I have lost contact with the world and I’m not sorry. I have lived a full life. I’ve gone out into the bluest ocean and seen fish-it could’ve been tropical fish or minnows, it doesn’t matter which-swimming through the glass bottom of my canoe. I have argued over seafood in the coast of Spain. I have survived what I thought of at the time as a standard eight hour hike through a mudslide and came home dirty, soaked to the bone, and exhausted, only to slip over a sewer grate and skin my knee from the ankle all the way up the second I stepped off the subway. I have gotten sober, potty trained a puppy, and discovered that nothing is better than staying home with him and a good book.
My reactions to having been triggered so constantly have been wrongly displayed as alcoholism, asssholery, oversensitivity, and recklessness.
If there’s one thing I have learned in my short life, its that there is nothing wrong with being sensitive. It is a train of thought worth standing up for in this world. It just often takes more strength than I’ve had to remain loyal to my feelings in the crowd of people who think that whatever I’m upset about is par for the course in this life.
But what if it doesn’t have to be?
I have also had the rare reaction to being triggered of bursting into tears after putting up just the briefest of fights. I wish I always reacted the way I did when I was triggered by a spoof of Mr. Rogers in his documentary which crudely brought sex into play in the form of a lingerie clad woman stepping out of Mr. Roger’s closet. I was triggered because something as pure as childhood was spoiled by such a lewd act which disregarded the special kindness of Mr Rogers yhat preceded it. That was simple enough, I was with a man I felt safe being vulnerable with, and I sobbed.
I think sobbing in reaction to a trigger at least garners understanding. I wish it could always be so straightforward.
I am grateful to have found someone who responds to my anxiety laden admission of this vague threat of cancer with a sincere, “You don’t have to go through this alone, you know.”
I am not sorry to have lost contact with the world under my blankets with this man, a good book, and my dog. That’s it.
Maybe that’s all it has to be.