The scariest part about this episode of panic attacks as oppose to the one in late 2008, is that I’m actually learning from it. I’m not trying to shame my younger self, if anything I’m amazed at how strong she is dealing with it not knowing what it is. She was certain she was dying and nobody else knew it yet.
I dug deep to my long buried pain. It’s challenging with repressed memories but along with the pain comes relief, relief of allowing and not fighting to deny. Along with the horrible mess came the good part of being a kid I totally forgot about. I’m finally having some images about myself as a kid and it’s wonderful! I feel more connected to myself. I feel more whole.
But the scariest part about digging deep and detaching from your pain and fear is you have no ground to support you and you can find yourself terrieid and alone. The whole story you told yourself about who you are is slowly fading and you’re left standing alone naked in a white room. I choose still to see it as a blessing. Not many get this opportunity in their life to start over or to finally be who they really are, their authentic self. Yet it’s terrifying.
I don’t know who I am anymore, the first time I felt it I had reacurring vertigos. But the thing about oneself to know is not everything about yourself can be written down in a list. There’s this infinite river of inexplicable moments of light that once flow through me and now I am not sure what to make of it. Is it still me? Am I still that person? Or am I this new person that once held those moments and in constant journey to the next one.
I really don’t know. I feel kinda finished asking questions. I just let go & be.
Never thought I’d say that, being the sensitive helpless control obsessed creature I am.
Or maybe I found myself saying that just now because this whole new naked me is no longer that?