Tonight I'm squeaking in my writing just under the wire. I want to not write today. I feel like my words have all been used up in conversations with others and I am done. There needs to be room for grace, but part of this writing is also about making room for healthy discipline.
I've been battling the headaches again. The horrific ones that seem to come with new layers of healing. This is one of the times that I hate DID. I hate dissociation. I hate the feeling of knives stabbing into my brain and my jaw clenched, too tight as I sit with the fury and the grief. It's easier to blame the weather changes than it is to face the reality that my brain hurts because I'm processing new levels of trauma -the younger the trauma, the worse the headaches. Maybe because it's been buried that much longer. Of course the younger the trauma, the less memories there are and I'm left with overwhelming emotions that aren't attached to anything concrete. Oh the joys.
And yet there was grace tonight. There were two hours of respite - from the time that I opened the recovery meeting, until I finished the last conversation with the last of my ladies. For two hours, the pain was held back, not by any of my doings, but by a God who I believe was honouring my choice to be there tonight.