Sunday, February 26, 2012

Nightmare On My Street

Incredibly rough start to the day today.
I woke up after a restless night of the worst kind of nightmares, to my husband leaning over me. I maintained enough control not to swing at the man three inches from my face. I pushed him away gently and told him I needed a minute. He got upset and went to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. I got angry- instantly. I got dressed, grabbed my service dog's stuff, my keys and wallet, and took off in my truck.
I spent at least an hour driving around, alternately crying and angry.
Matt text me to apologize, and I came back after a while. I had to break it down to him, in true Barney fashion, and we talked. It got better from there, but I've been a train wreck all day.
We went bowling with some friends today, and that went pretty well. Then we got home, watched a show that had a gnarly, violent abortion scene in it that sent me into tears all over again.
I'm struggling to stay present, always feeling on the edge of "time traveling"- something between a flashback and a memory. It can turn into a flashback very, very quickly if not managed, though flashbacks do not always start that way.
I'm starting to feel like the floor is dropping out from beneath my feet. Every little thing sets me off lately, and I'm sure it's because I'm raw from all the wounds I've opened with therapy, and, in the long run, I'm sure it's a positive, but.... I want it to go away.
The new doctor (the one we like, people, keep up!) says the fact that I no longer remember the majority of my nightmares is a positive thing- and doesn't believe I need to remember all the gory details to get better. She also thinks that I'm doing the right thing by fending off the drug-pushers. It's a relief to know that there's a doctor out there that believes drugs are no more than a quick fix as I do, but it's also scary to know that I'm now working with someone who is like-minded. I guess the scariest part of it is feeling like I might be held accountable in some way nobody else has. I'm not sure if I'm afraid she'll tell me it's time to try to face the real world and go back to work (where EVERYTHING is a possible trigger- and I wish that didn't sound like I'm exaggerating, because I'm 99.9% sure I'm not) or if I'm afraid she'll tell me I'm doing the right thing and push me towards trying to accept that I'm as bad as I feel lately. I don't want to believe I have PTSD, need a service dog, need klonopin, need to be in therapy, etc. I can't accept all of this is ME, or real... I want to wake up one day and realize I'm faking it all and that I can stop the act now.
I just want it to stop.

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