It has been a rough several weeks for me. I was called back to my job on October 7. Around the same time, I developed an awful headache whose symptoms were entirely unlike my normal headaches (in kind; severity was … severe, but so are my normal ones) and only in the past two days has that faded — leaving in its wake a severe fatigue that actually came close to preventing me from writing six-digit numbers on applications at work yesterday.

Of course, when I am emotionally burned out, my body crashes. Serotonin screwup, adrenal fatigue, other stuff? I don’t know. And it has been a very emotionally turbulent two weeks. The temperature dropped without a warning, and the sudden winter weather has been an unfortunate sensual reminder of the awful personal events I went through last year, starting in October. It’s like I’ve been dropped into my own life one year ago, even as things have resolved or improved or smoothed out on that front… it ties only with my summer stuck in California as the worst events of my life, intense and injurious, dropping me into suicidal periods that (fortunately) ended up only scaring the hell out of me, rather than killing me.

And it has been a pressure of intense, high stress. I don’t know why I thought it would be safe for me to raise my voice in concern on very high-profile matters. Maybe the outrage finally got to be so strong it couldn’t stay quiet any more. But I did, and I can’t take it back now. It makes me wonder why I bother, ever, becoming involved in any space, rather than remaining in the background, quiet and invisible, slipping just out of notice. I can protect myself that way. It’s safe there.

Several people in my life, including at work, over the past several weeks who have been like watching flashbacks of my own life during its worst periods. Echoes. There’s the major and severe, mimicking the deeply abusive behaviors I could never escape from. And there’s the passing, the minor, the couldn’t-possibly-be-their-fault — speaking habits, common phrases, facial expressions — though, to be honest, even those wouldn’t be triggers if they didn’t come immediately after the behind-the-back scheming, theorizing about conspiracies, the twisting, the lying…

Why did I ever think I could do this? Why? What could I ever criticize? I am not just imperfect, you must understand. I am broken. Broken, broken. How can I ever expect to speak critically and not have that eye turn back on me? Why do I? When did I lose those self-protection skills? I used to know how. I used to remain highly disciplined.

But something gave me strength and security. And sometimes, that’s the worst thing a person can be given.

I don’t even know who my real self is. I never have. I’ve walled her off, time after time, building stronger and higher and deeper, covering my tracks, looking over my shoulder, making sure that nobody even knows she exists… if she doesn’t exist, she can’t be harmed.

I don’t even know whether she exists anymore.