It’s hard to make sense of all the thoughts in my head. Sometimes it’s more of a feeling that exists in my brain, and when I try to tie words to it the meaning falls apart. For months now I have been saying that my brain doesn’t feel “normal,” and I don’t know when I will feel like I’ve landed back on solid ground. That doesn’t really do this sensation justice though, because it has always been so much larger than I could express.
Today I was sitting outside in the sun, and as I took a deep breath I felt all the puzzle pieces come together into one. That moment encompassed what I had been feeling but was unable to transcribe. You see, one of my most comforting and favorite things in life is to lay in the sunshine and feel the rays pierce my skin. It’s my way of grounding, and my way of signaling the neurotransmitters to dose me with some hits of dopamine.
But today, I just felt empty. Emptier than I have felt in a long time. The sun had a net negative effect; somehow sucking away peace instead of filling me up. This thing which had been my lifeline to soothe my soul was now causing me immense grief. This is how I feel about life as a whole. Absolutely everything is upside down. The quiet moments away from the chaos seem to hurt the most, because it’s when my brain starts to replay the day I lost my dad. So I do everything in my power to stay busy and force my mind to endure consistent stimulus until 8pm hits and I am so tired that my body aches all over. Then I do that again and again with no time for the things in life which used to fuel me: a moment with a warm latte, a 10 minute rest in the sun, connecting with the people I love, etc.
I feel simultaneously numb and in pain every second of the day. I either feel nothing or everything; there is no in between. And the good things in life carry double the weight, because not only do they not register as a dopamine hit, they also trigger my brain to be reminded that I’m doing this in a new version of life. The version where my dad isn’t here. The version where my brain is broken and feels irreparable. Those thoughts then trigger anger that I have to be here on this earth alive and breathing through the pain. On and on this cycle goes, and it is anything but normal. For me, normal would mean getting through a day where I wake up glad to see the morning. It would mean being able to do a single thing without having a flashback rudely interrupt it. And it would certainly mean feeling like I’m not constantly falling. I need to figure out what stability means in this reality, and then work to rebuild it.
My dad was my ultimate stability; my safe space. I knew with him around everything would be alright. There was no problem life could throw my way which couldn’t be solved if he was around. I felt a semblance of that last weekend when 3 of my friends came to help me reassemble some broken parts of my life. For that brief moment I could breathe and know that things would be alright. I felt my mind relax for the first time in a long time. I had help, I wasn’t alone, and the burden wasn’t solely on me to keep my head above water. To have friends who will share that weight is priceless, and I saw pieces of my dad’s heart in each of them.
My realization today helped me understand that when even the best moments hurt, it is no wonder that the hard moments hurt even more. It makes sense that I am overwhelmed in every facet of my life, because the human mind can only take so much input at once. My desire for normalcy is rooted in the wish to feel something other than what I feel now. To react normally to positive stimuli. To be able to simply exist without unwanted visions dancing in my head. And above all, to be able to have a heart that is in-tact and knows how to send and receive love again.
-Christina