Monday, March 23, 2009


The morning peeped its head out, then disappeared, angry, resentful, not smiling even the remotest of ways, instead, its tongue hanging out, teasing, begging for a different outcome. Then it was 11 a.m. And then, the sun did come out, but the breeze failed to take notice and left me chilled, if desperate. And then it warmed, and cooled again.

And so it is. And so the day was. And so did the assessment at the VA. And again, even though the intake of seven hours produced a report that seemed clear, I had to undergo more interviewing, today with a psychiatrist who would eveluate med interactions, then the trauma itself, the psych history (depression and anxiety). and then blood work, that would include me in the study, and still I was left unsure, after exploring these traumas, and explicit details, whether or not, this was/is the course to take with trauma work. I had spoken to my old therapist, who reminded me, that disassociation can come in many forms — it can be as subtle as feeling scattered or bewildered, not having your feet on the floor straight, or fidgeting, or it come in the forms of things fading out, and then, hearing, but not seeing what is said to you, instead, feeling a plethora of emotions that can run the gamut and leave you feeling weak or scared.

Well, after the evaluation, and before the blood work, I was taken back to the AA who took me to the lab. We discussed my nieces, and San Francisco, and where we were from, and I am in the elevator, and the world began spinning, and I am hearing her, unable to respond, until I come back, just seconds later, and I say, “I heard you, but I couldn’t speak. I feel faint.” And she smiles, takes my hand, and walks me across the parking lot, explaining to me that the buildings at the VA are numbered in the order they were built, and not how they were laid out across the property. I then sat with her, feeling more like myself, but also absorbed in my skin, which was beginning to feel like a leather pelt, my sweat beginning on my forehead, and my anxieties panting on the surface. I completed the bloodwork, but it took hours before I could relax without feeling like a high strung violin wire.

It took hours, but I am better now, and this just proves to me that trauma work is hard, way harder than I expected, and I just have to remind myself of that, and be gentle, and move forward, with caution, but with increasing awareness.

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