Today…. again, is a hard day. I keep finding some sort of normal and then the rug gets pulled back out. It’s like a brand new betrayal and my heart and stomach are twisted and pulled in knots.
Everything already happened. Nothing new has happened. But every single thing I see that I had not seen or read or heard before renews this trauma. It feels so hopeless, so unending, so permanent. I feel no hope. I know it hasn’t been long, but it feels like I should be able to stop thinking about it all the time, every day. My kids say something, I see something on TV, husband says something, and I am triggered. And I hate that word. It makes me feel weak. But that is the only word I know. I snap back to the day I found out, the first day, the week later, and finally the week after that. All the feelings, the shakes, the nausea, the inability to breathe or see clearly, the utter panic, it all sets in.
I can’t eat on days like today. I force myself because I feel my body giving up on itself and I need to be able to make it through the day. I have lost 13lbs in just over a month. I have thrown up more times in the past month than I think I have my entire life, combined. I have absolutely no words to express how it all feels. The words I use feel empty and false. Pain, distress, trauma, panic, hollow, fear, insecure… all those words feel like calling the Atlantic Ocean a puddle.
I want to believe in tomorrow, but I worry…. What if it never gets better?