When does a cucumber become a pickle?

Sometimes in a man’s life,

Stuff happens that makes everyone go quiet,

So quiet that no one

Even dares to talk about it.

Not to anyone, not even to themselves.

Not in their head and not out loud.

Not a fucking word. Cause everything

has somehow gotten stuck.

There, deep in the fields,

Under the trees and leaves, year after year.

Then suddenly it all comes back,

Just like that, from one day to the next.

No matter how long ago it was

There will always be someone

To bring it all back.

Because no matter what you do or think

One thing is for sure -

You are always fucked.

Now, tomorrow, next week, or next year,

Until the end of time.

Fucked.

Opening lines from the movie Bullhead

_______________________

Any of you who have followed my blog for a long time know that I when I started writing I was in a deep throes of PTSD. I was completely at the mercy of whatever triggers sprung up and they would render me a quaking, blubbering, terrified blob for days.  Sometimes weeks.

I spent a torturous couple of years going through exposure and other therapies which brought me through that dark forest of terror and anxiety.  I am so deeply grateful for my original therapist who led me through that process but who sadly and unexpectedly died before we saw the finish line.  

Is there a finish line for PTSD recovery?

I never wanted to forget what happened to me. To us.  That would seem disloyal to Daphne and somehow be lying to myself. But my therapist convinced me that I could still remember and honor what happened yet learn to process my responses to it differently.  And for the most part, if I am vigilant about working at it, I have been mostly successful at that. The memories are still there but they no longer control me. I am able to live a pretty calm and normal life.

Then suddenly someone/something happens.

No matter how long ago it was

There will always be someone

To bring it all back.

There is only one person in my life now who knew me from that time and that is my best friend. I moved away so I would never again have to see that look of pity in people’s faces who knew.  Then my former boss called me from out of the blue having tracked me down through professional organizations. And there it was.  An innocent phone call, and wham!

Fucked.

I occasionally attend group therapy for folks with PTSD - sexual assault, veterans, one 9/11 survivor. No matter what the original trauma was, there is a common thread of knowing/fearing that some trigger is always lurking, waiting to yank you back down the hole.

One thing is for sure -

You are always fucked.

Now, tomorrow, next week, or next year,

Until the end of time.

I once asked my therapist “when will I be whole again?”  

She answered, “When does a cucumber become a pickle?”

It is a riddle I am still trying to answer.