Trauma can be a sharp edge invisibly cutting a relationship apart.
___
This is part two of a series exploring emotional trauma, PTSD, and their effect on relationships and personal growth. You can find part one here.
Writing about myself in an authentic way is hard. It’s a vulnerable place. I don’t live in a vacuum, which means as I write about myself I invariably end up writing about other people. This makes the writing more difficult. If I worry too much about who I’m writing about, I can lose my authenticity as I skirt the uncomfortable moments we’ve shared. I can also lose my authenticity if I become hurtful with my words towards others, focusing on their perceived shortcomings or subtly jabbing their character with intellectual metaphor or manufacturing falsities—intentionally or not.
I try my best to set my ego aside, to write from a place of empathy while staying authentic and raw with my experience.
|
I try my best to set my ego aside, to write from a place of empathy while staying authentic and raw with my experience.
NOTE: I haven’t sought counseling from someone specializing in PTSD yet. I don’t know if I suffer from PTSD myself or just had to deal with a suffering parent or a combination of both. I do know that my recent experience in a relationship with someone who does struggle with PTSD has shed light on myself and my past in ways I hadn’t considered.
◊♦◊
Our meeting was unconventional, a long distance connection with no part supportive of a developing an intimate relationship beyond a sense of bonding from a place beyond words. That may sound like romanticism, but it’s not. I can’t describe it. As much as we think we are rational and deliberate in our actions, much of who we are is unconscious. Her and I both coming from traumatic backgrounds certainly played a role. Perhaps, in part, it was an unconscious way for us to try to break the bond to our pasts.
As much as we think we are rational and deliberate in our actions, much of who we are is unconscious.
|
Part of me bitterly wants to forget, to erase everything that happened between us. It tells me that I was temporarily insane, a fool. Needy. It tells me I should know better and to never expose myself like that again, never entertain such ridiculous circumstances in order to experience love. It scoffs at the notion of romantic fate, that love is timeless and immune to distance. It laughs that it’s all crap and that I’m just a tragic heap of warped emotion.
Another part says not to dismiss it, to be kind to her and I, that there was something special and important shared with her, that even though it was unbearably painful, it wasn’t all in vain. It says to be grateful and forgiving. It’s the part of me that knows we shared love in a way we both deeply need, even for only the briefest of moments.
I know these emotions are typical in a rough breakup but a deeper level of pain has been unearthed as well.
◊♦◊
The door
It spins, spins
In they come, out they go
An un-stemmed flow
Too kind, too harsh?
Taker or Giver?
Either, or
The door is still ours
My lover shared early in our relationship that she suffered from PTSD and I accepted that fact with empathy. She’d endured a scale of trauma that left me breathless and my heart broke for her. I did not define her by her illness but I made the mistake of not educating myself past a cursory review until it was too late. I regret that, it would have helped me understand the complexities of the illness and how to help her when she struggled. It would have also helped me understand the inexplicable emotions that tore through me as well.
Trading day for night
Lonely moonlight
Waiting for dawn’s meadowlark
Among denizens of the dark
Thief, Wolf, Vampire
Any, all allowed
Into the fold
Across the threshold
Anxiety, a sensation of impending loss, gripped me. I wanted to bolt like a stalked animal.
|
At first I found myself navigating her triggers like a caretaker, trying to understand and not react and take her unsettling responses personal. Usually this was done thousands of miles from her and I felt powerless to help. Eventually I started to struggle with intense emotions that didn’t correlate to the present. Feelings of betrayal and abandonment raged uncontrollably. Anxiety, a sensation of impending loss, gripped me. I wanted to bolt like a stalked animal.
Pieces of craved emotion
Scavenged remains
A patchwork quilt sewn
Of skin and stone
A habit, a routine
It betrays
Shackles needs to pain
Suffering the only gain
My disproportionate emotions terrified me and I shared my feelings with her when they surfaced. Her responses were mostly harsh and defensive, using negative labeling for the entirety of my character. The painful emotions it triggered in me came from somewhere primal. It was more comforting to accept her interpretations of my feelings, my fear of abandonment overriding my sense of self.
Welcomer, Banisher
So beats
The push-pull heart
Things are good until they’re not
Reasons the same
A tidal pulse:
Make them stay
Keep them at bay
Our triggers continued a push-pull dance over time and she began to slowly withdraw, eventually going days without contact or explanation. Sporadic communication through vague texts and emails became exclusive. My attempts to reconnect and share my needs were rebuffed as attempts to control her. This only magnified my anxiety and likely her’s as well.
Close, closer, too close
Run and hide
A shelter, a retreat
From love’s steady beat
Check in
Check out
Absent’s violence
Wrapped in silence
And in losing her, I became overwhelmed by what felt like a lifetime of loss and grief. I felt crippled and alone.
|
The feedback loop of our reactionary emotions intensified until the relationship disintegrated in hurtful ways. And in losing her, I became overwhelmed by what felt like a lifetime of loss and grief. I felt crippled and alone.
Reasons for
Bowing to reasons not
The magic, the beauty lost
Counting the imagined cost
What becomes of the bird of desire
When a yearned need perches the heart?
Of which more is born
Balm or thorn?
And then a friend committed suicide and I almost broke.
◊♦◊
I’m still struggling with feelings of intense loss. I’m filled with a sad numbness most of the time.
It’s been nearly three months since the end of our relationship. I feel like I should be over it, back to living life like I was before her but I’m not. This has left me feeling ashamed and weak. Why in the hell are you still dwelling on this shit, I keep asking myself. I fight between the desire to reach out to her, to try to salvage something, anything, between us while also wanting to purge all reminders of her in attempt to end the stifling pain and sense of loss.
It wasn’t until I happened upon Heidi Hanson’s blog about her personal experience dealing with PTSD that my feelings and desires started to make sense. Her three part series exploring how PTSD disrupts relationships helped me understand the complex dynamics and make connections leading me to suspect I’ve been coping with the effects of PTSD for most of my life.
In my next installment I’ll explore specific traumatic moments in my life and how they correlate to PTSD, my personal struggles and difficulties in relationships.
The door
It spins, spins
In they come, out they go
An un-stemmed flow
Too kind, too harsh?
Taker or Giver?
Either, or
The door is still ours
Trading day for night
Lonely moonlight
Waiting for dawn’s meadowlark
Among denizens of the dark
Thief, Wolf, Vampire
Any, all allowed
Into the fold
Across the threshold
Pieces of craved emotion
Scavenged remains
A patchwork quilt sewn
Of skin and stone
A habit, a routine
It betrays
Shackles needs to pain
Suffering the only gain
Welcomer, Banisher
So beats
The push-pull heart
Things are good until they’re not
Reasons the same
A tidal pulse:
Make them stay
Keep them at bay
Close, closer, too close
Run and hide
A shelter, a retreat
From love’s steady beat
Check in
Check out
Absent’s violence
Wrapped in silence
Reasons for
Bowing to reasons not
The magic, the beauty lost
Counting the imagined cost
What becomes of the bird of desire
When a yearned need perches the heart?
Of which more is born
Balm or thorn?
—A poem I wrote during the decay of our relationship
Photo credit: JD Hancock/Flickr
—