I have had this YouTube post from my man Patrick Teahan up in a tab for almost a week now because it’s given me a lot to think about and digest.

He says things like this :

” Many of us don’t have a reference point for what⁠ it looks like to be free of our trauma narrative that runs us.⁠ – Patrick Teahan “

And how. I have no solid recollection of mental health in me. I think that’s because, in the strictest sense, I have only truly been sane for the two years of my life when I was going to UPEI and the fours years of my life before I was raped.

And I suppose being a sane infant or toddler doesn’t count for much.

And that phrase, “trauma narrative”, is really resonating with me. I know that my personal narrative of neglect and isolation is not a healthy one. It is, in fact, quite toxic, and yet I don’t really know how to overcome it so I can replace it with something far more conducive to a healthy happy life.

I’ve been chipping away at it by reminding myself that I am, actually, magically delicious and one heck of a guy, and that while my life is unfulfilling it could be a lot worse.

I have a safe and stable home in which to try to become sane, with wonderful supportive friends without whom my life would be so much harder.

And I am grateful for all of that. I truly am.

Perhaps I can overcome the surfeit of bitterness that made me unable to be grateful for what I have before, and that could do me a heck of a lot of good.

I need an antidote for all those psychological toxins in my bloodstream.

I need a way out of needing a way out.

Patrick also says this about being the opposite of your trauma :

1. That it’s okay to be seen.⠀⁠

I have a lot of trouble with this. My maladaptation has been isolation for so long that I have lost my tolerance for real social exposure and as much as part of me craves attention another part of me wants to disappear underground forever.

Part of me hates feeling like I am invisible and another wishes I truly was.

2. That it’s safe to be you.⠀⁠

I don’t even know who that is. My total lack of emotional adolescence means that I went on almost no part of the journey of self-discovery we are meant to experience on our way to becoming our own authentic selves, in our teens and twenties, so all I can do when faced with the question of who I am is throw up my hands and say, “I dunno. ”

I have a version of me going that people seem to like and that might actually blossom into something healthy and useful in time.

It’s not the only person I could be – I contain multitudes – but it will do for now

3. That people want realness⁠ and not our false protective selves.⁠

I’m not so sure about that. It sounds good in theory and it’s what anyone wants from someone they care about, but in practice they might like the real me a lot less.

From where I stand now, it feels like the “real me” would be a lot angrier, pushier, more demanding, more domineering, and a lot more selfish and self-satisfied.

Maybe not a monster but way harder to deal with. That might not be the worst thing in the world if it leads to greater happiness for myself.

But at what cost?

More after the break.

---

So many winters

The image of my heart being buried under the snows of many winters popped into my head a little while ago.

It seems apt. It would explain why it’s taking so long to excavate myself. I didn’t get buried this deep in the permafrost overnight and I am not going to unbury myself overnight either, so I must be patient with myself.

But being patient sucks. I want freedom now, god damn it!

Fast forward into summer, let the flood come. Whoosh. Wash everything clean and let my poor frozen heart melt free of the icepack and dry in the sun.

But I guess that’s not in the cards either. Inasmuch as I have designed myself at all, I have made myself, the person you know and love, with stability in mind. The brief, such as it was, was, as always, to be able to just keep trudging forward no matter what.

Not that I ever get anywhere, of course. So in a way it’s an eternal treadmill, or maybe my very own hamster wheel. It satisfies my need for the feeling of progress without all that “things actually changing” nonsense.

Stability in motion, folks! Rolling monotony.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the image of myself as being strapped in and tied down to my current life, a la Clockwork Orange, and I think I can use it as a way to motivate myself to change in order to “escape”.

It really does feel like there’s a force like gravity that keeps me in this same magnetically locked and bonded position. When I try to resist, the forcefield surges with a menacing hum and I slam back down and get plastered to my seat like I am riding the Gravitron.

Only a lot less fun. I love the Gravitron. It’s my favorite ride.

I am tempted to call this mystical force something like my fear of change, and that’s correct as far as it goes but it does not go far. It’s a valid but incomplete answer.

I guess we’re basically back to the caterpillar and the fixed sense of self. To my mind, changing who I am is way too much like dying and I don’t have the kind of courage it takes to surrender all form to be remade anew yet.

So I am going to have to continues to creep up on change incrementally, passively awaiting the passing of some deep tipping point to change everything without me ever having to choose to change.

Death by natural causes, in effect.

I am a thing that changes.

Repeat until believed.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.