A PTSD Trigger as a Pathway to Healing?

I have not written anything for this blog in a while.  I do not wish to craft some piece of fine writing here.  I am just looking to communicate my thoughts, and hopefully be helpful to those of you who have suffered in a similar fashion.  I do not know what this blog will look like going forward, but for tonight it looks like this:

Before today, I have not experienced an episode of PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) in quite some time.  In fact, it’s got to be over a year now.  It is - now that I’m doing the math. 

An episode of PTSD is like re-living an aspect of the abuse completely.  I always get tongue-tied when I try to explain it (or pen-tied when writing), because it is difficult to convey the fact that I am re-living, in  just seconds, what can be many minutes of abuse in total (with all senses, including pain, shame – you name it).  It is kind of like “dreamtime” in which seconds are minutes.  And because of the totality of these episodes, there is this: I am there right now, and it is happening right now.  Of course, that isn’t so.  But that is what it feels like. 

When I first started tackling the abuse, the PTSD lasted much longer periods of time.  It was often debilitating.  Although I continued working, I stopped hanging out with my friends.  I became a hermit, except for the fact that my lovely wife was there to love me and help me through it all.  This went on for years.

Now I am more whole.  More in control.  More myself.  Mostly because I allowed myself to relive those horrors.  Relive them and express and expel all feelings that were wrapped up in them.  I thought I’d beaten all those demons.

And then there was today.  Eating lunch out at a restaurant with friends, and – BOOM – triggered.  Like getting punched in every sensitive nerve that I own.  Triggered by food – this has happened before, three years ago, or so.  And of course it is an aspect of the abuse that I have not truly dealt with yet.  Yes, I am aware of it.  I have thought about it.  I remember it.  But I have not fought with this demon.  I have not grappled with him in hand-to-hand, close quarters combat.  It is mental anguish.  It is remembering in absolute vivid detail the thoughts, feelings, and physicality of the worst hell that can be imagined.  Think about the horror of child sexual abuse much?  No?  Who does?  No one! -save predators themselves.  Why is that?  Because it is beyond our comprehension!  In my estimation, it is easier for the brain to wrap itself around the idea of murder then it is to think about a boy or a girl being raped. 

Naturally, I do not want to fight this demon.  I want to go on living my life.  It’s good.  I like it.  But to do that – to really do that – I have to get back in the fire.  Rip my mental guts apart and fight these fuckers again. It’s not fun.  I’ve never enjoyed doing it.  But it must be done.  I know it must.  This one is just like all the other demons.  It is fear.  It is pain.  It is shame.  I will not let this one live inside me any longer.  I will use all my strength to delve deep into the dead heart of this foulness and expel it from my being. 

Fuck you, beast.  You are not welcome here.  I will defeat you, like I did all of the other torturous horrors that were imposed on me.  Tortures that I had shut away deep inside my subconscious, but that still poked at me from the inside-out like needles of self-hate, fear and shame.  I shine a light on you.  Come out and fight..  I know you are there. I have already beaten the worst of your kind. You cannot defeat me.  I am of love and light.