Back in the Saddle (Ever) Again?

 

I’m trying to figure out how I can make it back into the seat.

“Write what happened,” a sister said. “Print it out, then burn it.”

Supposedly this method will rid me of the stress and fear. The damage done, the fucking grief.

I am a writer. Wrote a blog post about what happened and how I feel. Can’t post it for legal reasons. Unable to burn it either.

My body has rebelled against returning. Physically ill. Exhausted, then insomniac. Nightmares. Flashbacks galore. Confidence shattered. Bathroom blues.

Refuse to medicate with uisge beatha for it doesn’t erase the problem, only accentuates it. Compounds it, pushing it deep below instead of to the surface where it hopefully will exit.

Eventually I will get back into the “office”. They say to “take all the time” necessary to heal. I wonder when it will happen, or how much time before my employer demands my return.

Male hormones scream at me to “man UP!” Then the constantly playing rerun queues up. Again, constantly, relentless in its insistence of never being forgotten.

Ugh! The plague of self doubt is real, and currently winning. I must win this battle, then the war.