While trying to pick out a title for this, I thought about my goals and the things that were driving my life right now. In a brief fit of laughter I realized I had gone from a teenager that avoided being grounded at all costs to now actively seeking it out. Despite the different meanings, it is the same basic principle. Being grounded as a child, for me, meant the lack of any distractions or frivolity as a way to reflect on my misdemeanors. Now, I suppose I still seek the lack of distractions and bright, flashing triggers to remain grounded and conscious.
I've experienced dissociation more times than I can remember (haha). It started before the second, and more prominent, trauma occurred in my life. In my younger years, I can remember spending hours in my closet almost everyday. It was my safe haven at the time. Eventually, I couldn't hide in there anymore so I began to dissociate. Though that may be too much of an umbrella term to use here.
I still don't like to refer to my childhood as traumatic, my old therapist liked to argue that point a bit too much. It wasn't the hard hitting drama of war or violation but a slower, poisonous type of pain that often came in the distinct form of my father. I doubt he remembers much of it, as I've heard alcohol inhibits the memory, but I remember it in enough detail for the both of us. I always hated how fear heightened the senses, even if it was the same fear over and over again. It was because of fear that I lived in perfect clarity, excluding any dissociation.
I've been lucky enough now to meet a friend that has an understanding of the trauma I have experienced and never fails to support and encourage me. I'm sure she will be mentioned multiple times in this journal so I will refer to her as "A". So, now that I've briefly introduced the PTSD side of me and my best friend, I believe it is time to conclude this entry.
Until next time,
Emily
I've experienced dissociation more times than I can remember (haha). It started before the second, and more prominent, trauma occurred in my life. In my younger years, I can remember spending hours in my closet almost everyday. It was my safe haven at the time. Eventually, I couldn't hide in there anymore so I began to dissociate. Though that may be too much of an umbrella term to use here.
I still don't like to refer to my childhood as traumatic, my old therapist liked to argue that point a bit too much. It wasn't the hard hitting drama of war or violation but a slower, poisonous type of pain that often came in the distinct form of my father. I doubt he remembers much of it, as I've heard alcohol inhibits the memory, but I remember it in enough detail for the both of us. I always hated how fear heightened the senses, even if it was the same fear over and over again. It was because of fear that I lived in perfect clarity, excluding any dissociation.
I've been lucky enough now to meet a friend that has an understanding of the trauma I have experienced and never fails to support and encourage me. I'm sure she will be mentioned multiple times in this journal so I will refer to her as "A". So, now that I've briefly introduced the PTSD side of me and my best friend, I believe it is time to conclude this entry.
Until next time,
Emily
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