Monster

I just flipped out on my dog and my husband.
Fortunately, it wasn't violent this time, but I'm sure I scared both of them badly.
I'm ashamed of who I've become, I'm ashamed of the monster looking back at me.

I don't get a break from the things going on in my head, from the problems, or from the pain. It all gets worse when I go to work, and that used to be my refuge from it all. I sobered up two years, eleven months and three weeks ago as of today, and it seems like a bad idea to go back on that, although, lately, words can't describe how much I miss the alcohol. Medical marijuana would certainly help give me a break, but that's not an option for me now, either. I can't get away from it, I have no escape and no refuge.
I have no idea how I'll survive this.

Buffalo

Yesterday was a very rough day around here.

It was the last day before my husband would be returning from a week-long field problem, our truck got hit in a parking lot, I helped teach a Service Dog training class, and, of course I went to treatment. I managed to sleep through alarms yesterday morning, so I missed the check-in with my unit I'm supposed to be doing every (very early) morning.

After I saw that the quarter paneling on the truck was crunched up pretty good, I went to spend some time with Buffalo Boy. I've missed hanging out with him a lot, and, these last few days more than ever. Mr Nice Guy is the best husband I could ask for, but there's a lot of qualities we don't share, and for the times I need someone who understands the PTSD, the non-shy introverted personality, and the wild streak, Buffalo Boy is my shelter.   Anyone who's been keeping up with my writing knows that I am quite frequently surprised by how close I've become to Buffalo Boy, and, all the while, still plenty able to keep up a friends-only boundary system with him that makes our friendship so much less complicated than it could potentially be. 

Anyway, we watched Eastbound And Down- a show I haven't seen before yesterday. It's not something I would have expected to enjoy, but it turned out to be pretty entertaining. Buffalo Boy and I also got a lot of venting and discussing of symptoms and issues done, and that always helps so much. I can't explain how easily I relax around this massive, muscular, tattooed biker dude that, in so many ways, should probably scare me. It was just really nice, sitting there on his couch, with the cat he didn't realize was pregnant running around crying, my service dog looking at the cat like lunch (even though that cat has made her point more than once with my dog) and us just, for lack of better word, bitching.

It's so nice to have a friend like that.

Anyway, the husband is headed back today, and I'm sitting here writing as I should be cleaning. I'm just so tired. Oh well, back to it.

Of Dogs, People And PTSD

So, amid all of this chaos with our post making it incredibly difficult to have a service dog, I was informed today by my doctor at treatment that I need to be involved in things that are, you know, outside my home.
Crap.
The only thing I still have the heart for is service dog stuff. Even though the military is trying it's hardest to break me so that I might give in and let them separate me with fewer benefits, even though they're trying to make it harder for me to have my service dog, and definitely harder for others to get service dogs, THIS is what has made a difference in my life. The doctor actually point-blank said she was glad I had a service dog because, among other reasons, it meant I had a responsibility to someone else.
I just checked in with our former trainer, and there's a session this Thursday that we'll go to.
I guess we're going to do this.

We're also looking at adopting a male dog, as a secondary service dog. She gets along fine with male dogs, more often than not, and I intend to make her a part of bringing home a second. I want another dog around her size, maybe bigger, that she gets along with and that we can train. I know seeing another dog doing what I'm trying to teach her has helped her, so I think training a second may be easier.

So much going on in my head....

