Re-Traumatization and Open Wounds
Trigger warnings for trauma, mental health. I'm OKAY, even if I'm not.
One week ago, I went through a psychological evaluation process in order to get a complete picture of where I'm at and what assistance I might need. It was... Intense. It was also on the public holiday celebrating Matariki, the beginning of the Māori new year. I thought to myself, you know what? I can do this. I've talked about this stuff before. I've had counselling. I've done A Lot of self-work to heal and grow.
I was so fucking wrong.
Holy shit.
This was not the beginning to the new year that I wanted.
I don't think I've actually sat and gone through ALL the traumatic events in my life so clearly, out loud, from the first that I can recall to the most recent. I've whispered singular events to individuals here and there, tucked others into the pockets of strangers and friends, never letting any one person hold the full burden. The list is huge. All the things that haunt me and have shaped me into who I am today.
Which, some days mostly looks like a trauma response. Am I person beneath all of those layers, beneath the years? I don't fucking know. Some days, I don't think so. Some days I feel like a fucking shell without a crab. The armour discarded because what is inside me grew too unwieldy, too ugly and mishappen to fit inside.
Are any of us more than the experiences of our lives though? How can I still be so caught up in these things when without them I wouldn't be who I am? Because on some level I know that I am kind and compassionate, that I have so much insight into the human experience, the ability to put myself in other people's shoes because of what has happened to me.
And yet...
Anyway, I know that it's not the intention of these processes to split a person open, even if you do need to be willing to pick the scabs off all your wounds and expose them to someone else in order to get the right kind of treatment. The psychologist was lovely. My counsellor was there for extra support too. (I wasn't sure if I wanted the extra body in the room, but I think that it gave her a far more in-depth picture of who I am and what I'm dealing with - what she is going to be part of trying to help me recover from.)
I kind of feel sorry for her. I'm surely not the most complicated person she's had to deal with, by any means, but still. Even if she's not family or a friend, I feel the burden placed on her. Feel that trauma brain whispering in my ear about shit I am, how hard I make things for others, how worthless, how undeserved. How many people have it worse than you, Cassie? They should be here, and you should just shut up and deal.
It was a safe space, and it was done in the most compassionate way that it could. But for some reason, this time, I couldn't just tape down the scabs and carry on. I feel broken open. Confronted. In a near constant state of hyperarousal, alert and warry, unable to relax in the way it feels like I'd not long managed to teach myself how to do.
Fuck.
I'm frozen, unable to do the things that need doing, but also unable to relax. None of my meds are helping with this right now, and that's causing extra mood issues because they normally do, but now I just feel more broken than ever. What was all that work for, if I am all of a sudden not coping now?
Is this the actual rock bottom? When none of your coping methods work anymore. When you cannot distract yourself from the truth because it's perched on your chest, screaming in your face?
I fucking hate it, that's all I know. And I don't want to feel like this, and I'm really pissed off that I've recovered from the worst of my coping mechanisms like drinking too much because damn, I wish I wanted a drink.
Writing this has helped dispel some of the tension (so, thanks!), and I have counselling again in a few days where hopefully I can begin to work on some kind of reset. I'm not sure how I'll get anything of value done while I'm a walking open wound. Smiling, pretending that everything is fine and normal and I'm not a shattered shell, that what looks like gold glue, holding me together is actually poisoned lead. I want to be a beautiful piece of kintsugi. Maybe one day I will be.
I mean, at least now I'm having a much easier time identifying trauma brain when it's whispering in my ear. That's something, right?
Anyway, welcome, to my new official diagnosis of complex post-traumatic stress disorder. Join the fucking club.
Thank you for your courage in writing this. That feeling of being "broken open" is one of the hardest places to be. I wanted to offer a few thoughts from the outside. It's taken me a while to parse this and I had to read it a couple times, so bear with me if this doesn't sound coherent 🙂
First, don't worry about your counsellor. You're not a burden; you are the work she has chosen and trained for. You are fulfilling her purpose; helping you is giving her meaning. Seeing the whole picture fills her toolbox her to help you find the gold in the mine of your past.
Second, I dig your kintsugi metaphor. Right now, you might feel like shattered pottery, but this process isn't the end. This is the moment before the beautiful repair, and sometimes you have to be broken open for the light to get in. Yeah, you might come out with glue on your fingers, but all that work you did before wasn't for nothing. It's what made you strong enough to face this. This is part of the process, not a reset to the beginning.
Finally, that voice telling you others have it worse: tell it to get rekt. It's not a pain contest. Your pain is valid, and you are the only person you need to be focusing on healing right now.
That last part (that you can identify trauma brain) is the winning ticket. That's proof this is working.
I can really relate to the feelings you shared here.
It's been about 8 years now since I sat and went through the same process and received my CPTSD diagnosis and I'm not going to lie and say that there haven't been many more times since that I've felt my trauma ripped open like this, but I know myself and my traumatized parts so much better now and I am finally in a place where I know the difference between who I really am and who my trauma makes me believe I am.
It gets better, and then harder again, but with every journey through the depths, you get to know yourself and what you need to be able to keep moving forward towards becoming a whole and complete person. Or at least a collection of yous that can coexist and live a fulfilling life, despite the trauma. ❤️🔥