I have a bad habit of going back in time because it feels comfortable. The fact that I just called it a habit feels like I’m not allowing myself to feel my feelings.
PTSD-I have a lot of patience for myself but sometimes, it feels very comfortable and intimate being in a place I know is not good for me. Intimate is a funny word, the person you are most intimate with is yourself. Your own thoughts, the ones that you keep to yourself.
When I’m walking around some days, but mostly when I’m at home I will start thinking about something that really hurts and notice a pervasive kinda lure there. I want to stay there, and I like to sink into it. Like a big, duck-down pillow that’s soft and full of feathers, It feels alluring because of the fabric and you know you spent a lot on it. It’s warm but the gamey odor and feather quills prick you every time you use it. I had a dream last night that I drank by accident. I had a dream I relapsed, and then it was full-on. I find it so weird how my body can create the exact feeling of being perfectly buzzed while I’m dreaming. It always lingers for a second before I really wake up.
I’m traveling next week. I haven’t been on a plane in a year and a half. All I keep thinking about is how I used to drink myself to the point of a little hammered in the airport bar then top it up to really hammered whiskey on the flight. I don’t have a fear of flying, I love traveling. I just loved airport drinking, it was a part of the ritual of flying…. Everyone goes to the airport bar when they’re traveling, for a beer or two, I’d go for as many as I could get down my neck before the plane. I could crush pints.
I’m excited but nervous. I made myself take some time off from work before the trip for the first time in my life. So I could get as prepared as I could. I bought a new coloring book to bypass the bar cart on the plane and I have three books I want to read during my downtime. I love to read about the places I’ve been to. I am very excited about that part. I love traveling. This, this right here is what I went into tourism for. This feeling of adventure and discovering somewhere new.
Travel is like somehow pressing a reset. I’m hoping I can recognize when I’m feeling insecure about something, and catch myself slipping into that old comfort habit. I will tell myself it’s ok to visit if it’s useful, but not to stay there too long. PTSD will trigger that comfort in pain in me always. I just have to know I’m doing it and move on. I mean I managed to make it around the countryside in south France with my brutal Ontario French, before any kind of easy internet access. I’m feeling pretty comfortable taking a plane without drinking. I’m just gonna keep telling myself. New normal. New normal.