1196 ANNIE MEETS WILL Part 7

December 1961
The telephone rings
It's Stuart's friend, Will, calling for me ...
Uh!  One second, please ...
Hold the phone ...

2014
While editing yesterday's post, a shadowed detail slipped through my defensive wall, which is seemingly becoming as permeable as gauze, unwinding, layer by layer from a wound that proves to be painfully raw at my core.  Rather than asking you to reread the entirety of yesterday's post, I'll reproduce the newly edited portion, here, so you can see how readily this 'new' detail slipped through my protective wall of denial and into my awareness while stream of consciousness directed my train of thought.  Ready?  Okay, let's go:

Each time a dream challenges my conscious awareness to grasp an illusive detail, associated with the traumatic secret, trapped within my subconscious, here's what happens:   My brain, functioning as an intelligent whole, works to loosen the paralysis, resulting from PTSD, which remains unhealed, or even worse, undiagnosed.  Just as I'd had no conscious clue that my fear of guys had blocked me from trying out for cheerleading, year after year, I also had no clue as to why anxiety would strike each time I'd find myself alone in a car with a guy, who was driving me home after a date.  (While reviewing that statement, a fleeting thought of babysitting flew through my mind, as though my subconscious had just whispered:  Annie, take note ... something scared you out of your wits while the father drove you home, As anxiety accompanied that darkly shadowed memory, I realized that my brain's most recent attempt to slip another detail into my conscious mind met with resistance for this reason:  Readiness to lift the veil on that experience is not yet mine, because the memory, itself, remains shrouded by too many layers of fear to show itself in a clearly transparent, fully processed state, as of yet ...) 

Hopefully, those of you, who have mastered the patience to follow repetitive trains of thought in post after post, are astutely aware of witnessing my brain working, methodically, to heal itself from PTSD, one cautious, yet courageous, intuitive step at a time.

Once again, chrysalis proves lengthy when layers of self protective denial, which thicken, instinctively, like a plaster cast, are coaxed to soften until each layer of gauze unwinds, thus exposing raw vulnerability, one detail at a time.  And so, in addition to courage—determination, tenacity and resilience—prove necessary while knowledge and patience are in the process of healing my brain from PTSD.

December, 1961
The telephone rings
It's Stuart's friend, Will, calling for me ...
We shoot the breeze for a while
He sounds really nice and smart
He's a sophomore in college
A pre med student
(Grandma loves that!)
Will asks me out for Saturday night, and
As I'm free, our first date is set
When Will tells me what we're going to do
I'm surprised
Pleasantly so
I mean ... I've never done this with a guy, before ...
Upon revealing that I enjoy this activity but
Am not very good at it, Will laughs, and
While listening to his good natured reassurances
I find myself looking forward to
Enjoying our first date with a sense of
Eagerness that makes me believe
Saturday night will offer up lots of fun ...