LaCroix is weird. It's water, but your brain thinks it's like soda, but it has none of the substance of soda and a vague flavor. (In this case, it's technically orange-flavored. It's like the memory of an orange-flavored.)
Mental health is weird. Sometimes it's kind of like LaCroix water--you feel vaguely bad, because it's a "memory of bad things that happened to you" but there's no external rhyme or reason for you to feel bad, just like there's no rhyme or reason for this can of water to taste like oranges. Where is the substance? The calories?
That's the best case scenario. I need more LaCroix mental health. I can handle it better. I can fake it better, because I know it's fake soda.
This past week nothing at all has been setting off my anxiety. Everything and nothing. One day I had anxiety attacks bad enough like I'd just been in a car accident, or just been raged at and threatened by my father. It wasn't La Croix anxiety. It was Fanta anxiety. Too much substance. Too much flavor. You feel sick after drinking it, and even Pepto Bismol can't erase the feeling.
Except it's kind of a bad comparison because I didn't choose to drink Fanta. It's more like someone force-fed me Fanta.
Maybe these are stupid comparisons. I can just see the comments now--"what a waste of my time reading this!" Well, I'm glad to have wasted your time, because by reading this I get a tiny tiny bit of ad revenue because your view was worth 1/100th of a cent to me.
That's 1/100th of a cent that goes toward my therapy. Eventually. When it pays out about once every two years.
But really, I'm wrapping my head around these things, so I'm drawing stupid comparisons to help me understand it better. To help YOU understand it better.
So, here's what happened that I think made my anxiety worse.
I mean, I knew it already, but it somehow hit me like a thousand pounds of Fantas recently because I finally connected the dots between the orange flavor and the substance of what's wrong with me.
You with me still? (You can finish the angry comment of "what a stupid article" first. I'll wait.)
PTSD happens when your life and bodily integrity is threatened by something--war, rape, etc.
Children rely on their parents for their life and bodily and emotional integrity for every little thing.
When children are regularly exposed to violence, angry parents, neglect, etc, it causes a special kind of PTSD, Complex PTSD.
It creates a weird situation where children have to rely on their parents to stay alive--they can't just strike it out on their own, and yet their parents are dangerous. Threatening.
"My parents threaten my well-being and safety. But I rely on them for my well-being and safety."
You can't believe the latter while believing the former. So what children often do--not always, but often--split off parts of themselves. There's the child that gets abused. There's the child that loves their parents. Sometimes each part doesn't know the other exists. Usually the abuse gets locked away. Temporarily forgotten. Even the memory of the memory doesn't exist--there is no LaCroix memory here.
Until there is.
Sometimes there are multiple parts--each has its own job. There's protectors, punishers, the abused child, the angry person, and then there's usually the main person. But that's another story, because the story here is that I'm getting LaCroix memories. Memories of memories.
My body remembers something even if my mind doesn't, and it keeps coming up in dreams, it keeps coming up in my reactions to certain things. It keeps showing itself whenever I dissociate--I'm identifying the triggers. With each little puzzle piece, I take it to therapy so we can work on it. I don't need to know the whole picture on the puzzle box. I may never know.
But that puzzle piece is real. It exists. It's traumatizing in its own way because of how the body reacts to that one little piece.
When we drink LaCroix, our tastebuds react as if it's like soda, making us happy even though it has no sugars like a soda.
When we see that puzzle piece, we react as if it's the whole memory, even though it is only the memory of a memory.
The problem is--because I now am getting the memories of memories, it means the walls that existed between all of my parts are starting to crumble. It means I recognize it for what it is now. And everyone is anxious about change. I'm anxious about change. But it's too late to go back. The only way is forward.
It's weird, isn't it?
LaCroix is weird, too.
Filed under: Uncategorized