As I sat in my numbness this past Monday evening, I found myself delving into my notebook again. I would call it a journal, but it takes on many forms. A place for tiny reminders, to do lists, poems and attempts at getting creative. Regardless of its label, I found myself writing about my darkness, cursive in turquoise sharpie. Darkness is pretty regular in my notebooks, it’s what I feel most often, and it is what I most often cannot speak of out loud. This feels like it may take a turn into the narrative of ‘not enough places to talk suicide’, and it was where I initially intended to go in my notebook entry, but my thoughts took a turn. I’ve talked about my thoughts and attempts of suicide and I’d like to think I’ve processed what suicide means to me and how I navigate it.
What my darkness brought me tonight was a realization that I will likely never be able to process what has happened to me in life. Even more specifically, process what has happened to me with the people who were around at the time and remain in my life in active roles by my choosing. I had an experience the other day that was retraumatizing, and I found myself in days after reliving memories that I had forgotten lay buried within myself. I wanted to reach out to someone to talk about these horrific memories and chose not to because I felt confident that I would find no comfort. That there would likely be damage to both sides of the relationship with no growth to show for it. This is something I face on the regular when reliving memories of harm caused to me, whether well intentioned or not.
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What my darkness brought me tonight was a question: “Is it possible to heal and live life amongst those who have harmed you without processing it together?” If posed this question with little context I would expect an answer of ‘not likely’, but it has not been a simple path for myself. So much harm that was caused to me was done with the best of intentions, and it has been so long since the bulk of it occurred that I barely remember it without something causing me to. I’ve made it through recent years with very few flashbacks, but as my cognitive abilities return and I find myself reading books left and right, I also find my memories flooding back on a more regular basis. This has been debilitating some days, leaving me shaking, nauseous, jumpy and irritable. I want nothing more than to just bury these memories back down, but I know better, I know that I need to process them.
But can I? The bulk of the harm has been done by someone I love and care about very much, I was convinced I forgave them. I do forgive them…I forgive them so much that I don’t want to cause them harm by asking them to relive their side of the pain and harm. I forgive them so much that I don’t blame them for making the choices that they did. I know deep down that discussing what happened will destroy what we have rebuilt of our relationship, but then I ask, have I done this on false pretenses? Is this real or superficial? Do we need to talk about this to truly rebuild our relationship, or can I heal without processing it together? Will more harm or healing be done by talking through this?
I don’t have the resolution, what I am sharing with you all is the raw vulnerability of what I am facing in my current life amongst the many other aspects I am navigating. My hope in sharing this piece of darkness I am facing is to come to you all in solidarity. To share a piece of myself and offer an opportunity to relate and reflect together. To pose the question to you all: “Is it possible to heal and live life amongst those who have harmed you without processing it together?”
As of right now, I do think it’s possible, but my viewpoint is bound to evolve. Regardless, I thank you for reading until the end and l appreciate your time.
In Solidarity
Jillian Aucoin
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