Meadow

This blog is basically something that I’ve considered, started and stopped at many points in my life. I’ve always been torn between the desire to share my experience – hoping that it will help someone else, and feeling like writing about myself is just the most annoying, self-indulgent thing to do.

With that said, I recently came across an old Quora account that made me reconsider the limitations of my perspective. This Quora user has since passed on, but he seemed like such an interesting, unique person who had immense value to offer others because of his experiences. I read with fascination through many of his responses to the most random questions (in this case, he had been to jail and he detailed that quite a bit. I’ve never been to jail, and I doubt I ever will – but I guess you never know).

But it made me think. We are in a unique time, because until humanity undoes itself (which, realistically, could be any day now) – our words can leave a lasting impact on those combing through all the noise on the internet out there. And maybe, when someone reads this – hopefully, they will feel a little less alone.

I’ve been in different states of mind when seeking to write about my life with CPTSD. At some points, I’ve felt strong and happy, like a lighthouse that seeks to guide boats on choppy seas ashore. Other times, I have been so deeply depressed and in pain that it feels like my soul is being ripped from my body and brought to another plane of existence that only functions to torture me.

I’m not currently my healthiest, nor am I at my worst. I’ve been coping with a long period of introspection, which always happens when I have taken too long to check-in and center myself/verify my identity. I’ve been analyzing some of my past choices and confirming whether or not they were right for me.

I have a tendency to get lost walking through the halls of my mind. I might be floating along, having a decent enough day, or maybe even a great month, and then a random series of words will suck me deep into a weeks or monthslong battle that causes me to fully question my identity and analyze all the choices that I’ve made. I’ll feel the weight of those decisions like they were yesterday, and experience all the ensuing emotional fallout. I’m left exhausted and frustrated with myself, even if I ultimately recognize that I made the right choice. If I reflect and think I made the wrong choice – that’s when shit gets very, very dark.

When my questioning goes deep enough, even reality itself becomes subject to questioning. And not in the “I’m having fun wondering about the nature of existence” sense (because I do that, too) – in the “this is all a fabrication, no one is really alive and I’m just a character in someone else’s sick game” sense.

I have a lot of issues with trust, obviously. Authority and control are other major obstacles for me. I have a fair amount of insight into shutting down and emotional flooding. I had “selective mutism” when I was younger, and when I am really upset, I still become incapable of forming words. I’m a well and full adult that hides in closets and cries. These are all things I hope to get into detail on in this blog. I hope that sometimes, my experience and observations may even make you laugh.

What else do we have in the absurdity of life, after all?

Much love,

Meadowlark