Safe Places

This time last year, I'd lost something that was very vital to my life. I'd lost the ability to be comfortable in my own bed. After so many nights of being in horrible bloody conditions, all of which took place in  that bed, I dreaded the idea of even being in my room.

There are many things that were going wrong in my life at that time, but this, while seemingly minor, was more of the more dehumanizing. A bedroom, and a bed, should be a safe place. It is, after all, where you are your most vulnerable. For many people, it's one of the few spaces they can claim as their own. I've always had a strong connection with my bedrooms and my beds. Growing up in chaotic households, often my room was my only safe place.

Losing that sense of security was rough on me. This time last year, I hated my room, worse, I feared it. I felt I had no safe place of my own. I felt very lost. In a time when I most needed sleep, I would find excuses to stay awake, to stay out of my room.

A year later, this part of my PTSD is, thankfully, gone. My room is my haven again. It's back to being the most relaxing place in my life. When I look at my room now, I know I have a lot more history in there. IT IS the place where I thought I would bleed to death, but it's also the place where I began to gain my strength. It is the place where I hid whenever I found out I had cancer. It's the place where I healed.

When I lay down tonight, I won't do so in fear. I'll do so in comfort and happiness. It's MY room again. I am very grateful for that.