Consumed

My ex-husband let me think I'd cheated on him all this time, when he'd understood the entire time that it was an assault. It tears me apart that I've hurt several people whom I cared about very much because I was so convinced I was incapable of being faithful to someone who wasn't nearby.
I don't know how to process all of this, but it hurts me clear down to my soul. I let this man get into my head so much that I believed I was this horrible, cheating, out-of-control woman who was incapable of taking other people's emotions into account when she should have. I'm so disgusted with myself for all of this. Until recently, my ex-husband and I have been friends, but, right now, for the first time, I am so disgusted by the fact that I allowed this man into my heart and mind to such an extent that he could hurt me so badly for so long that I can't even speak to him.
Mr Nice Guy and I have been dealing with a lot of stress with an upcoming deployment that was recently announced, my medical board, all the fun PTSD stuff and just day to day life as newlyweds- not to mention the incredible amount of trouble I have gotten from the army side of the house as of late. Yesterday, we had the closest thing to a fight we've ever had. We've been discussing trading in his gas guzzling pick up for a car. Originally this was his idea, as he prefers driving cars. I prefer trucks, but $100/week in gas is enough to make anybody rethink their stand on that. Yesterday, I guess he was questioning his feelings on this, but he made the first passive-aggressive comment he's ever directed at me when he took a shot at my truck- which is paid off, mind you.
I went off the deep end, quick fast and in a hurry.
I'll spare you the gruesome details, but, eventually, the biggest reasons for me to feel so strongly about my truck being taken from me came out. Yes, I'm insecure and still believe my husband may leave me. The part that surprised me, though, was the part where I realized that I have nothing to plan for but a number of months without my spouse. Despite having put in for a referral for in vitro, they haven't so much as sent me paperwork to fill out, so I'm plenty aware they probably looked up my records in the computer system, realized I have chronic PTSD and scratched my name off the list. It's been months, and, well, they think it's alright to play God as long as they're doing it with someone who has no control over their conception without them. We can't start fostering or adopting while the other half prepares for deployment and then getting out- and while he's in college will probably be a pretty bad time to do it all, too. So, about five years from now, maybe we'll stand a chance. We called off the full ceremonial wedding because we didn't have the time and money to put into it and I was going through a med board and wouldn't be allowed to take leave to do it. We were planning on getting the actual ceremony done with family and friends this month. I don't know when I'll be out of the military, whether it will be before, during, or, God forbid, after he goes on deployment, so there's no way to plan for anything during that time frame, either.
I've taken up running to give myself something to focus on- we did another run last night, longer than the previous- but, really, I'm not sure what I'm doing all of this for. I have no goals that I can even plan for at this point, I'm not high-functioning enough to work once I'm out, and I don't even know how I'll manage to get through a deployment- what living condition, what state, what anything- without him around.
I feel like the ground has been pulled out from under me, and I'm just free-falling. Nothing I knew has proven real, not about myself, not about the world or people I trusted, and I'm really, really tired of fighting.

Save Me

Today is my daughter's almost-birthday.
It would have been her birthday if I hadn't miscarried her a few months into the pregnancy, when my fourteen year old body, riddled with drugs my mother forced me to take every day, which I didn't need, could no longer keep both itself and a child alive.
I still love her.
She would have been eleven today.

It's been a long day, and the new therapist at treatment is most assuredly the devil incarnate.

Fortunately, I bring my journal to treatment with me- well, one of my journals- and I get more therapy from that than this woman most days.
Today, I cried- just like the last two days. The husband and I are still happy together, but the PTSD, in a combined effort with the military, is making our lives a living hell. Between flashbacks, ab responses, nightmares, blackouts, and field exercises, when we're together, we're mostly struggling just to avoid hurting one another.

I made a decision this afternoon that I'll have to make again in the morning. I'm going running tomorrow morning. I'm not going JOGGING in the morning, I'm going RUNNING. I'm going to run down the street, with my dog, around the corner, to the light and back, and if we have to stop, we will, but I'm going to try really hard to just let loose tomorrow morning. I don't want this primal side of me to be caged anymore. I can't open up at treatment most of the time, now because I don't trust the therapist, but also because of the guy who admitted to being a sexual predator and the guy who won't talk about anything but his penis and sex life. Maybe if I push myself to the brink, if I stop being scared of feeling fear or anger and just feel it anyway, and RUN like my life depended on it, maybe then the tears and sweat and pain and weakness will have a place to go. Maybe if I open the floodgate, I won't have to prod anything to come out.

I need this.

