my guard as much, although a lot of that self-preservation remains. It shows up in different ways.
“I want someone to be mean to me.”
I was settling for a night in and trying to be okay with that. It was Friday and I thought I should be doing something, but my therapist has been great at reminding me to remove should from my vocabulary.
We sip flat diet cokes in a bar with weird shit all over the walls. Easily my favorite genre of a bar.
“I hear you, but maybe you still think you don’t deserve love. Or goodness. So someone being mean to you is like, a mask?”
He’s right in some ways. My emotional unavailability comes out in different ways. I want to be left alone but also worshipped. To be yearned for but never have it acted upon. It’s like being a house cat. So maybe it’s not meanness I crave, but an intensity that comes in waves, only to dissipate later.
A man at the bar buys me a shot of Malort. My friend and I messily eat tamales. I’m tipsy and glad to not be alone. It’s been three weeks of being single and while I feel lonely, I don't feel alone. I just feel better. I don’t want sex or dates or even romance. I think I just want me.
“It's strange when I realize that I don’t have to feel bad. That I deserved better. I didn’t make this all up.”
I’ve lost count of how many trauma therapy sessions I’ve done. My therapist no longer uses their hands for my eyes to follow. They don’t remind me to breathe or go to my happy place. I do it all on my own. I tell them over and over that I feel like I’m gaslighting myself.
“I think my brain is trying to protect me.”
I got tired of pretending. I got tired of being nonchalant about what happened. I decided I didn’t have to go to my parents' home ever again. My brother may be dead but my dad is still alive. So, I simply won’t go.
I don’t have to feel bad if I don’t want to. I’m worth something.
Reader, it was like something hopped off of my back.
