I went to Amsterdam again.
Those of you who have read my past post about Amsterdam, might remember that when I took the bus from Portugal to the Netherlands, I was in a really bad shape. I had just left my first boyfriend (whom I shall never refer to again due to all the negativity that guy hit me with). I was deeply depressed (not so much related to past sentence). I felt all covered in sin and shame. And I wanted to end it.
That first trip to Amsterdam left me sleepless for almost a week, tripping on shrooms for the last time in my life, and scared af.
This time was different.
Amsterdam 2021. View from the hotel
I went down now with a different mindset.
I had my light pink soft, fake-animal material shoes, dark, slim jeans, fancy white shirt, grey sweater on top, jacket and purse from the suburbs. My hair all out, or tied up. Can't remember now.
And, my exam was due mid-trip. We had to write an essay about three different topics in pedagogy. We were given a due date. 7 days. I wrote it in a day. Passed. Then continued my journey through Amsterdam. My healing trip. The trip that was to cure my PTSD. The trip of all trips.
I went to all the places that had traumatised me in some way. Purposely.
I went to street where I had thrown my suitcase away. My suitcase with my glasses. And extra pairs of lenses. The ones I had had in my eyes, I had thrown away earlier. So there I was, back in 2017, with a sight so bad you can't see sh*t, unless it's half a metre in front of you.
This time, I didn't even cry. I smiled.
Because look at me now.
I have 3 jobs. Currently working at 2. I have a roof above my had, and at some point since 2017, I even had 2. I'm done with 60% of my final degree. I have food in my kitchen. I have clean water. I can wash my clothes in the next room. And even use the dryer if I need to.
I went to some of the same bars. I had my Heineken. Supporting Amsterdam even though that city traumatised me for life.
Or so I thought.
As I visited all these places, I didn't break down. I didn't sit my a** down on the side of the road, lay down, crying my lungs out that I give up, that I can't take it anymore. As I did the last time. Before some guy came up to me and helped me up and out.
I smiled instead.
I was grateful.
I was thankful.
Back in 2017, I had left Amsterdam with one bag. One pair of jeans, that didn't fit, because I had twisted my right ankle pretty bad a week earlier, and the swelling had only increased as I had walked for hours every day since the hit.
One thicc sweater, one skinny sweater, my makeup bag, jacket, shoes, socks. I think.
Now, I have enough pants, sweaters, shirts, jackets, to keep a huge af family warm.
I went out one of the nights and lit up a smoke. That part of my healing trip was one of the ones I dreaded the most. Almost every time I'd lit one up since then, the bad memories back back. The fear came back. The hopelessness came back. The feeling of being trapped came back. I would then either cry, whether my entire face was in on it too or just tears pouring uncontrollably from my eyes, shake uncontrollably, turn all paranoid, it would seem to others, as I would turn my head from side to side, scanning the area around me again and again, faster and faster, looking for dangers, losing control over my own brain and body.
The same goes for some songs. The songs would take me right back to that same state of horror.
Look at that beauty. No people
That night when I went out for a smoke, someone lit up some fireworks not too far away.
I smiled.
I felt like I had a guardian angel, watching over me this time, taking care of me.
Growing up, people had disappointed me a few too many times for me to ever have high expectations. Ever again. It's not that I expected a lot. Or something unreachable.
Anyway. I went to Amsterdam with my head held high, filled with rage over the thought of this, this PTSD, these nightmares and fear, controlling me for the rest of my life. Those were the words of my shrink. I refused.
And I won.
The healing ain't done yet, tho.
I still have issues with sleep, I have longer periods now where I don't even feel hunger or the need to urinate, I still scan people around me, looking for dangers, wanting to be in control. I have a long way to go. Of that, I am sure.
But I can now be trigged, in a way, and handle it in a more healing, healthy way.
For example, almost every time a towing truck would pass me, I would start crying, and most of the above mentioned reactions would follow. Now, I don't.
As I have mentioned before, I'm no doctor nor shrink. I do, however work in healthcare and observe and read a lot.
But I believe that by regaining control over a situation where I had been left without control, was the main factor that brought me back. The old me. The not-so-frightened me.
And that's how I won.