Jordan Beaven

Today’s one of those days where everything just feels… heavy. I can’t quite put my finger on why I feel so low, but I do. It’s like I’m completely out of sorts — not grounded, not present, just weighed down.

I think part of it stems from how consumed I was with my physical health yesterday. My heart rate was worryingly high for hours, and all my energy went into just making it through the pain. I was in survival mode — no space left to think or feel beyond just physically enduring. But now that the physical symptoms have eased a bit, I find myself slammed with the mental and emotional aftermath. Like my body passed the baton, and now my brain has to catch up. It’s overwhelming.

I’m also exhausted. Not the kind that a nap fixes — it’s deeper. The kind that comes from constantly wearing a mask and fighting to seem okay when I’m not. Today, I don’t have the energy for the mask. I’m trying, but it’s just not there.

I have a good 1:1 looking after me today. When I found out this morning, I almost cried — not because I was upset, but because I felt safe. She’s one of the few people I trust to see me like this. I told her that, and she reminded me that it’s okay to cry. But honestly? I don’t think I can. The last time I cried, it physically hurt. The sobbing triggered chest pain and heart issues, and now I’m scared. Scared that feeling my emotions will literally break me. The emotional pain has become physical — like my body is just as traumatised as my mind.

I never realised trauma could do that. I used to think I understood trauma-induced pain, but this feels different. This is unbearable. It’s affecting the way my heart beats. It’s like my whole system is glitching from the weight of it all.

I feel stuck.

I feel this huge amount of grief for the life I’m not living. I just want to be okay. I want to feel like I belong in the world outside these hospital walls. I’ve made some lovely friends here — connections I truly value — but it’s not the same as being part of society. I don’t even know how to begin reintegrating. Sometimes, I’m scared that day might never come. I’ve been in hospital so long that life outside feels like a far-off place I’m no longer sure I’ll reach.

What makes it harder is trying to understand everything I’m going through while it’s still happening. I’ve recently been given a working diagnosis of Sustained and Complex Trauma with Complex PTSD. That label helps in some ways — it puts a name to the chaos — but it’s also daunting. I’m trying to learn more, to understand how it affects me specifically. But even with everything I’m reading, I know this journey will be long. And part of me fears I’ll never truly understand it all.

What hurts the most is the anger — knowing that other people’s actions changed my brain, rewired it in ways that now affect every part of my life. Accepting that has been one of the hardest parts. And honestly, I’m not there yet. I’m still mourning the version of me that didn’t have to carry the burden of all of this.

I’m doing my best to be kind to myself today. To let myself be honest, even when it’s messy. Especially when it’s messy.

If you’re reading this and you’re in the thick of it too — I see you. You’re not alone.

All my love,

Jords x