Fight or Flight

219 days.

219 days in survival mode.

219 days riddled with so many moments I don’t remember, that my brain ops to glaze right over and store within the back files under the trauma section. My brain automatically doing what it thinks will protect me. Until it doesn’t…

People I trust to share and be honest with, not knowing what to say, not knowing when to just be with me, not knowing when to distract me, not knowing when words aren’t needed at all. Instead, they choose to say;

“It’s just a season of life.”

“You’ll be fine. You’ll get out of it.”

“You’re resilient, one day at a time.”

These words help, until they don’t…

Me not even knowing what I need doesn’t help at all…

I’m just existing.

I think I’ve been in a “functional freeze” longer than 219 days, but my gym app says 219 since my last check in, and that sounds long enough. 219 is better than 241, or 242 tomorrow as it will take more than me finally getting my thoughts out on “paper” to get out of fight or flight mode. It’s a start though. Right?

In 219 days, there were moments of pure joy, moments I wish I could relive, but the underlying current that my body and mind have been dragged down has been pure survival. As though all the memories of this year so far have a dulled sense of time, place, emotion, and circumstance. And, after a 6 weeks solo tip to Portugal to end last year, coming home feeling so alive and free, every part of my being now feels that it has been pushed into a cold plunge.

Time feeling extremely long and short all at the same time. In the present, time drags on, not wanting to loosen her grip around my emotions. In the past, time flies by, not wanting to be conversed with by the present but still hoping to be acknowledged at some point. And, in the future, time doesn’t beacon, she groans, too unsure of what’s to come to let any light in. An erratic ebb and flow. Nothing graceful other than the grace my soul does its best to give itself.

I do put on a good show for people that don’t know me or whom I feel uncomfortable acknowledging the truth to. But for those closest to me, they know I haven’t been myself, not truly. Can one truly be themself when surrounded by people and situations that bring no peace though? I would think not, give myself just a little more grace for what I’ve been battling rather than berate myself for not being able to get out of this headspace yet.

Let’s be clear, I HATE THIS. My mom would tell you that I have this zest for life. And I do, but when you spend so much time getting shut down and stifled by people around you, you lose that zest. You lose that drive to get out of the hurt and to get back to who you are. You forget who that person even is, being more comfortable in the freeze than in happiness. And that has to kill my family. To see me become a shell of who I still am at my core. To watch my light be dulled, only to shine when I put on a show. A glimpse of me again, but no more than that, and no more than a show.

What has to be bittersweet for them, is seeing what traits and things I’ve had to use in response to the last 219 days. Watching resilience come out even more than I’ve needed before. I didn’t expect to start the year, or be 8 months in, this way and be proud of myself for just getting out of bed, but here I am… Or for them to see me fight every single day to trust God, to try and discern the trials, messages, and path to His divine plan.

I am constantly overthinking and over analyzing each moment instead of letting some moments just be. I could’ve easily given up months ago, but for some reason, I keep fighting for that zest and love of life to come back. Overanalyzing even that, when I won’t know that answer until it is right there in front of me, or when a whole host of moments have finally shown me out.

I am sure my guardian angel, and my loved-ones council in heaven are smiling even now, knowing where it all leads me. How it serves the greater plan. But even then, they hurt for me to be feeling such small ounces of hope, making sure I cling to it white knuckled and screaming some days, other days, eyes heavy and about to loosen my grip.

For the most part, all that keeps me going is knowing that I only see the puzzle piece right in front of me. Knowing that God has never lost sight of the full puzzle. Knowing that my guardian angel and my loved-ones council make their presence and support known when I need it most. When I feel like just one person, I look up to the heavens for some sign or support, and all the sudden feel like ten thousand. Ten thousand ancestors and loved ones helping me get back up or at least make a move to get to my knees and pray for strength.

I don’t have the heart to give details about what specifically has been going on. And maybe, it’s not important, or not as important as the general need for someone else to hear that it’s okay to struggle and be in a dark place with all kinds of messy, scary, unpleasant moments. That someone else out there is struggling too.

And, ironically enough, I don’t even have an elegant way of ending this post. Nothing about these days are polished, so instead, I’ll just let it be messy and feel unrefined. In some ways poetic in itself, that a writer whose fighting for every second, doesn’t have more to say than the fight itself.

God bless this mess.

Confidently,

Katey