Well… I had this post all written and scheduled to publish today waaaaaay back in April like the rest of my recovery posts. Yep. None of them have been live, and up until the post for today I breezed right through everything not giving it a second thought.
Today, I had to unpublish. The wounds are still too fresh to heal, even though the events themselves happened ages ago. I thought I had made it to that place where peace was achieved surrounding everything, and for a while I did. I’m not sure what’s stirred everything up again, but I’m willing to bet that my postpartum recovery has a lot to do with it. So it’s an unfortunate turn of circumstance dragging everything out past the end of the year which was my original goal.
I don’t want to wait until December of 2016 to address it, but I really wanted to tackle the date itself head on in hopes that finally discussing the issue on the actual date it occurred would make everything seem more final. The memories have faded, the nightmares have subsided, during any other time of year. December rolls around and it all comes back.
Of course the past two Decembers have had traumatic events of their own which don’t help much. I lost a pregnancy on December 29th of 2014, and endured the shock (and narcotics) of my surgery, subsequent birth of the twins, and B2’s health crisis this year. My stress threshold is pretty close to the max right now. It’s not entirely shocking or surprising that my other past traumas have wound up in the front of my mind.
Today marks the anniversary (I hate using that word because it implies a celebration, and this is not a thing worth celebrating) of my second and most violent sexual assault. I published most of the details back in a series this past April, but the more I opened up about it via writing and therapy the more details and memories came to the surface. Even as drawn out as everything was in April it was barely the surface of my experience.
What I wanted to address today, was the aftermath. That’s the part which has gained clarity over the past eight months, and possibly what keeps me tethered to the flashbacks. I won’t know until I can write it down, and I can’t right now. There is simply too much else going on, and I really don’t need to add on to my emotional plate.
PTSD, you win this round. I’ll be back to fight again.