It’s been so long since I wrote anything in this blog, let alone came to it. I’ve been laying here reading my old words, and realizing the changes in me over the last year and some months.
I had a hysterectomy done. Changes meds. Changed mindset! Changed my life. I’m now disabled, and unhappily so, but working on it.
I’ve had my share of ache in the last year, including body, mind, soul, and heart. I’ve fallen, gotten up, and fallen again. I’m in the process of getting back up.
My heart and my mind are in two very different places, and my body isn’t anywhere near where I’m at. It’s sick, tired, and worn down. It’s bloated, overweight, pale, and bruised. My mind’s eye of what I am is nothing close to the body I’m living in. I can’t express the disconnect when your body is nothing like it’s been before. I’m fat, and feel disgusting 90% of the time. Though I know that I’m not my body, and my body isn’t me, I can’t help but look in the mirror and feel hallow. Like my self disconnection is so severe that I’ll never reconnect. I love myself as a human being and as a woman, however this body… so unfamiliar… is hard for me to love.
Don’t get the wrong impression, and think I’ve given up on myself, because that’s far from the truth. I simply don’t feel what others see, and don’t see what others feel. As though my emotional response to my own skin is so wildly different from the men I expose it to. When I feel sexy, I feel the me I used to be rise up and take control. Confident. Rambunctious. Free. The body I’m in now has so many limitations, and flaws that if I had to watch myself in a mirror each time I removed my clothing for another, I hate to think celibacy would be my only way. I can sense the reaction from my partners, and know that if it weren’t for the confidence in eluding, that I would be far from sexy in their eyes. This is new to me, and though I’m aware of it, I push it far back in my mind and try to enjoy myself. It’s the only recreation I have. Perhaps one day someone will see in me who I am, and past the fleshy caging that holds me hostage.
I have been in therapy for the last 6 months, and though it’s hard, I’ve been making progress. We’ve been working on the trauma I’ve been diagnosed, and though I could easily deny the pain and anguish that was left upon my soul, I am better off admitting to the still open wounds. How embarrassing is it to say that 28 years later, you’re still hurting from something others have long forgotten? That 15 years ago the actions of another left marks upon my heart that still affect the way I love? It is such a silly thing to let the world hurt you so. And yet here I am; diagnosed with PTSD, and forcing myself to speak of my abusers. Of what makes me sick to my stomach to discuss, and think of. Leaving each session feeling lighter, but nauseated.
I guess over the last year I’ve made changes in ways that will benefit me in the long run, but for now just weigh heavily on my mind. Literally weigh heavily on my body. Let’s see what the next year has to offer, and if this time I’ll keep up.
Wish me luck.