I love to read. Mostly autobiographies and other true stories. Each has a clear beginning, middle, and end. For the most part, books do not leave one hanging unless they are a series.
I also love movies. There is something about the way everything comes together to put the viewer into that world. There is a feeling of escape. Again, most have a clear beginning, middle, and end.
With PTSD and complex trauma, somehow everything gets jumbled up. It is like the story has turned into an unsolvable puzzle. If it were a book, there are pages missing and out of order. If it were a movie it might suddenly shut off in the middle.
In therapy, we talk about the trauma. That might only be one little piece of it. One glimpse into an even that will take weeks or even months to put together. There is always one more page. One more scene.
Nothing ends. There is not a nice little bow to tie it all together. Then there are the impulses. The impulses that are not safe and that have to be fought and dealt with to get through the event.
I just want an ending to one thing that happened to me. I want to be able to go through a holiday without having to look around every corner. I also would like to know when I leave the house I can handle the triggers. I am not at that point yet. In the meantime, I have to keep working.