EMDR: His death was worth it.

Apr 13

Written By Oakley Boycott

TW: mental health, suicide, physical abuse,

depression, bereavement, addiction

I didn’t know being alive like this was possible.

And I will talk about it ad nauseam.

When my therapist, years ago, recommended that I try EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization Reprocessing) I said “No. Absolutely not.” Because I thought that EMDR would “Eternal Sunshine” Phil out of my life. My version of our love was so codependent on the pain I associated with our relationship, his illness and his death that I thought if I got rid of the pain, I’d be getting rid of the love. I was(and still am) a recovering grief addict, a bereavement junkie and, at the time I didn’t want to acknowledge or unpack that. My head and heart were so hell-bent on using grief and absolutely EVERYTHING that came with instead of throwing it away and suppressing it just to have it come out sideways at a later date. If this was a life experience I had been given, I sure wasn’t going to waste it; no pushing things down, no lying about feelings, no trying be or feel anything other than truth, no forcing “moving on” or “he would or wouldn’t have wanted” this or that or the other. That was as insulting to myself and to him as I could imagine. So, I dove in.

That choice gifted me with some of the most extraordinary moments, deeper growth of empathy and MOST IMPORTANTLY, a team of people who know how to hold space in the murky, mucky, dark waters and ask important questions that aren’t rooted in social autopilot, who ask and follow through with help when they see me drowning, get me on adventures even though it may hurt to stand, encourage and don’t shame rest and who call me out when things get unhealthy.

My team is always gold and ESPECIALLY when my trauma triggers got/get tripped big time. And again. And again. And again. And again. Until it reached a point where my brain was killing me; my grief was killing me. The spirals that would happen in every moment of every second would send me to a space where I physically could not move, could not think, could not function.

Once the trauma trigger tripped when I was in a pizza shop alone and I couldn’t physically move from that spot for 2 hours(the pizza was good, but not that good).

It took me 3 years to let anyone(including my parents) really hug me or touch me. Today, sometimes touch is still a struggle.

I couldn’t make eye contact with anyone because as soon as we would, I’d leave my body and forget where I was and what we were talking about. Or else I’d spiral into relieving memories of watching Phil die; the good and loving memories were just as bad, because they’d be paired with the pain. (still struggle with that, especially the eye contact bit)

It tripped me when I was with the first person I was physically intimate with after Phil and I would ask him to beat the shit out of me (in a not so honestly sexy way, unbeknownst to him) and treat me like shit over and over again because I thought I deserved it for leaving Phil to die. I wanted to feel in my body again and that was the only way I could figure how. Plus, I wanted physical proof and bruises were palatable evidence.

After being intimate with my former partner, I would leave him to go into the bathroom and physically beat the shit out of myself because I hated myself so much. I’d look at myself in the mirror and wish that I could split my skull open so all of this brain stuff could just ooze onto the floor and I wouldn’t have to think about anything ever again. That’s why I would pick at my skin and graphically pop pimples; a physical representation of what I wish I could do with my psyche, getting all of the stuff out that shouldn’t be there. Out of my body.

Every morning, I’d wake up and pray to go back to sleep because the weight of being awake was too heavy.

So much of all of me wanted to die, even though my logical brain knew how much it is WORTH it to be alive.

Every moment was a fight to get over the dark mountain of that moment to get to the dark mountain of the next and the next and the next; no valleys of rest, just epic battles on dark peaks to fall off of.

My team saved my life again; not the first time, probably not the last. Holding space and showing up for your peeps is a wonderful gift. Calling them out when they need help that they aren’t getting is another one.

“You need help. I want to help you. How do I help you?” If they don’t know, don’t give up.

“Do you need me to help you find a therapist?”

“We will help you pay for it.”

“Come stay with me.”

“Come stay with us.”

“You are not broken, but we need and YOU need to do something different to help you. Doing the same thing you’ve always done and have been doing is madness.”

That something different ended up being multiple things.

At the suggestion of Sarah Claire Smith, I started trying to find therapist who was EMDR certified.

Mei Ratz (who, I CANNOT stress the importance of what she did ENOUGH) called therapists for me, which gave me the drive to call more on my own and eventually land with a new one( who WAS EMDR certified) after two years of fading from group bereavement therapy.

Going into my first session of EMDR I thought I was being SO prepared. I thought that I was going to be triggered in ALL of the ways and that I would walk out if there an ABSOLUTE mess; even worse than when I came in. In my bag I brought my dry brush(helped get into my body when I would disassociate), Gina Schiappacasse coloring book to get me out of my head and onto a page, silly putty, epsom salt spray, a ball of pounded copper, a gallon of water, my weighted blanket, lists of tapping patterns, journal, snacks, CBD, magnesium, my list of emergency contacts.