Women

Two people who I trusted very much- Buffalo Boy and one other- put down women, particularly female Soldiers today. It started off with comments about us receiving special treatment and turned to our perceived physical inequalities.
Then another guy, one who I've already had issues with and identified as a possible predator, drove by on his way in and whistled at me.
I lost nearly all control. I was angry after the first bit, but figured it would blow over. The second incident left me fuming, angry and enraged. As I came in from break, I yelled at the latter guy to never whistle at me again. I managed to keep my mouth shut to the guys until one of them said something about me being angry. It came out without me meaning for it to, but I told him I was still pissed off that he felt it was alright to put down women. He said he was just joking- a pretty common defense for him- and I said it wasn't a joke, and walked outside. Buffalo Boy saw me walk out, obviously upset and on the verge of tears. He came over to where I was and tried to talk to me. More calmly than I was sure I'd be able to, I told him that I was still upset over the derogatory comments about women, so I wasn't in the best mood. He got angry at me, made a comment about me and the other female in the group taking things too personally, and walked away.
I tried to clear things up with him, sending him a carefully-worded text message explaining why it upset me. I told him: "You'll always be my brother far as I'm concerned, and maybe if you were the only person pointing out our shortcomings, I wouldn't feel like I needed to defend myself. But there isn't one person or form of media that hasn't shown bias, either intentionally or without even understanding that they are. I'm sick to death of feeling like I need to be protected and taken care of and tired of being scared because men are bigger, stronger and faster. I'm done believing that."
He responded with another "you're taking everything too personally and blowing this out of proportion" bit, essentially saying that I was making everything about me. I told him I had tried very hard not to put him down or be disrespectful in my text message, and I wished he'd done the same.
I am done wishing I could be stronger or better or safer. I'm done being scared. I can't continue to live this way, because this isn't living anymore.
It's time to make a change.

Tough

I had read The Hunger Games Trilogy shortly after the announcement was made that a movie was in the works. I had a friend who commented on one of my pictures that I "look like Katniss Everdeen". This, naturally, led to a Google search, and the trilogy came highly recommended. (Warning: Possible Spoilers Ahead!) It was almost impossible to keep myself from reading a book about a girl who's physical description does sound eerily like me. This was the picture that received that comment/compliment:

After I began to read the trilogy, I was hooked. Suzanne Collins is a truly gifted, incredible author. The way she describe's Katniss' thought process as she goes through trauma and recovers from it, as she describes her thought processes after having been through some heavy stuff as a child, the woman is nearly describing me, in so many more ways than just the physical. The symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder, distrusting people and having abandonment issues, but, ultimately, being more of a survivor than anything else... Describing the way she feels about people in her home district after going through the games, the clear signs of Post-Traumatic Stress this girl displays, that I relate to on the deepest level, to include her inherent mistrust of her own mother, despite and because of her own maternal instincts, this girl is ME.
It sure doesn't pain me that this book has the single best strong female lead character I have ever run across in my life. I could not be more impressed with the depth of the characters in the book, nor with the intricate, beautifully crafted story line. Miss Collins is brilliant.
After seeing the Hunger Games movie yesterday, I am more determined than ever to focus my attentions, where the media is concerned, on games, movies and television shows with strong female leads. Especially as I lose the Soldier part of my identity, especially as I grapple with my own demons in treatment, especially as I unearth events I had forgotten, I need the influence of strong females. I wish I had a mother to turn to in these situations, but, for all intensive purposes, I never had a mother. What I need to remember more than anything in the days, weeks and months that follow is that, above all, I am a survivor. I have survived my mother's abuse, her alcoholism, I recovered from my own voluntarily, I survived multiple sexual assaults and molestations. I survived a divorce, homelessness, and joined the army, only to be put down by them years later, and, ultimately, am going to survive losing what I'd intended to be a career in the military.
I think the media could use more female survivors in the spotlight. I know I could.

