Trauma & Trepidation
Last week when I found myself sitting on my kitchen floor organizing my cleaning products to avoid doing it, I realized I have a pretty serious problem. Given my poor housekeeping skills the last thing I care about is how Comet and Draino hang-out under my sink. But the thought of doing what I was blatantly avoiding filled me with dread. As I shoved the box of cleaners under the sink I knew the moment was upon me. My heart started pounding and sweat broke out on my forehead. When I walked over to my computer I felt dizzy and nauseous. Intense doom invaded every cell of my body. The certainty of total global annihilation made me want to fling myself off my balcony to avoid such an ugly demise.
I wish I was exaggerating, but I'm not. After enduring the financial devastation of five years of Fibro, followed by four years of not working, this is what happens when I try to pay the bills. With a sinking heart I realized I was dealing with a physiological response to an emotional reaction, caused by trauma. So now not only does going to the doctor invade my soul with so much fear and trepidation I act like a crazy lady, writing the rent check does, too. Is there no end to my problems? I mean come on now, it's been a struggle, but I never went homeless or starved. Sure, we lived outside our means for many years, and it almost took us down, but I do believe the worst is behind me. At least I thought my conscious mind did. Clearly I was mistaken.
The amount of real life I've avoided facing as a coping mechanism is astounding. Only now as I'm slowly able to add more responsibility back onto my plate do I realize how far out of control life got. I remember the early years of this illness, how I sat there and watched the dishes, laundry and life pile up around me, too sick to stand up and do anything about it. My type-A wanted to kill me! Learning how to ignore her ranting demands was a huge challenge. Somehow we co-existed, and I now find myself in a position to reclaim some of my lost ground. So today I faced the same heart-pounding, gut-wrenching reaction, and even managed to spend an hour laying out at the pool to avoid my dreaded responsibility. But when I came inside I poured a big glass of water, threw all the paperwork into a pile in the middle of the living room and took a bite out of my fear. And I survived. I'll count that as progress.
Thanks for joining,