My PTSD flashbacks and symptoms have been largely, but not only, kitchen related. I had a lot of intrusive thoughts about the boiling water, the knives, just anything in the kitchen. Cooking was really hard at the beginning, but I knew that if I give into the compulsions, it would just get harder and harder. I went towards the anxiety, and things got bad for a while, but I never stopped cooking. I started cooking more. These days I have been cooking a lot. Preparing things I didn’t think I was able to prepare. Tasty things. Today I made the recipe he taught me. It was because of our relationship that I ended up having PTSD. His rage in the kitchen, while cooking. He would swear at the food; he could not take frustration.
There was this one knife I was scared of. Nothing happened with the knife, he simple got upset at me because I put it in the dishwasher. It became a symbol of fear. I have an equivalent at home. I became a bit afraid of knives. I don’t remember if I was before. I don’t remember much about before. How did I feel? Was I this anxious?
Anyways, today I made the pasta recipe he taught me and it turned out well. I didn’t shed a tear. In fact, I made them with love. I still love him, however confusing and counterintuitive that sounds. I’ve been in the kitchen lately. I’ve been wanting to do things I never thought about doing: banana pancakes, Pad Thai, soups (all vegan, of course). I actually love cooking now, even when I still have some intrusive thoughts and do not feel totally safe in the kitchen (or anywhere). Maybe you just get used to this. Bottomline is, I don’t think I ever enjoyed cooking this much, and I feel I am better at it than ever before. I am not saying anyone should experience PTSD, but I am trying to find the perks of my own. Somehow, without even knowing how I do it, I feel I have grown more patient and able to handle emotions. I still cannot look at the whole experience straight, though. I still cannot look back. I am not that far ahead yet.
The truth is that I made myself a better cook.
(Music to read this with: Ludovico Einaudi at the Tiny Desk Concert)
The tenebrous, but beautiful, path to myself 