I don’t remember what I was going to write about when I began this post on February 22nd, and wrote the subject line only. It probably had to do with what’s been going on in my head and how I’ve been struggling lately. I have a second post in drafts that I began last Thursday, and I even made a graphic for it. It was, and is, supposed to be an upbeat, positive post.
Only when I went to write anything – all energy and motivation left me. Which is what I think happened with this post, too.
It’s almost as if I deflate like a balloon when it’s time to get the words out. Words I need to get out to help myself heal.
I’m having a difficult time. I haven’t been sleeping. Not since somewhere mid-January. I’m currently off work for a week or so. I don’t know if I’ll be able to go back next week if I am still not sleeping. The increased medication, and the anti-anxiety pills I was given aren’t helping – yet.
In short: PTSD sucks. It sucks big time.
I can’t control reactions. I try, but it doesn’t always work. I work so hard at being OK. I work so hard at being healthy and on top of anything that might seem to be a trigger or a downward spiral. I work at it. I get help. I don’t like asking for help. I don’t like that I can’t control this and just BE BETTER. But I do ask for help. I pick up that phone when I know it’s gotten to a point where I can’t do this on my own. I have health professionals helping me, I have family helping me, I have friends helping me.
I feel like a failure most of the time, and I feel like a failure for having to accept the help of others, but I know – deep down – that I am not. I do know that it’s a brave thing to ask for help. It’s a good thing that I know my limits (although, I admit to letting things get a little too out of control before I do pick up that phone. I am stubborn and determined to beat this on my own.)
An extremely awful, random, terrifying thing happened to me almost 2 years ago and I am so sick and tired of it affecting my life. I am tired of things being triggers that I don’t even know are triggers. Or things that I know would be triggers to other things that have decided to latch on to this thing.
And you can’t really explain this to people. It’s up there with depression and other mental illness – it’s not a tangible thing to point at and say, “This. This is what’s happening.” Yes, I know I should get out of the house and do things, but sometimes I can’t. It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s that I physically can’t at the time, and sometimes I just need to be quiet. Alone with my head. I need to be… in my cone of silence? I guess that’s the best way to put it. I’m working on making a craft room, I’m clearing out clutter and organizing things in the house. I’m getting out of bed early (it helps that I’m not sleeping) and just doing quiet things around the house. In between panic attacks. I’m safe and content in my own head, I’m not listening to bad thoughts, I’m just… calm.
Because most of the time my head is full of static and white noise. Like when you accidentally turn your TV to the non-cable station. Loud. Black and white static. Static, static, loud and bright.
And so I am not sleeping. And I am sad. So very sad. And then, suddenly, so very very angry. And then scared. And sad. And utterly exhausted. Emotion is exhausting. Being in state of high anxiety is exhausting. Trying to be OK is, well, exhausting.
I am tired of fighting to be ok. I am tired of treading water, frantically, trying to keep my head above the waves so I can breathe. Fighting to breathe. It’s exhausting. And I’m so over this. And I just want to be able to function normally again. I want my colours back. My colours are gone. Even my hair is almost my natural colour – first time in 10 years. I don’t read. I don’t sing. I don’t create. I feel washed out and bland.
And I wish I could go back in time and not take the street to work I took that morning in March. I wish that the man who jumped could have taken his life some other way. Some other way that didn’t involve anyone else. I am thankful I stopped when I did, or I wouldn’t be here today. I should be happy that I am still here, and I am, but I am so sick and tired of the random panic and sadness and anger that keep coming back since that day. He ruined so much of me and I’m worried I’ll never get me back.
PTSD sucks. And I know I’m not alone. And not everyone gets it. But then again, not everyone suffers a trauma. I just want it to go away. I just want it to leave me alone. I want to be in control of my emotional state again and not have to worry about what may or may not trigger a downward spiral. I’m so tired of this. Frustrated. Annoyed. Over it.