I had a plan for writing today for today, but as with life, my body and mind have other ideas.

I had been looking forward to decompressing a bit about the last month. I woke up tired, as I am shaking the last bit of a cold that I got the last couple of days during our honeymoon. Oli and I had too many errands this morning, and we got back, I laid down for a short bit before getting up to work and write. During that time, a panic/terror like feeling set in to my body. I feel anxious and panicky. I want to curl up and cry. And there is no rhyme or reason to the why.

These are the times I feel helpless and hopeless. No matter what the tools, no matter what progress, what amazing things are happening or have happened, no matter what, this shit is inside just waiting. That is the thing with trauma like this, you don’t “get over” it, it doesn’t go away. Yes, time has changed it, in so many ways I am so much better. Which is good. I am able to hold both joy and grief, which at the beginning, I never thought possible. But the night of May 8th, the trauma, is part of me, and sometimes hijacks me against my will. Most times, there is something I can link it to. Like recently, when a gazillion police cars whizzed by and gave me a panic attack that left me shaking and in tears, that made sense. This, today, no idea.

I am going through the motions, trying to ignore the panic, the unreasonable thoughts, the seed of hopelessness that is burrowing in saying all the horrific lying things it does. I have my tools. I am have learned when to push and when to listen.

All I can do is wait for it to pass, because I know it will, and hope that is sooner versus later.