Date: 16 Nov 2022
I was reflecting on how best to describe what I am currently experiencing at the moment to someone who has no idea what being retraumatised feels like. I came up with the concept of fire, which for me, feels most accurate to how my brain and body are reacting to this ex tutors recent action. I don't think she even knows (or maybe even cares) how much she has hurt me with her words and actions. I saw her last week at this conference I attended in Birmingham and I realised that while I know I am projecting a lot onto her, I don't think she realises she is doing the same to me. I think I represent something she doesn't like in either herself or someone else she knows in her life and I believe that our anxieties bounce off the others anxieties, making us unable to effectively communicate. I seem to be the only one willing to drop their ego in this situation and be honest, admit fault and apologise and without her being willing to leave her ego at the door, we will never be able to talk in a safe way. But anyway, back to my trauma as a fire concept.
Imagine that when you get traumatised the first time, that the person who traumatised you, hands you a flame. A small, little flickering flame on a candle or some such things. A flame that no matter what you do to it, will not ever fully go out. And you can't leave it behind either, you try but as soon as you get too far from it, this candle pings back into your hand. So you learn to carry this candle, keep it away from things that make it burn brighter and faster and eventually, this candle becomes tiny. It goes from being a bonfire sized candle, that takes up so much time and energy to carry around, to a little match with a tiny glowing ember on the end. When someone relights old trauma, its like they're adding gas to this little match. And a lot of gas and fuel as well. Enough that this tiny little ember will explode. It's sudden, often comes out of nowhere. It hurts like fucking hell and you're left to wonder how you will survive this. Whether you will be able to survive it. The flame grows so fast and burns so hot that it's all consuming. It's like your entire world goes up in flames and burns so bright, you can hardly see. The fire is so sudden and huge that you barely feel anything other than shock, horror and pain. So much pain. And it lingers. while you can't feel the fire, the pain and shock burns you deep. Leaves you shaken, scared and terrified. And feeling completely alone.
Once the initial explosion dies down, the fire simmers. The new fuel buddies with old fuel that's untouched or partially burnt out, to make a new, scarier fire. One that is filled with pockets of unburnt fuel that could catch alight with a moments notice, exploding with new ferocity. You're left living in fear of what's next. You're forced to confront memories you buried deep, for they burn hot and fast, in flashes, in emotions, in the little triggers that are scattered about your day. You cannot out run the fire, nor put it out. It follows your every move, never quietening, never letting you breathe. Your deepest fears, insecurities and anxieties are lit up, like millions of bonfires scattered across a darkened field for all to see. You cannot escape them. They haunt your every waking moment and you're terrified of what will happen when (or if) someone notices you're burning. Your brain goes into overdrive, thinking of the worst case scenario of everything. If you tell someone (or they find out), they could help. They could douse the fires ferocity in cooling water, to offer relief for a brief moment. But you don't know if they will do that. The last person you trusted with your little flame, ended up igniting it with fierce fuel. And if you tell someone else (or someone else finds out) they could add further fuel, help the fire to burn. So you suffer alone. Stay silent. Distance yourself. Live in fear of people finding out. Live in fear of people and the pain they could bring. And when you finally tell someone, or they find out, the fire starts to loose its grip.
When the fire looses its grip on your mind, you feel a degree of relief. Maybe you let your guard down, open up to other people. You try to forget about the still simmering fires in the back of your mind. You try to act normal, go about your day like everything is fine. Try to put out the fires before they grow but you don't succeed. You become tired, overwhelmed and frantic. The little things become huge. When someone asks how you are, how do you respond? You don't know. It changes from one moment to the next. Sometimes you are fine, you feel almost normal. Others, you're exhausted. Burnt out. Drained. Scared or even feeling traumatised. Sometimes you just don't know how you feel. Like the world is both all too much and not enough at the same time. The world starts to feel unreal and you start to internally burn with that feeling. You're left to wonder if you're still human, still whole, still alive. All you can feel is numbness, intermingled with moments of intense fear, anxiety, sadness and anger.
And when the anger comes, the fire gains traction once more. You dwell on everything, wonder what the fuck you did to deserve being burnt again. Wonder why you didn't see your trusted person was adding fuel to your fire before now. You start to add fuel to their fire as well. You don't intend to but because you are exhausted, you're too tired to fight the parts of your mind that scream that what happened was your fault, that you deserved it, that you really are everything they said and more. As the fire builds again, you distance again. Start to stress, panic, worry. You don't want to be alone but can't open up. You want to ask for help again. but you don't know who to turn to. You don't know whether you can shout, cry or scream for help. And if you do, whether anyone will hear or care. All you want is for it to be over. For silence to reign in your head once more. For safety to sweep you into its dark, cool waters and bathe you in its security. You want to heal. But you're scared. Scared of being burnt again. Scared to be yourself. Scared to be vulnerable. So you put walls up. Build defences. Install sprinklers in your mind, add alarm systems and more. And you wait. You just wait for things to start to heal again. You wait for your defences to kick in, for your mind to gather the strength to fight back and finally get the fires under control.
And once the fire is under control, you are left to paint the blackened, damaged walls of your being with new colour. You learn to disguise the trauma, the pain and the distrust with a bright smile again. You learn how to excel at being invisible. And for a while, invisible is enough. But then the loneliness creeps in and like a snail coming out of its shell, you start to unfurl, start to seek human contact again. You finally start to move forward again, start to learn how to live again with this new version of you. Start to process what happened and how to trust people again. You keep fighting against the urge to drown in the safe, cool waters of isolation and stay there forever and you learn how to love this new, half burnt, half the same as you were before, new you. And you just hope that the people you do finally trust with your (now small, tiny and tightly contained) flame, do not throw gas at it.
This fire goes round and round in circles, as it breaks free of its containment and you have to go back to firefighting for a little while. The further from the time of the trauma you get, the smaller these outbursts (or reactions to triggers) are. At the moment, I am in the simmering fire stage, the explosion has gone but the trauma and the terror that comes with learning what this means for me, my future in educational contexts and my new MASc course, is still very present, very raw and very hard to sit with. This RCSSD tutors trauma has linked with Saras trauma from when I was 16-18 and because they are very closely linked (both from tutors I trusted, both tutors abused their power, belittled me, gaslit me and both were linked to performing arts in some way), things I never allowed myself to process from college crop up, along with new feelings about this RCSSD tutor. It feels very much like nowhere is safe and nothing is safe.
So yeah, I have no idea if this analogy helps but I'm a visual thinker myself, so the idea of a fire raging out of control in my head and body has in a way, helped me to visualise what I am going through in a way that seems much more real than "retraumatised". That word is far too vague and means different things to different people. I best dash, I need to get ready for my first ever Student-Staff Consultancy Committee meeting... utterly terrified!!! But my dear reader stay safe, stay strong and keep fighting!
I will try to update soon :D
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