Decision

I have made a decision.
I don't want to have biological children.
I'm sure it helps that it's not as easy for me as it is for most, and that my (sorry-excuse-for-a) mother convinced me to tie my tubes at eighteen years old, so I couldn't pass on my "issues" to any biological children. However, something inside me is shifting, fast and hard, and I'm barely managing to keep up with it all.
First, I think I'm finally accepting the idea of life with Post-Traumatic Stress and some BPD symptoms. Despite these issues, and maybe in some ways because of them- and the fact that neither are considered uniformly genetic- I am coming to terms with the fact that my past frigging SUCKS. My mother, another child, two different adult men and a 13 year old boy changed the path of my life, and took away a lot of happiness for me- but where they tried to leave a void, something else has begun to grow. It's big, it's tough and it's real scary, but I think it's a future.
I don't want to spend another minute obsessing over in-vitro fertilization or birth plans. I have spent so much energy hating that I wouldn't just find out that I was pregnant some day, when, all that time, the woman that looked back at me in the mirror was a child born of that situation. I was, if you ask my mother, an "oops" baby, although she said that about my younger sister at one point then changed her mind. I was a baby born to two married parents who had been together for over a decade. A DECADE!! That's unheard of these days! Two years later, they divorced, and it got worse from there. Why, why WHY HAVE I BEEN SO STUCK on having a child the same way my mother did? Giving birth does not make a mother, let alone a fit one! It's so cliche to say that there are so many kids out there who are unwanted and why not give one a home.... but, dude, I was one of them!!! My mother put me in foster care at one point, and that was the least abuse I underwent!
Why should I do it her way? Why should I work so hard to undo what my mother imposed on me, when I could keep someone else out of that situation? The two biggest positive influences on my childhood were my  stepdad, who never had biological children, but was quick to take care of my sister and I as his own, and my babysitter, Grandma Vera, who was- you got it- a foster mother. She adopted two of her foster children- at least two. The two people who made it possible for me to be as happy as I was when I was little were people who took care of OTHER people's children.
How did I miss this all this time?!
I was talking to my friend C who's teenage sister is pregnant with an unwanted child right now in another state, and I started talking to my husband, and considering the possibility of interracial, open adoption. Then I stumbled across a blog post titled Teenage Boys Aren't Meant To Live At Home and, at about the point the author says that everyone, if they're honest, wishes they could have the easier life of a biological child, it hit me: I don't do anything the easy way, and that's what I've been trying to do here- and, go figure, it hasn't worked. Yes, it WOULD be easier (and probably cheaper) to go through in-vitro, and have "our own" child, but a child who has never known abandonment, who has never known contempt and abuse and who only knows unconditional love.... Can I handle that? Unconditional love is a foreign language to me in so many ways. I still demand my husband explain why he loves me and why he stays with me some days. What about having a child "naturally" would be right in this situation? When all I've known is abuse, when all I can relate to is fear, would I really do more good than harm for a son or daughter who didn't know that life?
I work best under pressure- and I think I've finally found the challenge I've been craving my entire life- loving an unloved, unwanted child. What took me so long?

God And Community

We went to the Unitarian Universalist service this morning, and it felt like home- so much so that I filled out a membership card. Of course, I didn't remember that we have a unit marriage retreat with hubby's unit this next weekend, so we'll miss a week, but I intend to continue going, every weekend I'm able- with or without friends or my husband there.
It made me realize that I need a community, and one I'm honest with. My husband and Buffalo Boy are the only ones who know the full story of what happened on Friday. I'm ashamed of what I did, but it has changed my life and opened my eyes in a way that scares me, but also gives me hope.
I need to pray again, daily, I need to start attending church every week, I need to pull those people I trust in closer- which means asking for help. You cannot be part of a community without equal give and take, as well as communication, which means I need to start speaking up because I am not only depriving myself of that sense of community, but others, as I refuse to allow others to help me when I need them most.
I'm scared, and I'm worried, but the only way out is up, and it's time to start climbing.

