Inside the glass jar.

I’ve always loved fireflies.  The glitter of their sparkle, the freedom of their flight, fireflies amazed me.  As a child, my sister and I would catch them in glass jars to watch their beautiful bulbs glow in the silky darkness.  Now, at 24, however, I commiserate with the light bulbs of the night.  They were never meant to be caught, only to sparkle and shine for others to see.  And right now, just like my glowing friends, I want nothing more than to be released and free to shine as I fly.

Launching this blog was not easy for me.  In fact, it was terrifying.  There I was, stunned and in pain and thrown into this process of recovery without truly understanding what it all means.  But I didn’t just write this shared diary as a journal of pain; I wrote it for others.  I offered this doorway, this light into my heart through which others could find solace and leave with a little hope.  I always make the best effort to end an entry with hope, but today I’m having a hard time finding hope myself.

I cannot paint a beautiful story today because I’m mad.  At who, at what, I’m not really sure.  But I’m angry and having a difficult time trying to make others understand this mix of confusing emotions.  I don’t whine or look for commiseration from my experience, but sometimes it’s difficult to even articulate my thoughts in such a way that those close to me can begin to understand.

I’m having a mad day.  As I write through my tears, I can only feel the pain.  I’m angry that more people in my life do not have the capacity to understand my emotions, I’m mad that the world cannot see the visions I have replaying in my memory.  I’m frustrated that life goes on, the drum keeps its rhythm but I cannot stop everything, if only for a second, to catch my breath and make the world understand what it’s like to be me, to be a survivor. 

‘Survivor’ seems like such a glamorous word, but in reality it means the fight never ended – I fight everyday.  I don’t choose to remember, I don’t choose to think back, but that’s the fight of a fighter.  Sometimes I find myself standing in front of others wishing I could shake my pain into them, release it into someone else just for a moment.  Allow others to witness the darkness and realize how brave I’ve been and continue to be.  And I’m so lucky to have those I hold close in my life.  But sometimes, in life, we just want to reach out and have one person understand exactly our emotions in that moment.  I don’t have that, but I’m lucky for what I do have.

Marriages and babies and happiness envelope my surroundings, yet I feel left out and alone to deal with a pain I never wanted.  What if I wanted a marriage, or a baby, or just to feel happy?  Is that not meant for me?  Why is my path meant to be different?  Why did my life have to go on a two year sabbatical and why am I left to pick up the pieces?

Being a survivor of any type of pain or abuse is heart breaking because the wounds heal, but the memories remain a constant in the movie of my life.  I’ve forgiven, I’ve understood, but PTSD does not forgive, it does not understand and the pain just lingers.  It traps you in a glass jar, allowing you to see the outside world only to remind you that you’re not a part of it.  You could be experiencing the most joyous, beautiful day of your life, and there, back behind the shadows, is the trauma lurking, waiting for you.  This has been the most frustrating thing – I’ve moved on, I’ve looked ahead, I’ve repaired and reopened my heart, but the flashbacks come whenever they please.  I’ve done all the work, made all the steps because more than anything I want to move on to those beautiful things I dream of, but it’s time for the PTSD to move on as well.  This is not a setback, understand, this is the average day of someone who overcame something.  Just because those dark moments are over doesn’t mean a shadow doesn’t drop over your sunshine every now and again.

Today I’m mad.  Maybe I’m mad at life for happening, for forgetting me in the shuffle. Maybe I’m mad at being human and feeling a wide spectrum of human emotions everyday.  Maybe I’m mad at the past for putting me through a Hell I never wanted to see.  And maybe, I should be grateful for all of these things for they’ve made me the me I was always meant to be.  But today, I’m mad.  I’m waiting to finally be released into freedom, finally be freed from my glass jar.  And maybe that’s OK.  But I’ll always have hope for the opportunity and promise of sparkle in tomorrow and I’ll continue to have patience for today, and that’s beautiful.

 

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Comments
One Response to “Inside the glass jar.”
  1. I like this because it sounds like your honest thoughts. You might even be mad tomorrow but it’s a chore to be mad over and over again. Today you’ve spun it ito something interesting. Keep Blogging. Keep Writing.

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