My emotions are so raw and close to the surface. I am so in need of care and comfort. I think I am conveying this to my therapist, but she isn’t seeing it, or her responses are too clinical or (my great fear, of course), she doesn’t want to meet it. Or, most likely explanation,…
I’m doing better than I was, but I feel I should be seeing more evidence of it. Instead, I’m still depleted and get almost nothing done.
I wake up at 4 am, again this morning. I turn away from the alarm clock and press myself against my husband. Don’t think, I tell myself. Don’t think, and maybe you can go back to sleep. It doesn’t work. Deep, restful sleep is a phantom, a fairy maybe, flitting among the gradually greening trees,…
Pause those efforts to build healthy routines. Stop processing old trauma. Don’t worry about emotional healing. It’s withdrawal time.
Over the past six weeks, I’ve been working with a new psych nurse to clean up my overly medicated brain.
My body’s there, but my mind (and spirit) are gone.
This is a story about what you get when you put together body work, psychopharmacology, lots of trauma therapy, and one very tired woman.