I’m fine. And then I’m really not fine. Something has happened in my solar plexus; a tightening. I’m uneasy.
I’m okay. And then I’m not okay. There’s a pulse behind my temples. I’m seething.
I’m alright. And then I’m not alright. It’s my breathing. It’s dragging. I’m so sad.
You get the picture. Double the above and it’s a working day in my life. Bang, bang, bang: triggered constantly. Bouncing from feeling great to feeling utterly weird like one of those balls in a pinball machine. Remember those? I remember looking at grown-ups and thinking that they would have grown out of this microcosmic rushing and falling and swooping and panting. But it’s still there. Just more secret now than it was twenty five years ago.
The triggers are so small that I sometimes don’t notice them. Could be a slightly strange text – one that perhaps makes me feel low-level guilty or defensive. Could be someone not saying thank you when I stop the car to let them pull out. Pathetic I know. Could be checking my bank account or even remembering that I should. Could be stubbing my toe. I can usually pull myself together but it could take anything from one minute to a few hours.
Why am I so vulnerable to these feelings. I mean, they are only feelings, right? They’re not big, fat, threatening things. Why can’t I regulate? Or prevent the stab. Because that’s what it feels like. And all this makes me feel vulnerable in my okay-ness. Because what goes up…
Years of therapy mean that the bigger picture is copeable with. But this daily assault course of emotional crossroads? The knife goes in before the armour goes on and although I don’t make a fuss (I’m not 14), it’s so, so tiring.