About three and half years ago, my body just gave out on me. I remember walking my one dog and when we reached the house, I felt like I'd hit a brick wall. I remember thinking that I couldn't do this (walk dogs) anymore. It was like my entire body went limp and I've felt like I haven't had a muscle since. A couple of months I went to the doctor for severe neck pains I'd had for the past year, he thought my overall weakness and fatigue was due to PTSD. Nobody told me it could effect your body.
I have been coming to terms with the idea that I am actually feeling my body after so many years of dissociating from it. I can't seem to comprehend the lack of strength or weariness that makes my body feel fluid and sluggish. For years my husband and I have done heavy lifting, moving, hauling and I never once had an issue with not being able to do it. My husband trusted me more than anyone when he needed someone strong to help him. For the last three years, it has all been downhill. Logically I understand. I can analyze the hell of it and everything makes total perfect sense. The last three years have been the purge of memories from my abuse and learning to stabilize my bipolar. I have felt like I've been sprinting a marathon all my life yet can't seem to understand this ragged, used up body that is in this skin. I have beaten the hell out of these bones and muscles, because most of the time I never felt the depth of the pain I created, yet I can't grasp why I'm feeling it now, all at once. I haven't been completely disconnected from my body, I still bruise and bleed, but it has been in pieces and parts and the more my mind kept coming together, my body has been following. When I began to feel my feet actually pounding the pavement and the slamming of my heels, I knew I was beginning to come full circle. And so did the pain from all the years of damage. And it is causing my depression to spiral and cycle. Limitations remind me of my abuse. And so I flux all day long, of being OK, to depressed, to laughing and then all over again. I feel like I keep grasping these parts of my body and put them back in only to feel the pain and rip them back off. I'm having a hard time accepting that this is what I've worked so hard for, to come back together and yet it is so painful I tear it back off again. One positive: these pieces are staying close and in view when I take them out, as opposed to actually completely dissociated from them again. So I guess that is a plus.
So I take things slow, try to be proud of any accomplishments and for the most part fail miserably. Realize I have good days and bad days and still wish there was a way out that I haven't thought of yet. I don't know, is that progress?