“Grandma, I’m calling because I need some perspective…..”
For two days I was sad. I was out of that weird robot phase, but I spent two days crying and trying to figure out how to prevent it from happening again because I had felt completely powerless! I felt afraid and I felt like a defective human being that just can’t seem to get it together. I didn’t know if I should continue my journey to make friends or I should stay quiet and isolated in to prevent a potential trigger. My triggers rarely happen with strangers, they usually happen with people who know me. I felt weaker with each day, sad with each day, and very tired. I can’t recall eating so little in such a short time frame.
I did what I am so incredibly guilty of doing. I began researching my symptoms, searching through my PTSD books and trauma books. Trying to figure out how to stop this from happening again. How do I safely identify my triggers without going off the deep end ?I didn’t find an answer which only made me feel more exhausted.
Maybe I needed to talk to someone, but talk to who?
Certainly not my mom. She grows impatient whenever I speak and calls me “weak”. She usually tells me my problems aren’t problems at all, but a product of my imagination. She’d tell me that I read into things too deeply and she isn’t here for me to call her for things like this. Usually instead of feeling better I normally feel worse and those suicidal feelings would quickly reemerge because after all the problem is me: I’m a bad daughter, I’m a bad girlfriend, and I’m a bad friendaAaa.
Who was I going to talk to and be taken seriously? Who was going to listen?
“Call your grandma” was what came to mind which was strange because I don’t talk often to her. She isn’t my biological grandmother, but has never treated me any different. And because I was not her biological granddaughter I mostly opted to stay away out of guilt of not being related.
So. I called her. I cried while I spoke and she just listened. I talked and talked and talked and she didn’t put me down once. She didn’t call me names. And when I asked her if I was making any sense she said “Jasmine. You’re making a whole lot of sense!” I never had a conversation like this with anyone besides my therapist and when we were done talking I no longer felt suicidal or depressed or any of the things my mother usually calls me. I didn’t feel weak, but strong. I wasn’t buried deeper into my tears or I wasn’t angry nor did I feel alone. So, what the hell happened to make me feel this way? I spent the entire trying to figure out what occurred in our conversation that was so different from all others. The answer was simple: I felt heard for the first time in my life with someone other than a therapist.
I spoke to the right person about how I was feeling! Normally when I spoke to my mother I was sinking deeper and deeper into my depression. Instead of feeling relieved I would walk away feeling unworthy of love, stupid, weak, and delusional because the problem was never the person who had ever hurt me it was always me. And expecting respect was a pipe dream because after all I didn’t deserve it. According to my mother anyway.
I realized after all of these years. The problem wasn’t that I was bad daughter or bad human unworthy of love or kindness. It’s normal to seek connections with people who are supposed to love you. To have meaningful discussions with people who are supposed to love you. To seek out support and love with people who are suppose to love you. I find that part isn’t bad and it doesn’t make me stupid to want to do so. And if you feel as such the problem is never with you, but the person who you spoke to in the first place. For once in my life I had gotten what I needed from someone who was not family, but very much like it. And that reminded me that blood relation doesn’t always equate to family and that as long as I have the right person in my corner that I am going to be okay.