Can You See Inside my Head?

 I have been asked to do something I don't want to do. It's because of what's in my head. I don't know how to show someone what's inside my head. That's what trauma is you see. It's inside the head. Nobody can see it.

A physical injury or trauma leaves a scar which tells a story which in turn needs no explanation. You see a bent and twisted, scarred and marred leg and if the person is quite jovial and engaged you can even make a joke. We've all seen it done.  "Bet there's a story behind that one mate!" "Well yes my friend there is, want to hear about it?"

The ensuing conversation can take different pathways. The scarred one could make up a brilliant story of a shark wearing a beanie carrying a golf stick and chances are that because the wound is so visible, the listener will believe it! The answer is often "You should see the other bloke". Why? Because a visible scar is just that. Visible. 

No explanation needed, we can see what the result is. We can empathise, sympathise and offer help and suggestions to the person. They will get a hug, a pat on the back, a "you'll be right love." "Let me know if I can do anything to help."

What happens when the trauma is internal? If it's emotional and mental scarring? Can you as an outsider, no matter how much you love that victim, actually see it, feel it, touch it?  No. Simple. No. You can only rely on what that victim shows you and tells you. You have to match the signals, join the dots and process your perception of their reality. Will you ever gain the insight you need? Not likely.

So here I am. I've had 14 months without seeing the person who has inflicted trauma to my emotional wellbeing. It took a while to adjust to my new normal. A bit like a bandaid though, the inside bits are still a bit squishy and bit unsure. When I'm alone, I cry, shout, scream and ask the Universe all the questions I can. Maybe it helps, maybe it doesn't.

Then asked/told to revisit that person. Yes that person is in a different place, and a different condition. Does that help or hinder? I don't have that answer. 

What I am asking myself is "For what purpose?" 

What is the purpose that will be fulfilled for the person who asked me to do this? Will it help them? What do they need me to do this for? I love them and I will do pretty much anything for them. But this needs answers to allow me to process this properly.

What is the purpose that will be fulfilled for the person I visit? Will they feel like a winner? Will they feel vindicated that they won the long game? Inflict more pain? Gain peace? Ask questions? Answer questions? These are ones that may not be able to be answered.

What is the purpose that will be fulfilled for me if I visit? Will I be propelled back into a world of pain that used to see me run from that place and doing a primal scream in my car? Will it see me hitting the steering wheel and wanting the world to end? Will I gain peace and calm from the experience? What questions will I be asked or want to ask? How will it make me feel? And who will be in my corner to support me to revisit that trauma person in my life?

It's strange how when we end a relationship with a toxic partner nobody, literally nobody says "You should go and see them". When it's a parent that's a whole different ballgame. Suddenly everyone thinks you should do this. For what purpose? To reassure them of some deep seated belief or need? Do they genuinely think you or the perpetrator will benefit? Again so many questions.

So I wait, and I think, and I continue to question. I also gain insight and empathy for those who have unseen trauma, who need my support to overcome theirs. 

Once again I am in the age old painful situation of not being able to be truly myself right now. I wonder when I can be that person quite often. I know it won't happen in the perpetrators lifetime. 

I don't want to be pushed back into the headspace that made me break contact. It wasn't pretty. Nobody saw anything. I hid my physical reactions from everyone so I could protect my emotional reactions. I built my walls up high and strong. No gates, no windows and no doors. And now I have been asked to open that door.

I risk so much of my peace of mind and recovery to do this favour for someone I totally love. I risk compromising my mental and emotional health for them while they believe they are doing the right thing for my perpetrator. 

What a jungle.

Stay tuned.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Graduation Day

 For the first time this year on Mother's Day I'm the top of the food chain. I'm no longer a daughter, but I am a mother and a grandmother. What a shift in dynamics!  All my life I dreaded Mother's Day. It was Judgement Day in my mind. The day where no matter what I did, had done, or promised to do was not going to be good enough. My faults would be identified and glorified and my redeeming qualities paled into insignificance. The stress levels would rise to obscene levels and I felt physically ill. When I was younger I would attempt to outdo my previous years efforts in generosity. No point. I would over-organise and plan and create. No point.  The years between when my grandmother died and this year were the hardest. Grandma was the most appreciative woman and any efforts were highly rewarded and acknowledged. Her loss was huge not just to me, but I think to everyone who knew her. Even three decades later, people still say she was a star. So this year, I'm the old
Read more

40 years

 Monday 10th October 1983 at 7am, I got on an Ansett flight to Kalgoorlie with 3 suitcases. Alone. Age 17. Not knowing what I was going to, but knowing I didn't couldn't stay where I was. One parent was trying to instill fear of the flight; her fear of being alone, of having a child fail at life, of where the child would be.  She even had a fear of my address being in a street called Nemesis. One parent told me I would always be ok, to go and live my life, and that I was loved. One grandma smiling silently and nodding as I was now in a career path she had followed over 60 years earlier in the Post Office. I never rose to the dizzying heights of Post Mistress that she reached, but she was proud. My first plane flight. My first room in a house not with my parents. My first experience living with others. So many firsts all hit in that one day and the weeks ahead. I tried to work out who I was as all I had done was care for others from the youngest age, and to people please to keep
Read more

My Uncle

 Such a simple phrase that just does not do justice to the amazing man the world lost yesterday. When I was little my Dad talked about his family in Slovakia to me. They didn't have names, he just said "my sisters", "my brother" and "my parents" and so I didn't gain a connection to them, they weren't mine, they were his. He never spoke of my uncle, aunts or grandparents. I find that sad now.  At the same time I understand why he claimed them as his. He  missed them and missed them terribly.   Dad left home as a child really to be a Partisan fighter during World War 2. The family were in a situation that movies are made of and books are written about. Life was so challenging. One of my aunts died just after that war, and for most of it both Dad and my Uncle were presumed dead. I feel my Grandmother's pain to this day. It's called inherited grief. So, my Uncle was a prisoner in the Mauthausen Concentration Camp. He survived that - somehow
Read more