Falling and Failing

Earlier this year, I slipped on ice.

I tried to do my usual morning shortcut on pavement that wasn't clearly marked with a caution sign. I went slow; I've been north of Florida long enough to not take snow-covered pavement at face value. And sure enough, the boots crunched through the white fluffy stuff, met ice, and I slipped.

The accident report was filed despite my insistence on feeling fine. (And for the record, always file that report no matter how you feel.) But, I did! I slipped, got up, double-backed, and went the no-snow route. The only thing hurt was my pride; that was embarrassing. Not even my now-common aches and pains were worse for it.

I distinctly remember thinking, "Oh. I'm going down. Might as well roll with it." I bent my knees and managed to fall ass-first. The training from the self-defense martial arts kicked in, too, and I spread my arms to even out the impact.

That's how you're supposed to do a breakfall. I'm proud of myself for pulling it off.

If only other things came to me as easily as that.

You'd think, by now, that I've had more practice in letting people in. To reach out for support after I've fallen down, when I'm feeling fine or not. It's still too easy for me to become unresponsive as I withdraw to the extreme, not even eating.

Because I screw up too much, and thus deserve to be alone and starving. That everyone is sick of me screwing up and worse, I'm never gonna get better despite my trying. I think of me high-school sized with untouched food and a self-loathing that spanned miles because of a mistake.

With new trauma I've been over-correcting for my comfort to get the unpleasantness over with as soon as possible. But that's been causing splash damage with in-hindsight inconsiderateness; the "fine, whatever" a bandaid over discomfort; the silence as the most comforting thing in the world, as long as I don't think about anything else ever again.

I hate this.

This is fucking hard.

I'm sorry.

I need more practice (and more therapy).