Resting

Resting

This whole process spanned a good year and a half to three years. Somewhere in here I managed to find out that I could accept some of the things that happened to me, even though I can’t recall most of them. I learned to accept the fact that I was raped, abused, and generally unloved. I learned to keep living despite this knowledge. I gained some stability in my life and I rested.

It was like climbing a sheer cliff and finally reaching a ledge large enough to take a break on. I curled up facing the view before me and slept. Pieces of my heart had been cleaned out and rebuilt. I had done a lot of work and it was exhausting. I was tired. That deep weary exhaustion that takes months to overcome.

I learned a lot about myself. About who I was and why. I learned that everything in my life had a purpose. I still wished fervently that I would not wake up in the morning, or that I could have learned some of these things in a different way. But I also didn’t want to die anymore, and I could see that my past had purpose. It’s an odd juxtaposition to have residing in oneself. I got used to it. I learned things little by little. As I slept and regained some of my strength I would notice there was still a very steep and very sheer cliff behind me.

It would make me tired again. So I’d turn back to the view and just gaze. I had to get used to this new me. It was strange to finally feel like I was me and not just a mass of contradictions and pain. And the hate. Well that one was new. I know why my parents are the way they are. I get it. That does not excuse their behavior nor does it diminish the effects they had on me. The destruction they caused was undeniable. Kind of like a nuclear bomb. Years later and finally I was able to start cleaning up and thinking about inhabiting myself once again.

I bounced around a lot at this time. I understand now that the vacillation between past and present is an important part of my healing process. In order to get used to myself if I had to go back to who I was before. I had to get used to the new pieces of me before I was comfortable inside them. I still had a lot of PTSD triggers as well.

But overall, I realized I had come a long way. Relief was my main feeling at this time. Relief and exhaustion. I just wanted to sleep. And I did. A lot. I must have slept more than twelve hours a day multiple times a week. I was still isolated, still just trying to survive and function semi-humanely.

And the rest was very necessary. I had overextended myself for so many years. Been wide open to everything everyone felt. Been so beat up by expectations I had accepted from others. I had challenged them and found them to be lies, just as I had found everything I thought I knew about God to be lies. I started to question everything. And I mean literally everything.

I have a very detail oriented personality. I refuse to stop searching until I feel I have a complete picture. And since everything is so intimately connected, I am always being led into new areas. So I let this time of rest be for fine tuning some of the things I learned about myself. I fleshed out aspects of my Self, and healed them up. I was basically in a convalescent state emotionally, mentally, spiritually, energetically, and physically.

The effects of all this on my body were obvious to me. I remember one day, sitting in my therapist’s office. She said something, and something inside me clicked. And the pain I had been in for about sixteen years just vanished. It was gone. Now it came back after a few hours, but it was easier to bear. The intensity of it had decreased. And I had moments in the morning where I would wake up and the pain was nonexistent.

That was how I felt in every aspect of my Self. The pain was still there, but it was easier. And I had moments where I was free from it. So I rested and reveled in the newness of a life that was less painful.

Still I was wide open and raw. Being around people was akin to using rock salt to scour a road rash wound. One where the skin and muscle is practically ground hamburger down to the bone. I was overly sensitive and tender to everyone around me. The isolation continued.

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