I, seriously, hate having post-traumatic stress disorder at times. At other times, it is amazing! I can plan and be amazing and go with great force/momentum/speed/quality/no glitch in the brain. Other times I cannot seem to keep focused on one thing at a time. I will go from 0-100 miles per hour real quick. I never understand what the different triggers are for but sometimes I notice it is tied to the father of my oldest child and my family (blood and tribal).
I am currently going through one of those times where nothing and everything is making sense but coming in fragmented. I have to be careful about who I communicate with and how I communicate. I am not an angry person, not even during times of stress. I turn anger inwards. It’s my fault my son is fucked up because I did not try hard enough to keep him away from his biological father unsupervised. It is my fault that my youngest has autism because I had too much cortisol (stress inducing hormone) when I was pregnant with him. It is my fault that I had a miscarriage because I was too stressed out. It is my fault that bad things happened in my family. It is my fault that my body is out of whack. It is my fault I am on so many medicines. It is my fault that I will receive a stress migraine tonight.
It takes a lot for me to get to this point. It is never one thing that leads to this separation of mind and body and spirit. It is always a small item, action, verbalization that can set me into this after awhile of being in a hypervigilant state. I become paranoid, hateful, lazy, self-loathing. Does this make me crazy? I ask myself all the time if today will be the day that I finally lose my marbles and watch them crash and scatter to the floor making an impressive visual with colors and glass on the tile. Is that what losing your marbles looks like? Is losing your mind not understanding the reality of life that not everyone is a person that is out to help others…maybe it is a tiny tingle in the back of the brain.
My sister has breast cancer. There, I said it, stage 2 ductal carcinoma. She will have both breasts removed and have reconstruction done with ports to place poison in to kill the cancer but save her life. What choice does one really have? Poison or life? She lives so far away…and yet I am still right here. Maybe the pain is the only thing that is real…try to kill it all away…. but I remember everything…. what have I become….my sweetest friend…everyone I know goes away in the end (Johnny Cash). When she told me about the the cancer I was on step twenty already planning on what to do BUT it is not my life. I cannot make decisions for anyone, I cannot tell anyone what to do, I can only be here to provide support and surrender to the mentality of knowing that she will be going through this without this weird clan we have formed in physical formation. Me making broth soup and taking care of the kids while she whines she is bored and wants to go shopping and me yelling that she can’t go shopping. All because fate has cruelly separated us physically, this clan of sorts.
My nephew is going through some shit. Wicked heavy shit that I wish he would let me in and talk to him. I just want him to know that I have been there and I understand. I get it, I’ve been desperate to the point of “I’m not here, this isn’t happening” (Radio Head). That faint mental odor of self-injury that always tugs at the hearts and souls (if you believe in that) for those that have self-injured before. That feeling of hurting to focus on physical pain instead of the mental pain on your plate. Bro, I’ve been there, talk to me. However, I’m a 32-year-old overweight hippie aunt and best friends with his mom. Why would he want to talk to me? His brain is so amazing. I have watched his music and embarrassed him at his gigs and if I had watched him leave before me and his mother … see my brain is 0-100. It would have taken the wrong timing and a person not finding him to remove him from a dangerous situation and he’d be gone.
It is my brain, it stores all this information for such a long period of time and then when I am not able to function through it in powerhouse mode it shuts down. It starts making things up. Lists that need to be done right away. How do I fix all of this, the whole of humanity (including those that do not like me and I don’t like them but I love them) for the rest of their lives to make it easier?
Make lists, buy a calendar, buy folders, make plans on how to tackle an issue in front of me. Yet, it puts me back into my Domme space. I need that “control” or power exchange to find myself settled and ready for the world. You can pick that apart psychologically and understand it. Maybe play the bottom so I can fully let it go. And yet, with all of this, I shrink into a shell because I feel as though I cannot talk to anyone. Obviously, no one else would understand…which is ridiculous.
I think my brain is dead. I’m going to listen to music the rest of the night and try not to think much about the surroundings.
One last thing…If you are that huge of a DICKHEAD to take a couch from someone you “loved” knowing she was going to have hard surgery and recovery ahead of her, you can suck my strap-on fuckwad.
Light up the Darkness,