Major Small Victories

Yesterday was a definite life-altering event.
Today, hubby and I did a lot- and almost all of it public. We got up early and went to the mall, where I got a pedicure and my hair touched-up, the latter of which almost ended with me freaking out... almost. I get why having my back turned to anyone freaks me out, but I can't comprehend how every other person on the PLANET seems to WANT their back to EVERYONE. My wonderful service dog even started getting upset at one point. The stylist had me sit at the back of the salon, while she had several other clients, right next to several people I didn't know, while multiple people walked back and forth in front of me. I had left Sugar with the husband, thinking it would be quick and easy- he had to bring her over to me, for which I got a great deal of dirty looks from said stylist.
Anyway, we went to see Buffalo Boy briefly after that, then lunch- at a restaurant. And then my husband took me to two different stores, and bought me a new pair of cowboy boots, a new straw hat, and a really cute necklace-earring angel wing combo.
I haven't been out in public nearly this much in.... I don't know- a really long time.
Granted, it's Saint Patrick's Day, and everything was relatively quiet (due to pre-gaming, I assume) but I did it- and without meds. I'm really, really happy. It wasn't as easy as I wish it had been, but I'm so thrilled I managed it all.
I may never be happy in the same way as I used to be, but I'm getting better, even if it's never the same... and it won't be.

Candidate

I've never attempted suicide.
That statement has been a source of pride for me, especially when so many of my closest friends have at this point.
Today, though, I was a candidate for suicide. It wasn't any one thing- the fact that our post is trying to ban service dogs, the fact that my husband and I are now staring down the barrel of our first deployment together, the fact that I've been through child abuse, two rapes and a myriad of other abusive situations, the fact our apartment reeks of mold, everything to do with the army... It's not just one thing. When my husband's boss (e7 type for you military-savvy folks) told my husband that I "needed to learn" to be in situations that put me into flashbacks, well, I couldn't come back up.
I begged him to leave me tonight so I could do it without feeling guilty.
He wouldn't, and neither would Buffalo Boy.
I guess I don't get out of it all that easy.

Family, Love and Being Scared Out Of Your Mind

The Nerdy One mentioned today, in passing as he thought he'd mentioned it before, that his unit is looking at deployment in November-December time-frame.
Now, having been an Army wife for two years, a Soldier for more than four now, and soon-to-be Army wife again, well, there's no surprise when the word "deployment" starts getting thrown around- it's part of daily discussion, what-if's and just-in-case's. We are a nation eternally at war, there's no escaping the possibility.
Before I try to rationally explain the implications and total freak-out I'm experiencing in my head, let me tell you what our last few days have been like.
Recap: Wednesday afternoon, my husband calls me to tell me he'll be leaving for an overnight field problem/range the following morning. I avoid asking what time until many hours later, when he says he will be leaving the house around 0330. Thursday, bright and early, he's gone, and I'm too on edge to sleep. I manage to pack a lot of anxiety into that day, then spend much of the evening with a friend from treatment, who discusses his not-quite-ex-not-quite-girlfriend having Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) and the symptoms he lists ring all too true of myself. My husband comes home around 4 Friday morning, and we crash-hard- until he leaves for work about two hours later. We knock out as early as we can Friday night, only to wake up to a leak in our apartment ceiling at 0630 Saturday morning. We call the front office, and leave a message when nobody answers. Nobody returns our call.
Husband then goes off to help his friend move for the day, and I head back to my friend's house, because I simply don't handle alone well, and, fortunately for us, neither does my friend right now. We watch tv, and hang out through the afternoon. Then I get my husband, and we come back to my friend's house for a few more hours, coming home after that to find it is nearly raining in our apartment. The "rain" progresses for the next few hours, until we're calling ever emergency maintenance number we can find, and demanding they do SOMETHING. The water has been shut off by around six this morning, and, now, at eleven at night, our apartment still hasn't completely dried out- and all that was effected was carpeting, walls, cabinets and ceilings, thankfully.
Now, about half an hour ago, The Nerdy One mentions we're looking at deployment in about nine months....  This means he'll be out of the Army within months after returning from this deployment. I text my friend, I'll call him Buffalo Boy, and tell him what's going on.
Now, Buffalo Boy has gone from being a friend I see regularly to FAMILY in the last couple days. He's saved my life with the information and support he's given me, and probably saved my marriage in more than one way. He's the first person to get my trust in a non-relationship and completely unconditional manner. I trust this guy, I know his values, habits, emotions and I've never understood what it's like to have a "family member" where there wasn't a question of some sort of perversion. This guy has my back, and it doesn't matter time, place, or anything else. He's my brother.
I found my brother in the looney bin, that could only happen to me.
Anyway, The Nerdy One and I are discussing possibilities and Buffalo Boy is reassuring me that, no matter what, he's going to watch my back, even if it means protecting me from myself sometimes.... and it does.
I can't lose my marriage, I can't wreck it or hurt my husband... I've made too many crappy choices in my life, and I won't go back to allowing that to be my norm....
I'm scared out of my mind, but somewhere in my gut, I know that this will happen, and that between my husband and my new-found Brother, I will prove something to myself, and, frankly, that's not a whole lot more comforting than knowing my husband will spend roughly nine months in harm's way.

