A Survivor's Journey to Healing

I am tired.  Very, very tired.  Of carrying the weight of survivorship upon my shoulders. Of spinning the wheels in my mind, trying to come up with the most justifiable reason as to why I'm so goddamm neurotic all the time.  The weight of it all sits upon my chest like an invisible elephant. Snapping my ribs, bursting my lungs, collapsing my wind pipe.  The shame. The guilt. The confusion. The blurred lines. The hazy images hoping to eventually become clear memories. The paranoia. The internalizing of every little thing. The sensitivity. The overemotional. The high self expectations. The disassociation. The avoidance. The irritability. The numbing depression. The paralyzing anxiety. The self doubt. The judgment. The disbelief.  It's a heavy load to carry. The knots in my stomach, lumps in my throat, strings in my chest pulled. They've all become a sturdy foundation to hold it all.  I'm going to be okay. I know these things won't destroy me. I won't let them. I&#

I've always assumed I was trauma symptom free.  Other than the avoidance, denial, and occasional self-destructive and harming behaviors.  But nothing that would make the neon lights buzz "THIS IS TRAUMA" so loud the break.  Until last night.  I experienced my very first CSA-related full blown, hyperventilating panic attack.  I felt unsafe and uncomfortable in my skin.  The apples of my cheeks wouldn't stop burning.  Palms coated in sweat.  These are the moments that remind me it is real. All the self-doubt, self-blame, and guilt are thrown out the window.  Thanking the universe for two radiant friends of mine  who heard me, saw me, loved me, supported me, and cradled me back to safety and strength.