Guess who's back...

How the hell is it August already.

And how the hell have i gone this long without writing. The honest truth, I've felt like I'm just trying to get by through a lot of days again. I started going back to work in January and even with reduced hours the entire time, it has not been easy. The organization itself holds so much residual trauma that being in the office takes a toll, even when I'm living my new roll as Will Ferrell in "The Other Guys". Paper bitch. That's my life now, just administrative work. I made peace, or thought I did, many months ago but being in the office, not being able to go for drives, help out with calls, do anything other than paper has been a lot harder than I thought it would be. The visceral reaction to hearing certain calls echo on the radio tells me that being off the road is the only way forward. I can't go back to how I was, the constant IBS, the broken sleeps, the permanent pissed off attitude. I know that the best thing for me is to be the paper bitch but fuck its hard. You spend so many years getting good at what you do and to be so close to it and yet so far away is a lot more draining than I thought it would be.

There's been a lot of ups and downs too since I wrote last. Random days where nightmares happened and the day is doomed from the outset. Days where no matter what I do to ground, to reset, to sit with the emotions and try to figure out where they came from and don't have any luck. Those are the hardest days, the days that felt like my old life, the days that drain every ounce of energy out of you and make you question if it's worth getting out of bed again. Question if it's worth going forward. Those are the scary days because after you survive so long, when your brain betrays you again, when the exhaustion hits like a truck, do you want to do it again tomorrow? Surviving isn't easy, healing isn't easy. It takes so much away from living. And then you lose the things that you fought so hard for. I went months without beading because I didn't have the mental energy to be creative after dealing with days of paperwork and then coming home to do school. I dragged myself along, willing myself to just get through another day, then another and before I knew it, I was just trying to survive again. 

The symptoms weren't as bad, at least physically, I wasn't shitting 10 times a day and I could still eat okay, but the fog came back. The light wasn't coming through as strong. I wasn't avoiding but I wasn't engaging either. I found myself teetering on the edge of the pit more often than I wanted to be.

Unfortunately as I've learned there's no magic wand to wave or no switch to flip. It's constant hard work, it's taking time to center and ground, it's shorter timers on apps and alarms to limit school time. It's taking real breaks and going for short walks. It's a diffuser full of smells in the office and trying to limit myself to less than a pot of coffee. Sleep is still fickle and as most first responders know, melatonin is the devil, making nightmares way too vivid. So I try sleep maintenance still, similar bed times, alarms in the morning to work on getting out of bed. It came up at coffee one day, what's something you miss about being younger and for me it's definitely being able to fall asleep and sleep through the night.

Thankfully on a more positive note, I've been able to start reincorporating fitness into my life. I found a plan that works, Crossfit Linchpin, because it gives me the chance to pick my daily poison and do what works best for me that day. I still hate running and don't do burpees, but I can get a good sweat and I've seen some strength come back. But now it's different. I'm not working out for the sake of not being a liability at a call, I'm not worrying about if I'm able to win a fight or if I take a couple days off that I'm going to be the reason someone else gets hurt. Now, I'm doing it for me, to be healthy and able to keep up with my girls. To be able to hike longer or find that elusive lake off in the bush without dying on the way there. I don't feel bad for taking rest days and can accept being slower and weaker than I was 10 years ago because I'm older and more fucked up now. 

My psychologist tasked me with doing more for me again. To do the things that helped me so much over the last 18 months. Not long ago it was the great northern arts festival here in Inuvik, which brought out some of the most talented artists from across the territories. It was inspiring on so many levels, to see the quality of the work and the vast differences in styles from the different communities. It lit a fire again, got the creative brain spinning and I dug my needles back out and started projects and planning for the winter months. It's amazing what one little activity can do. I have balance again. I can do school, I can do self care and chores and still make time for me, to be creative and feel proud as I design and accomplish things. 

To steal a line, that if you don't know it friends off, life finds a way. I found life again leaving Kelowna and took for granted those days. I let routine take hold and starting losing that life. Started surviving again, started letting the demons win again, started questioning myself again. Then life found a way to kick me in the ass and say don't survive, live.

Will it be another 8 months before I write again? Hopefully not. But I make no promises because while life finds a way, it also has a tendency to fly by and being busy living sounds better than survive