Morning

It's almost time for me to leave for my therapy appointment with the doctor who talks more than I do, but I had a few minutes after I got done getting ready and I needed to write.
I feel like things are bouncing a bit right now- better to worse- on a near-daily basis. I feel so much better, and, other days, I catch myself contemplating suicide more than is even vaguely rational. I'm tired of fighting, and I want a release. I think I can make it after I get out, now, and I have a few ideas I'm scared to put too much stock into, because I don't trust myself to see them through, but they are, potentially, good ideas.
Buffalo Boy has been incredibly supportive of my ideas, though my husband seems to be drowning in my issues right now. I asked him to take some initiative to try and learn more about what I'm dealing with because, frankly, I'm out of ideas for how to help him. I really feel like I'm just dragging him down as I'm trying to stay afloat. I guess drowning really is a good analogy for this.
We see his chaplain and an actual therapist for marriage counseling, I see my own one-on-one therapist, the doctor at the treatment clinic and am enrolled in an outpatient therapy program, yet he still seems to be struggling to understand any of it. I've written emails, given him the address to this blog (which he reads about once a month) and suggested books. I've asked him to do his own research, because I don't even know what parts of the picture he's missing right now. He's going to be busy with training and deployment preparations for a while, and, frankly, if we don't get on the same sheet of music by the time he deploys, I am not positive we'll make it through that deployment. I want this to work, but I'm so damn tired of fighting for everything I just don't know what will anymore.
Just trying to keep my head up for another week....

The Day Before

Sundays are so difficult.
They have so much potential, yet they're so full of anxiety for me as of late- all that anticipation of yet another week of juggling military nonsense with an attempt at survival- let alone happiness.
I'm a bad soldier right now, I haven't done my physical, I am still a week away from the dental exam I'm overdue for, and I haven't spent any excess time hunting down specific people because I was told to. I'm at a point where I will take nearly any opportunity for happiness, even if it means risking some punishment. I don't get much for myself anymore, and I have no escape from the darkness these days, so, really, when I see a bit of light shining through, who can blame me for trying to stay close to it?
Another week... I really hope I'm able to sleep tonight.

Sunday

One would assume that not ever getting out of one's pajamas would mean it'd be nearly impossible to have any sort of difficult day, right?

Wrong. 

I fell apart first thing this morning- just a complete train wreck. Once again, I'll leave out the gruesome details, but, as you might have noticed from my previous post, it was pretty bad.

We came to a conclusion, though, and decided we'd try to go through the VA to see about in vitro fertilization once I get out of the military. I don't want to wait five years to get around to something we want so badly, especially when it's something nobody can ever be truly or completely prepared for.

I'm not ready to return to treatment tomorrow, to deal with the week ahead or try to face the people I know I will have to. 

I just want a break from the "real world".

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.

Dark

My husband has been gone so much for work, it feels impossible to talk to him.
How do you just open up about having been suicidal to someone who wasn't there or even reachable at the time?
How do you turn on the faucet to pour out emotions and stories that happened when the one you love and are trying so hard not to hurt or run from was away?
He's in bed, asleep. Despite my questions, and my attempts to talk today, I feel like my words were wasted. If he has feelings on any of what I'm going through, he's not showing them to me, and he's certainly not talking about any of it.
I hate that I make him deal with this, with me.
I feel like I'm slowly drowning in a tar pit- slow, dark, hot and never-ending.... and oh so eerily quiet.

Talk

So, my husband spends a LOT of time at work lately.
He's been working for nearly two days straight, with about two hours early this morning at home. He finally came home this evening, and I tried my best to bring up what I'd learned about the BPD.
"Honey, do you know what borderline personality disorder is?"
"Yeah."
"How much do you know about it?"
"I mean, I've heard of it before."

