From Autopilot to Healing Part 3

Writing these recollections illuminates the improvements I’ve made. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll never be free of the PTSD symptoms completely. But now—at least—I get good times, and the bad ones are shorter. Which is just as well, as I work on my minor thesis—a middle grade fiction for children living with Family Domestic Violence. It has raised many ugly memories, but it has also shown me I’m strong enough to deal with them—after all, they are only memories.

So, back to my breakdown…

Returning to my comfortable solitude of Mudgee, I ignored the warning signs again. I persisted with a reclusive life, thanks to internet shopping and the availability of online courses for regional residents. I wrote Wellworth in third person and then rewrote it in first person. I chopped wood for the fire. Tried and failed to grow vegetables and native flowers. I sewed grass seeds for the cockatoos and galahs to eat and lavender for the wombats to munch on.

There was no pressure for me to improve—I had no real relationships to remind me I wasn’t well.

But then my husband’s contract ended, and he returned home. It was my turn to go to work. I took a full-time challenging position, hoping the extra demands would keep me busy enough to ignore my internal demands. I even took on additional duties above my role. Eventually, the increasing demands of the job came to a climax, and I was put in a position that I swore I would never allow myself to be in. I was committing, effectively, domestic violence. It was during one of these moments that I saw my baby sister watching me with terrified eyes, the ones she used when my stepfather beat up our mother, forcing us to watch to ‘learn our place’. I shattered into multiple pieces.

I returned to work the next day, unsuccessfully holding back tears. That was the last day I went to work. And, when I finally had to face up to my broken mental health.