Now, I wouldn’t say I am a particularly negative person but I am no Dolly fucking Parton either. This message comes from someone who heavily relies on the mantras “I just want to be heard” and “I have so much to say,” so I strongly suggest you keep reading…
I hate that I feel that I even have to preface this with the obvious but there is a difference between speaking up in a life-threatening situation, abuse, violence, etc, etc and what I am about to say so before anyone gets their panties in a wad I needed to get that off my chest.
Anyways, reporting live from Peak Valley.
It has been another trying two weeks. I recorded a video that I never ended up posting about me recovering from another dissociative episode (which I am obviously still recovering from btw) because I received a text from my ex who was supposedly on his annual 10 days of “darkness” extravaganza so receiving a message from him in the first place threw me off.
From my purview, the message felt like a drawn-out memo flexing his guru gaslighting techniques and increased superiority complex but we all have our skewed version of reality so who really knows? Either way for someone with complex PTSD, most of which stems from the sustained bullshit of that relationship, opening this message sent me spiraling.
So I do what I do best. Talk my shit. And by “talk my shit” I mean, open my notes app and craft a beautiful, calculated response that will never be sent.
Side note: my smart-ass mouth is by far my sharpest sword and God is a real one for linking me up with someone whose first language is not English. Because that means when we engage in verbal combat the majority of my zingers never land. If you know me, you can only imagine how defeating this must be.
I feel now is a good time to inform you, the reader, that in addition, I am pmsing like a mother fucker so for me to have this level of self-restraint at this juncture in time deserves recognition *pats myself on the back*
It also means that I am NOT IN THE MOOD. There are no rose-colored glasses today. Only the cold, gray lake that I was looking out on whilst the thoughts I am about to share came to mind. So anyway, here I am sitting on a dock, alone, feeling sorry for myself, you know, the usual, and a thought comes through so clearly that I thought I heard it.
“YOUR VOICE DOESN’T MATTER.”
I lean in as if I can get any closer, and the thoughts continue to unravel. “What the fuck do I possibly have to say or share that has not already been said?” and “There is nothing that I can say that is ever going to change anyone.”
Pause.
Before your mind bulldozes into the defense, why not sit with it? Especially if you want to jump me right now. I mentioned at the beginning of this monologue that I stay on the request line to “just be heard.” There is not a day that goes by that I do not think that thought and attach with it a desperate sense of urgency to find fulfillment. I was forced to sit with the idea that whatever yearning I am experiencing may very well just be a shallow grave.
I love when I start to reach the peak of the valley and my feet can almost touch the bottom of whatever bullshit got me this time. It is exciting because it means I am about to break. I have reached the PEAK. What follows is almost always in the form of laughter. Proceeding the breakthrough, there is a type of clarity that fills the air that makes the previous week of meltdowns suddenly worth it. It is the aha moment associated with whatever great revelation is necessary at that time.
For me, this little hiccup was an opportunity to reframe the all too familiar feeling of being “silenced,” a feeling that sends my stress responses through the roof. I can’t help but want to fight for every version of myself that has ever been restrained from their truth through a vow of silence. I was stopped in my tracks by the idea that, let’s say, I had the opportunity to speak aloud every scenario I had ever crafted or story that I had ever sold to myself, and the people I sought to “lay into” were forced to listen, mic in hand, I had their attention.
Would anything actually change? and better yet, would I?
I picked my jaw up from the floor and all I could do was laugh.
Closing thots:
- I know, I know, I know, imagine a world where everyone’s voice was heard! But like, wouldn’t the opposite also be cool? Close your eyes and envision a world where everyone just shut the fuck up for 2 minutes, feels like World Peace to me.
- The monks may be onto something with their whole vow of silence gig.
- As tough of a lesson as it is, it is a harsh reminder that there are no absolute truths. My story is just that, it’s mine. Yours is yours, my exes’ his, and so on.
- I am aware that there is a time and place for everything. A time to speak up, a time to be silent, a time to take action, and a time for rest. Perhaps collectively our greatest challenge is tuning into what any given moment calls for and to do that we each will have to learn to pump the brakes on our reactive nature and respond from a place of post-processed clarity. Easier said than done. But hey, it’s just a thought, do what you will with it.
- To be honest, I don’t hold high standards for myself in regards to actually shutting up anytime soon but it is the thought that counts. If, at the very least, I can take a few breaths before firing off a response I will take that as a win.
- I acknowledge that whatever the fuck I am doing is disproportionality for me. It is the only form of therapy that makes me feel like I am actually “doing” something tangible. Like, I can “see” it and I like how it makes me feel while doing it, and there’s this element of release through giving it form. So, me to me, “Annemarie, you should probably keep on doing it.”