Hell

Hell is not fire and brimstone.
Hell is realizing that you are lost spiritually and that it's very possible you may not ever get any better-.that you may have come as far as you can.
Hell is trying to figure out how to avoid disappointing everyone you've made promises to if you can't ever become the person you know you should be.

Borderline Between Happy And Insane

Last night, my husband had to work most of the night, and I thought he was going to have to be gone the entire night. Knowing I have been in a pretty dark, unstable place lately, I asked a good friend if he was alright with me crashing on his couch, so I wouldn't be isolated or alone in case something came up. Being the awesome friend he is, he said that would be great.
We were sitting there, about eleven at night, watching Smokey And The Bandit and talking. He was highlighting some papers he'd printed off, mostly about Borderline Personality Disorder. His ex-girlfriend of several years exhibits a LOT of symptoms of this, and he was reading some of the more surprising/dead-on ones out loud. Several of them hit me really close to home, although my habits aren't quite as extreme as most folks diagnosed with BPD exhibit.
When my friend mentioned that it's generally caused by neglect in childhood, my ears perked up. One of the most common symptoms is idealization and devaluation episodes- and I don't go to the extremes his ex-girlfriend did, but I have, for a long time, recognized the pattern of behavior in myself. Many of my relationships wouldn't last a month- things were ideal at first, beautiful, wonderful, what I wanted for the rest of my life, and then it seemed reality would set in and I was out. I can look at the explanations of BPD now, and realize that many of the behaviors I've worked so hard to change have been linked as much to a milder form of BPD as to PTSD. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and Borderline Personality Disorder are very commonly diagnosed in the same person, and are considered to be very closely linked issues. I can see, with the information that I have now, that the way I've idealized my husband much of the time, only to find myself on other days playing with a lot of "what if's" in my head is simply another symptom of all of this. I can see that the rapid emotional changes aren't simply my reactions to trauma-related stimuli. I have recognized, over  many years now, that I have had some pretty major abandonment issues, and, reflecting on my life, I'm really not terribly surprised by that.
Am I happy to know that I have symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder? Not a chance. It is, however, a little bit of weight off my shoulders knowing that my lack of gratitude, my bouncy-ball emotions, my fear of abandonment and unexplainable jealousy isn't just a character flaw that I've inherited from my mother or something. It feels really good to know that even the non-PTSD behaviors that have frustrated and worried me are logical and something that can be dealt with.

When I Say Husband...

When I say "husband", I mean best friend.
When I complain about him not doing the dishes, it's because I love him enough that I spent an hour or two cooking him a homemade dinner myself, rather than just throwing something in the microwave or ordering in.
When I get irritated because he left the top off the Aquafor AGAIN, it's because I know that, even if his tattoo is peeling, he can rattle off statistics and facts about what that kind of singing where they change their pitch repeatedly is called (he told me last night, I don't remember), he can do serious math in his head in five seconds flat and explain things like calculus and trigonometry.
When I talk about my husband, I'm talking about the man who can stop everything, no matter how I've treated him, no matter what mood I've been in or what I've promised him, and hold me through the time-traveling, talking to me and reminding me to stay with him. I'm talking about the man who teases me at dinner because he caught the waiter checking me out, and start playing Ms Tattoo Girl every time I get embarrassed because I know I stand out and people are looking at me.