After my first session, I got up, walked out of the office, got on the train, arrived home, put myself to bed and slept for 10 hours. When I woke up, it was the first time in YEARS where I didn’t automatically pray to go back to sleep just so I wouldn’t be burdened with being awake and alive. It was the first time I didn’t wish I was dead.

Moving through that first day was like being alive for the first time. It wasn’t as though a weight had been lifted,

I was just without . Without the exhaustion of fighting to get to the next moment and the next and next and next. I had no idea how much energy I was using simply doing that. Without the pressure building at the front of my skull pounding to get out. Without the spirals. And if I saw a spiral coming, I could now make the decision to mentally walk away from it.

Instead of being stuck in the scratch of the trauma on the dvd of life, I could watch the scene instead of reliving as a character within it. I could turn it off and put it back into the case and back in the cupboard until I wanted to be with it again.

I had trod and reworn such a deep trauma trail in the neuropathways of my little brain that if it had all been a hiking trail, I’d have worn that route neck deep in the soil on the edge of a cliff... with a beautiful view but in crazy danger of falling and ending everything. But, I had no way of seeing, knowing or getting to the smoother path that was just beyond; just as beautiful and a lot less dangerous.

The first week after my first session I was calling everyone,

“I did this thing. I don’t understand how it works just yet. I also don’t know if it’s a placebo... and I don’t care.I don’t care if this lasts just one more hour, another day, a week, a month or forever. I’ve never felt relief like this my entire life.”

Years later, I don’t still don’t care, but I know my story isn’t unique or isolated. Other traumas have surfaced that need to be addressed and will be addressed but this specifically emotionally crippling one that I thought would never ease, has eased.

EMDR helped metabolize traumas from deep childhood to present day, and I will talk about it all with whomever, whenever. This is the less detailed version of the story, but I need to share at least a sliver of it because it saved my life. As a therapy, it gave me a life I didn’t even know was possible. It and the actions of those who have forever shown up to help, hold space, call me out and fight for me are the greatest gifts I have ever received.

This is also to be shared with the knowledge of the great privilege I have to be afforded the resources the help this healing experience. Not everyone has resources like that, but I want to do as much as I can to change that in this world. No human being should feel imprisoned by their trauma or trauma spirals. No one should have to live within fear of feeling trapped within their own brain or feel unsafe within their body. Not one single person. It doesn’t matter if the resources aren’t available, I want to work to make them available for you.

If you can, be a resource to others. If you can’t, set a boundary. Boundaries save lives. If my people hadn’t set the boundary of “You need help but it needs to be a professional, not us and it needs to be different than what you’ve been doing because that’s not working.”; if they hadn’t set that boundary, it’s not a dramatic assessment to say that I might be dead.

If it helps, go on the medication. It might take trial and error to figure out the right combo that works for you but don’t let your ego get in the way of not helping regulate your brain chemicals. It doesn’t have to be forever. But, there are some things that the Law of Attraction can’t fix on its own (see toxic positivity and spiritual bypassing). MEDICATION IS NOT SOMETHING TO BE ASHAMED OF. And be honest with your doctor, especially if you have an addictive personality, and ESPECIALLY if you’re not getting what is helpful.

The work that it takes to find a therapist you feel safe with it ALOT. That is not an easy task. But, its worth it. And it’s worth it to try to find someone before you find yourself in such a debilitating space that you don’t have the capacity to search.

I didn’t know that being alive like this was even an option. And I’m still not always smiling. And that’s ok. I don’t want to be always smiling. I’d always rather to live all the notes on the spectrum. But, I will keep throwing dance parties, drinking cappuccinos and zealously oversharing. And saying thank you.

Because, dang it it’s important. And I’m grateful for this second chance.

Drop a note if you want to hear about my ACTUAL processing sessions of EMDR and what they’ve been like because maybe I’ll make a post about that. Or call me up and we can talk. Again, it doesn’t work the same way for everyone but my experience is pretty freaking common and that’s enough for me to talk to strangers in the middle of the street about it for hours. (and I’m DEFINITELY no therapist) We’ve all got trauma in some way or another. My life is worth something because of the people in it who helped me love the power of my dark. We could all use healing. My life is worth even more because of how my people help me show up to chose to heal myself. I’ll share it all because if it can help just one person live a fuller life, it makes my relationship with Phil’s death worth it to me... his life was already worth it.

"La muerte será la prueba de que hemos vivido."

“Death will be proof that we have lived.”

— Rosario Castellanos