Singing In The Blackthorn: Trauma

2024 Author: Harry Day | [email protected]. Last modified: 2023-12-17 15:43

Memory is very selective. And the unconscious is generally an insidious abyss of different-sized memories. Here you go on a warm spring day, the birds are singing, the ladybug has sat on the glasses, fluffy clouds are running across the blue sky and life is beautiful. And suddenly you are overwhelmed by the memory of the last relationship. How he brought coffee to bed, how attentive he was. As I did a foot massage after a long distance running on a stiletto heel. Here you were sitting in your favorite cafe and planning your next vacation, and in the next slide you already meet the sunrise together, wrapped in a fluffy blanket. And then once - and the relationship was gone. And it's not so important why. They were over and it hurt a lot. And in the memory they surfaced, because the smell of such familiar spirits soullessly burst into consciousness.

Or here's the name Ksyusha. This is a common name, nothing like that. But every time a woman introduces herself by that name, her heart contracts. Because it was with Ksyusha that her husband had a two-year affair. A beautiful romance with flowers, romantic trips and dinners while you walked away from a difficult birth and deal with depression. You could not wash dirty linen from your joint hut, you discussed everything a hundred times, he realized everything and now there is no reason for doubt, and he simply adores his daughter. But sometimes the heart still skips.

Here you are enthusiastically telling your friend about your vacation plans, at the same time remembering how romantic your last vacation was. And in response, you hear an almost dry "very glad that you will have a good rest)". And no questions or clarifications, no flurry of emotions in response. And the poorly fixed glass in the inner window frame begins to rattle louder and louder: she is not interested, she thinks only of herself, selfish! In fact, there can be many reasons for a restrained reaction. From fatigue and lack of internal resources to the presence of more serious problems of their own. And if this reaction did not fall into your personal turbulence zone, you would be able to notice it. But here you stand, taken aback by such total indifference, and you don't even really understand what exactly caused a lump in your throat and tears.

This is how trauma works. Usually, without being worked out, it can be qualitatively covered with defenses and sit quietly in the corner for years, showing no signs of life. And then something suddenly touches her, the injury, and she blooms with such a violent color that it dazzles her eyes. Every thought once associated with this trauma, every feeling and physical sensation breaks through to the surface with dense incandescent lava. What kind of self-control can we talk about when the heart is squeezed in a vice?

Sometimes the trauma repeats itself with enviable consistency. The scenery and characters change (boyfriend, colleague, girlfriend, cashier in the store), but the core remains unchanged. Perhaps it will be repeated until it is "rewritten". Perhaps the already familiar pain covers up a completely different pain, stronger and more terrible, with which it is not clear how to cope.