When I talk about my husband, I'm talking about the man who has taught me that unconditional love isn't some theory or myth, or something that only God and some animals are capable of. This is the man who has seen me so angry I've thrown things, hit things and people, he's seen me cry, he's seen me at my absolute worst, and this man still puts his arms around me every single day and tells me I'm beautiful and that he loves me. He's seen me lose control of my emotions in really embarrassing situations and he still tells me he's never giving up on me or leaving me.
This is my second marriage. I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, and I've hurt a lot of people. I don't understand why God or my husband believe I'm worth this kind of love, but I know that I've met the man that I want to argue over baby names with, and the man I want to yell at for letting the kids eat junk food and the man I want to drag out onto the dance floor on our 50th wedding anniversary.
There are men in this world who get what I've been through and/or who I am better than my husband, that's the truth. There is nobody else, though, that will be open to both me getting a Nightster (you know, when I win a few million bucks in the lottery) AND vegan meals, or who is totally okay with me putting up Buddhist statues (yes, I own that one) in our living room, listening to Kick It In The Sticks on repeat for days (okay, he's not really a huge fan of that repeat thing) and for not threatening to kill me for talking about dressing our dog up in costumes.
I love my husband with all my heart. I'm not perfect, I'll never claim to be, but I am so grateful for this man.

Rise Again

I need to stop worrying about getting better and/or going back to who I used to be. That person is gone, and she's gone for a reason. I need to simply get past being whatever this mess is, and focus on becoming the wife and mother my family deserves to have.  I need my husband and children to see me happy, to see that I love them, and to see that a woman doesn't have to be angry to survive.
I don't recognize who I've become, and I don't like who I see in the mirror, but whoever I keep trying to find under the rubble is gone, nothing but ash now, and I need to accept that so I can start building whoever this person looking back at me is going to be. Charli is dead, the bear has been fought, and the only thing left is to teach this new, baby phoenix how to fly before it turns to ash like it's mother did.

Setbacks and Progress

This week has been incredibly rocky.
I'm in the women's group now and, yes, it's an entirely different animal, therapy-wise.
And every single woman in there thinks she knows what the others have been through and what the answers are. I'm so not handling that well.
Today, however, Sugar and I managed to go grocery shopping- unescorted- after we had a long, ridiculous day.
I could not be more proud of us.

Traumatic Therapy

I got three hours of sleep the night before last, and around four fitful hours last night. Yet, I still got up and went to treatment as I should.

The therapist- and she doesn't deserve that title- walked into our group room and started moving chairs, saying she needed to have her back to a wall. While this is nothing surprising, as we all, always sit with our backs to the walls, it was odd for her to mention it out loud. One of the guys told her not to worry, nobody would hurt her with us in there, she was safe. She responded by telling him that our corner of the room needed to be quiet today, and stop "giggling and sharing secrets". Mind you, yesterday we spent much of the day outside because we were fighting anxiety attacks and angry outbursts from comments and discussions going on in group. He then told her he had no problem speaking to her about this privately, and he was very respectful, especially given her hostility, she snapped at him (again) and told him he needed to stop getting people kicked out of group, saying it was her group and she would run her group not him.

HOLD UP!

We talked to the admin guy she sent to try to get us to come back into group and explained our grievances and issues with what was being said and done in group yesterday. We did not ask him to throw anyone out of our group. We didn't even know what he said when he spoke to two people we all struggled with individually. It is not our job, nor within our abilities to throw anyone out nor to have anyone thrown out of any group.

