After the wreck, I experienced so many mental health side effects that I could not even begin to list them. Everything I believed was reality was actually a coping mechanism for survival.
My mind gave me reasons for certain thoughts or actions. It convinced me what I interpreted was the truth. And that became my reality.
Until it wasn’t.
Now I am beginning to understand how the mind protects its host. What it convinces me of isn’t reality. It’s what I need to take the next step in my recovery. It’s not a roadmap, it’s a maze. One that we’re not supposed to figure out ahead of time, but maneuver through over time and when we’re ready to handle it.
Let me start before the wreck… Most of my life I’ve never been self-conscious about my body. It was never going to win any contests, but in my mind, if you had sex with me, you knew what I look like naked… and you still chose to be with me so there was nothing to be shy about. Because of that confidence, I’d often walk around the house unclothed from dawn to dusk. No sense in dirtying clothes if I’m not going anywhere. Plus, it’s liberating… and if whoever I was with felt froggy, I was ready to go in an instant.
After the wreck, I lost who I was in totality. There are so many layers to my traumas. I have absolutely no idea what I am fighting against until I’m facing it directly.
The open wound on my ankle from the wreck left me vulnerable to bacterial infection. Bathing was extremely risky. The chances of complications were high – and were realized when a bone infection did set in and I was one surgery away from amputation.
After the infection was cleared and wound closed, I experienced a severely traumatic event at the nursing home I was sent to, which involved submerging my wound in a bag of dirty shower water.
Once I was home, taking showers was a task. I felt exposed, afraid of falling, and extreme fear of another infection. The emotions ran so deep that they touched my soul. Every time I had to get into the tub, I experience so much anxiety, my mind shut down. I was in pure survival mode.
The simple act of taking a shower psychologically crippled me. I hated taking off my clothes. I hated stepping over the side of the tub. I feared trying to dry myself, plus it was painful to try and maneuver my body around to get all my parts with the towel.
I eventually convinced myself I was saving money by not showering. Then I blamed depression for lack of hygiene. Yesterday, I finally accepted the fact that it’s been fear -so much fear that I am incapable of processing it directly. I have to chip away at it a little at a time.
Being exposed. Feeling vulnerable. Fear of another infection. It’s all mental because my physical appearance doesn’t bother me. I don’t mind people looking at my leg. I wear shorts. I accepted long ago that my body is disfigured and will never look the same again. I have wounds, scars and physical deformations that will be with me till the end. I’m ok with that.
To be honest now it feels as though my physical form matches what’s inside – broken and scarred.
Our mind stays so many steps ahead that we have no choice but to trust the process. We may not like it. We may not even agree with it. But in the end, it’s our mind that protects us, even from ourselves. It’s only when we fight against it and try to prove we know best that it comes back on us.
Off The Rails 