Now I know, I don't have to do this alone

 The last couple weeks, I've sat and tried to write quite a few different times and nothing has seemed to stick, feel right, or be anything more than just rambles. Even the journaling lately has been pretty repetitive, seeming to have fallen into a bit of groundhog day feels. Much like adulting life, the same tasks day after day, life flying by without feeling like anything of substance has happened.  The last few months in general have been less than fruitful, especially after trying to rebalance myself with medication changes. And as anyone who has taken anti-depressants knows, any change comes with a litany of side effects, the worst of which can be worse than the depression ever was. I was numb to life even at times when I didn't want to be and that was worse than any feeling I had in the past years. Shit, even when I had pretty much given up on life it was a very different kind of numb and this felt worse. Days when I should have felt happy, joyful, sad, upset, and anything else it was just nothing. Getting though day-to-day life was a drag because there was truly nothing to look forward to. The bare minimum got done around the house, often only when things got to the point that I started to hate myself for being lazy. I was lucky if I cared enough to shower once a week. School was there and I got it done because I knew that I needed to since I still have deadlines. The weather over this winter sure didn't help much either, cycling from cold to warm to cold to what the fuck is going on. But when there is no energy or motivation, doing the things I know are good for me just didn't get done. I got out on the ice with the girls a couple of times. The snowshoes stayed stacked in the basement. Dust built up on the beading supplies and even the dot paintings for Christmas gifts felt forced to finish. 

Therapy was a constant presence, working on index traumas and constantly breaking down more of the walls that have been built up in my mind over the twelve years of my career, keeping me accountable to the healing process. But even that wasn't enough because there just wasn't the emotional consistency and ability to let it do the healing work that I am used to. If there was one thing that I had working for me during that time, the fact that I had done all the work advocating for myself while still working, I knew that I needed to make a change, so I did what I needed to do and refused to allow the medication to dictate my life. So I let the side effects have their time again, even going down dosage they are there. But slowly I started to feel more again. The light started to feel like it was breaking though the fog, life started to make sense again. I started to feel like myself, like I might actually take steps forward instead of fighting and clawing to even stay where I was while constantly fearing a backslide. Things hurt when they should hurt, they felt good when things were good. I wasn't struggling to get out of bed and relying on caffeine and hate to make if through the days. The house was more under control, and so was caring about myself. Crafting felt relaxing again and new ideas started working their way out of the woodwork. Yet something still felt like it was missing but I was struggling to put my finger on it. 

One of the things that I have come to rely on even since before life got all kinds of fucked up has been music, which has permeated my writing here and in the journals. Over the past month or so, there has been a number of bangers that have helped to push the reset forward. I think the most impactful has been Afraid of the Dark by Motionless in White. Lyrically, it has been a long time since a song slapped me across the face. If you haven't listened to it, do yourself a favour and listen. Probably a few times since it takes a few tries to fully enjoy the subtle nuances and power of the lyrics. Just after the breakdown and the beautifully executed "blech" a pair of lines hit and no matter how many times I listen, there are always goosebumps.

"You'll feel the pain, the rage that feeds on the hurt, On every scar that took me twenty fucking years to earn...And now I know, I don't have to do this alone...a creature that found a home."

That is what has been missing. Not having to do it alone. Community and connection. Over the past weekend, I had a chance to attend the later half of the Alberta First Responder Association symposium and gala with Boots on the Ground. Walking into the ballroom, the energy itself was healing. Booths of psychologists there to help first responders, non-profits that provide safe spaces for healing to happen, everyone there for a common goal of making sure no one has to do it alone. It was the same kind of feeling that I felt during other Boots events, regardless of how uncomfortable I might have been in a place full of people, there was also a sense of calm. In that room, the community and connection that helps healing happen. It's impossible to not be inspired, not only to keep healing but to keep pushing forward toward the goal of being there to help others. Finding connection with the Boots team, being able to be surrounded by others who share the common goal of helping first responders has truly helped over the past year to find a sense of purpose outside of being a student. It has helped me to transition away from the RCMP in a healthier way, while there is still an immense amount of anger about how the past years of my career went, finding a way of giving back has helped me heal. I never would have imagined a couple years ago, hell, in reality last year as I was getting ready to leave the north, that I would be looking forward to doing outreach events. Being out in public, looking to have conversations with people and make connections, as anyone who knows me knows that I am the opposite of a social person, yet something about the Boots table draws out the desire to be okay with being uncomfortable. Like being there lets the light further in, making the darkness seem not so dark. 

I've learned over the past years that healing hurts more than the injury did to develop. Wounds that appear to be healed get torn open and the infected tissue has to get cut out before the scar can be stitched closed and monitored to ensure that it doesn't open again. Turns out that 12 years of shit makes a lot of scars and needs a lot of work to heal. And the index traumas aren't even the worst part, at least for me. Sure, they're viscerally brutal, but they make sense as to why there is trauma associated to the event. Yet the ones that lurk below, the moral injuries, the sanctuary trauma, the scars that are hidden under the surface that need to be found to be healed, fuck me are those sessions awful. That healing has to happen alone. Learning to not hate what I've seen in the mirror has taken me a long time, and I know that no one else can do that work for me. But finding community, finding connection has made the hurt a little less some days. And it's healthy community, which makes a true world of a difference.

One of the discussions that happened at the gala was talking about stigma and what it means for people to have a diagnosis. It can happen where having PTSD, or depression, or anxiety, or all of the above, and the impact of having the disorder. Do you have the disorder or do you live with the disorder? I'm still at the point that I have the disorders and they still have a substantial hold on me. But the grip is weakening. Obviously, the goal is to be able to say that I live with PTSD and that it doesn't guide my life movements. Will it happen? I can hope, I can work, and I can push. That's really it, I've learned that putting too much pressure on healing makes the bad days linger and have more of an impact than they should. The pressure to keep healing, or to try and maintain momentum can be detrimental to my process because I start to fall into the trap of expectations and putting pressure on myself. 

I'll close with one more from the same song, which shows just how well it captures the journey of healing.

"We can't see the end from the start...But I don't fear the dark"