Trigger/Content Warning (TW/CW): this blog post contains mentions of abuse, addiction, and self-injury. Reader discretion is advised.
There are, like, six cars here at the Berea Train Depot. Each car has at least one person inside, waiting for a train ran by either CSX or Norfolk Southern to roll through. And even though today is a national holiday here in the United States, the trains do run.
As I type, a BNSF line approaches on the CSX tracks. It's moving at a pretty good clip, about 45 miles an hour. The wind the line generates feels nice on a summer evening. And now the line is gone.
Most folks are probably with their friends and families, getting ready to watch some firework display to commemorate the 239th birthday of this country. I should be celebrating, too: counting each day as a blessing that I am free and independent from abuse and neglect.
But, I'm not.
It's not that I am a greedy and selfish brat. That's beside the point. On holidays, whether they are nationally recognized or religiously observed, these days, like today, are very hard to deal with. The PTSD, depression, and anxiety sometimes become too much to bear on days like Thanksgiving or Simchat Torah. Or even on the most ironic day of all, Independence Day.
Last night told a different story. I got to chill with some really awesome folks to celebrate their youngest son's birthday as well as to watch their community's fireworks display. And then afterwards, we got to chill around a bonfire and relaxed.
Almost 24 hours later, I'm a deep depression, feeling alone, unloved, and miserable.
I reflect on what I had mentioned last night, as I shared with the host and hostess about my struggles with PTSD, even after leaving all of my abusers behind. I said that the emotions that one processes feel like it's an addiction, except it's not.
Or, is it?
Another train approaches from the opposite direction on the CSX tracks. A Canadian Pacific line.
There are times where my body feels withdrawals, very much like someone who has a physical addiction, and they are painful to experience. Except, my addiction, if you will, is emotional. I crave and I cringe for intimacy and affection, love and touch.
The train line disappears into the west. A new car with spectators parks nearby me. A third train now approaches, with the quickness of the first line. A CSX line.
I feel at times like people are afraid to give me hugs because of their perceived views on autism. Other times I feel that people are afraid to come close to me because of me mistaking their friendly gesture as one of pursuit of a physical relationship.
Lately, I been feeling a bit assertive in approaching folks to get to know them better. I would love to be in a relationship once again, or at least to get laid with some afterglow cuddles as dessert. So far, I've been shot down at my attempts. Each attempt missed makes me hurt worse than before. This probably tells me that I'm not ready for a relationship, and that it's the "high" of physical intimacy and emotional companionship that I'm truly seeking for. That I'm desperate.
And even though I've been slice free for over a year, it's times like these on days like these that make me want to grab a pair of scissors and give myself something to "really agonize over."
Freedom? Independence? Do I really have it, at this very moment?
I will contemplate on that as the sun sets, whilst waiting for more trains to roll through.