This “healing” journey all started with my journal. My journal allowed me to see things for what they were, and realize the damage that had been done and allowed me to tend to these wounds rather than let them bleed out. My journal is so chaotic. One page I’m writing lines about how at peace I am with myself, and the next pages contain words like “demon” and “kill”.
I put the word, healing, in quotations because my definition of this word has took a 360 degree turn from what I first defined it as. I started this journey thinking it was going to be a linear graph, only going up from where I started. And that was far from the opposite. I pictured the process of healing as picture perfect.
I thought therapy was going to be ground breaking, I though the flashbacks and crying spells that followed would gradually stop but it was the opposite. My happy episodes would last as long as a month and as short as a couple of days, and everything in between, I was a mess.
Realizing that this process is not a straight line has helped me be okay that when looked at on a graph my healing journey has been a straight line, has gone up and down, sideways and turned inside out.
I am not going to disclose the trauma I am referencing to within this post, I am not sure if I ever will, but for now I know that now is not the time.
I hid the aftermath and depression from everyone, including myself. The first step I had to take, was simply admitting it to myself that the assault had happened in the first place. I say simple, but it had taken two years of endless suppression to finally say it out loud. I find it insane how just admitting it to myself could open up so many wounds. Wounds I had forced myself to forget were there. Thoughts that I had been suppressing for so long overcame me and my mind and I had no clue where to turn and how to handle it. And that is when I started using journaling as an outlet. And turning the negativity into a form of art that I could create with ink and a bullet journal.
That is where this will wind of a roller coaster started, with reflection. And that is why I now see it as a power for people to reflect. The ignoring and concealing of the past was easy. But it wasn’t until I sat down and came to terms with what I was doing to myself to realize that my coping mechanisms were eating me alive. Until I had written down what had happened onto that paper, every time those thoughts would even remotely pop up into my head, my only form of coping was to distract myself. Until about six months ago I had never let myself feel the emotions and the grief my body and mind so desperately needed to endure. Just letting my heart cry and feel, was the best thing I could ever do for myself.