She was extremely confrontational with all three of us sitting in that corner, and continually told one friend of mine he should just leave, and saying we were disrespecting her and she didn't see anything wrong with what was talked about. When I tried to calmly explain (as I started crying) that the discussion that was brought up early on yesterday was half of the reason I had to talk a certain friend down from going completely suicidal last night, she said that she didn't think what she said was that graphic and it was her group, not ours. My "big brother" asked one of the females with similar background to me to take me outside and calm me down when the crying became uncontrollable. The director got involved, though that therapist doesn't seem to have any repercussions from it all, and decided it was better to separate all of us. I'm being moved to the women's group, which makes sense, and I didn't fight her on it. I simply reminded her that her therapist was completely out of line. 

I know I don't handle confrontation well right now. I shut down and start crying. The klonopin didn't touch my anxiety, and my husband came up to pick me up, as I was afraid to drive in that condition. I am so disgusted and hurt and upset at this therapist it's incredible. She's the same one I've said before is a burnt-out hippie. I didn't trust her before she was our sole therapist, and now I can't stand her. I told the guys before she took over I didn't care for her, and they insisted she was a sweet person. They trust my gut instincts more than ever now, and so do I. I'm so sick of people like this!

Pushed Into The Mud

Our group started off today with our burn-out therapist saying she'd watched the movie Restrepo over the weekend and "got" why we're all messed up. She then proceeded to discuss in detail certain gory aspects of war and how she understood why it would mess us up.
Let me remind ya'll- this is a group for people with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The majority of these guys have been through multiple combat experiences AND a lot of us have childhood abuse backgrounds too. Our therapist is a perma-stoned woman old enough to have grandchildren, and has been divorced from an abusive guy with combat-related PTSD for a couple decades.
And this __________ _________ thinks it's a good idea to start off our Monday by speaking graphically about violent, bloody images and experiences.
Five of us walked out.
Let me explain why the therapist is stuck on this movie- sorry, documentary: we have a female soldier (and I use that term lightly in her case) who insists that was her unit and she went through that with them. I don't have to see a bloody, violent infantry movie to know that females aren't sent to places like that was filmed. The stories she tells have no emotional value- they could be taken from a shrink's notes, rather than real life. She talked about going to court, and, when prompted by the therapist she said- in these words- "I spent the entire time searching for an exit."
Nobody spends two hours "searching for an exit". You know where the blasted exit is, and you might spend a lot of time wanting to blow the joint to bits (let's be honest here) but you KNOW WHERE THE EXIT is.
Anyway, five of us walked out when we couldn't handle it anymore. Five of us might sound a lot, if you know that the most common process group therapy size is excessive at about thirteen people. However, there are more than 20 of us in ONE GROUP right now, which is insane at BEST, so it's really a miracle they even noticed we were gone. They "wrote our names down" (holy second grade batman!) and sent the admin dude out to "negotiate" with us. I went off the second I saw him coming out- I got three hours of sleep last night and had two anxiety attacks yesterday, I was in prime shape- and told him our therapist was unable to keep control of our group and discussing things that were setting us off- though I may have been more graphic and not quite as calm about this explanation. We also went off about the two people in our group who lie constantly and obviously and BS about everything. He pulled them out of group individually and spoke to them, the details of which I don't know.
Tonight, I got a phone call from a good friend from group, and he was crying. He'd already taken the drugs, they hadn't kicked in, and he was in meltdown mode. He described the "time-traveling" I do, trying so hard to hold on to reality, while being drowned in memories he didn't want to remember, feeling like he was barely hanging on. This is one of the toughest, most honest, most unbeatable dudes I know, and he calls me crying! I love this man like a brother- we understand each other so well it's scary, like looking in a mirror sometimes. Someone had made a comment about his service dog, and another had made several comments about violent stuff in front of a lot of children. He asked the guy to stop- more than I'm capable of in similar situations.
I am so angry at this therapist and at all these people allowing my friend, my brother to be hurt like this, to be dragged down in the place that's supposed to help pull him up. I'm so upset that these people put him in this situation.
He's better now, it's been a couple hours since the last part of this went down, but.... can nobody be trusted????

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.