I've heard

I've heard that someone is never the same after trauma. They'll never be who they were before it happened.

They'll try, but it won't happen. That person doesn't exist.

It was tough to hear that.

When I was in high school, we watched a video about a boy who was hit in a drunk driving accident. The high schooler had a brain injury that affected his speech. Inside he felt like he was the same person, but he was limited mentally. He would stay up late at night buying products from ads and paid programming that promised "to be healthy", "normal", "to fix all your problems." He begged to be normal again, but he couldn't be.

Clips from that video ring in my mind.

As I email doctors. Make appointments. Take their advice.

Pray constantly. Go to church. Confess my sins.

Read books on trauma.

Learn to draw. Color.


Cry while trying to do yoga again.

Journal. Use essential oils. Release emotions through muscle testing.

Fall asleep on the couch utterly exhausted from trying so hard.

Wake up with my jeans on and start again.

Just hoping to have pieces of me back again.

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Then I'm back.

A cool breeze brushes my face on my morning run. Then I'm back in Tenessee. Going on my morning run near our apartment. I feel the same cool breeze. Feel the same emotions. Depression. Pressure. And h

It's too good to be true.

To have these moments. Leave a self-defense class. More and more confident each week. Wearing my nice yoga pants. Drive to my mom's to drop off fresh pears from the farmer's market. We rest. On rockin

How do I know

That I'm me? I feel creative I want to write Or cook Or make jokes Or learn I'm not exhausted, obsessive, or anxious That's how I know.