PTSD

Why does kindness hurt?

~ All the Right that's left ~ Leave a comment

I was in a store with my older brother, he’s schizophrenic and gets easily confused. I watched him trying to order a sandwich at the kiosk and getting frustrated. Before I could reach him, a young man walked up and helped him. A simple act of kindness to a stranger. My brother was happy to get his sandwich. I was almost in tears.

I’ve spent a couple of years trying to understand why simple acts of kindness affect me so strongly. I’ve thought that they take me by surprise because they are so uncommon. However, that can’t be the case. I’ve seen too many for me to believe it. I’ve committed enough random acts of kindness to know that they happen, small simple things for no reason than it feels good to be nice. The internet gives access to enough clips of strangers just helping someone in need that I recognize a trend. Call it pay it forward or random acts of kindness; call it click bait. It’s still out there.

The only real answer I have is that when it happens to me, I feel unworthy. Unworthy of simple kindness. How sad is that? I spent so long time hating myself that I don’t think I deserve consideration.

Healing is a long process and some things are harder than others, like, believing that you are worthy of love and kindness. That’s been harder than I thought it would be; he vulnerability of opening up to acceptance by others. The strength gained by closing off emotions becomes painful weakness when touched by others. Sometimes I think that it’s not worth it, but I’m still trying. If you see me and I don’t act the way you think I should, please try to be understanding. I am a work in progress and your kindness hurts me.

Back in my head…

~ All the Right that's left ~ Leave a comment

I’ve posted about my journey of recovery and PTSD in the past. In fact, this blog was started for that and to help me my thought out of my head. Honestly, it’s getting pretty crowded in there lately.

I’ve known for a long time that my emotions were mostly shut down, except for the safe ones. “What are safe emotions?”, you probably didn’t ask. Well, anger is safe. Except for the violence it can let out. Maybe on special occasions a flash of amusement, but not much, that can lead to happiness and that’s always risky. If I’m happy something will come along and crush it. Satisfaction is usually okay, if it’s from something that I’ve accomplished. I like the feeling of completion. It just doesn’t last either. I mean what have I done lately?

The only other emotions that I feel regularly and recognize are sadness and love. Nostalgia is in there somewhere, for the lost innocence of childhood and feeling like I was safe. I don’t get envy or hatred; they take too much energy. Appreciation and gratefulness show up and punch me in the gut sometimes, when someone just does something nice. It really is stunning. Loyalty is strong. I may not keep in touch with people as well as I should, but I will drop everything to help a friend.

I feel like the slow kid in class who is trying to color, but all I have are the fat five color crayons that kindergarten kids use and everyone else is using the big 64 color set. You remember the ones, with the cool sharpener in the back. I just don’t understand. I can’t feel the rest. Are there anymore emotions out there? Compassion, empathy, fear? What is contentment like? I don’t trust it. To squishy.

Fear came up recently. It is likely why I’m awake at 3 A.M. writing instead of sleeping. I was talking to a counselor today, trying to describe why my lack of fear was an issue and admitting that I put people in danger because I lack the common sense of pond scum. I got people hurt and killed, put people in bad situations because I was too stupid to be afraid or think about them. I keep reliving incidents, walking into a riot with my partner, just the two of us. No fear, nothing can hurt me. But Stephanie, about half my size, with a daughter at home. Ed following me into an apartment with a shooter inside. Omar trusting me to get him out and holding his hand while he died. What about the kids I trained? Did they try to imitate me and my stupid, reckless behavior?

It feels like I was screaming; “Look at me! I’m too stupid to be afraid! You should be just like me!”

Shit it’s crowded in here.