....I didn't really know where to go from there. I gave up.
This man is my best friend, truly, but, it's frustrating to feel like you're talking to yourself sometimes. This isn't the first conversation that's fallen flat because his attention was elsewhere, but I personally feel like it's probably the most important. I just want to be able to tell him I know why I've been so crazy my whole life, I finally get it, and... I don't know. I know he would tell me it's great, and then he'd get distracted by something else, and I love him for who he is.
That sure doesn't mean he frustrates me any less, though.
He was tired today, he's going to help his friend move tomorrow, and Sunday we go bowling, and I'd REALLY like to go to church, finally.
And then it's Monday and back to the Monday-Friday only seeing each other long enough to figure out what we're doing for dinner and we don't even talk while we're eating anymore.
He knows I feel this way. I don't want to make him sound like a bad guy, he's not.
I just don't handle life well, I guess.

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.

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.

Anxiety

I wasn't anxious, angry or even particularly aware of my symptoms when I woke up this morning.
Then I started focusing on the thoughts about our service dog training session that would happen at the airport this evening, and the anxiety went wayyy up.
Then I got to treatment, and got particularly aggravated by a female soldier who talks about what she insists is PTSD in terms of war movies and text-book-entry-sounding (and ENDLESS) monologues of her "symptoms". Anybody who can sit there and say that she "repeatedly looked for an exit" who doesn't normally sound like a walking dictionary is, in my opinion, full of it.
Judging people is wrong.
I know.
Yet, it's so hard to avoid such sentiments when repeatedly one-upped during group "therapy". Mind you, this group therapy was once nearly life-saving to me. It's incredible how one person can monopolize entire days to the point of ruining it for the majority of the group.
So, anxiety and anger present were en masse.
Usually, anger negates my anxiety- anger allows me to feel in control, while anxiety is an "under attack" sort of feeling.
Today, though, they just seemed to be tag-teaming. I felt like I was fighting the Hardy Boys old-school WWF style.
Once we got to the airport, I was so grateful to have two of my friends from treatment with me. I was on edge already, but hoping I didn't need the "chill pills". I should have taken one.
I almost started crying when a loud buzzer went off to signal the baggage carousel was about to start moving. That wasn't the only time I was fighting back tears.
It's been a long, long, emotional day. We were also informed that our group's therapist is leaving next week. It looks like the lady we'll be getting is the burnt-out hippie that has yet to keep anyone under control. In a group full of combat and rape survivors, all of whom are soldiers, maintaining control over the chaos is VITAL.
Having our trust would help, too.
Sugar did great with training. I'm very proud of her.
I wish I were proud of me, for a change.

The Empty Mirror

I am being medically discharged from the US Army.
I am incapable of conceiving children without paying a middle-class fortune ($4,000-$20,000 per cycle depending on the timing and what the doctors decide) to some doctor with medications and big needles.
I am no longer the Soldier I was, let alone ever having become the Soldier I hoped to become.
I am not the mother I wanted to be, and there is no light at the end of that tunnel, either.

What is left of me?
I'm not a soldier.
I'm not a mother.
Most days, I'm not even much of a wife.

I am a walking void.
Men traditionally hold down the jobs: I was proud to be able to support myself and not need anyone else.
I've lost that.
Women traditionally bear children, raise them, and keep house. I'm not capable of any of the above- I can't even manage grocery shopping.

There
Is
Nothing
Left

Two Days Of Me

It's Monday evening, and the first day of the workweek has drawn to a close.
It's been a mostly positive weekend, though full of overwhelming stimuli. We went to a movie Friday night- my first time in a theater since I got my service dog about a month and a half ago. It went very well, though she won't be sitting/lying on the floor next time, as she likes eating the icky popcorn off the ground. We went to see the Harlem Globetrotters on Saturday night. I was sure I'd lost my mind even trying that, but, between a service dog, medication, my husband, a good friend and his girlfriend, we made it through it fairly well. It was my third time seeing their show, but it was almost as funny as the very first time. My husband and our friends loved it, and it was their first time- overall, it was worth the effort, and I didn't completely lose my mind.

.........................................
And, now there's this......
Getting out of the Army has been something I've generally viewed as a positive the last couple months, maybe more. It's been a big part of who I am for the last few years, and it never really occurred to me that it would ever hurt to lose that...
Until I read this.
The military is opening up THOUSANDS more jobs to women.
You know, all those jobs I wanted to be able to do, but couldn't, because I'm  a "girl".... yeah, I could do them now, if only I wasn't broken beyond repair.
My heart is breaking in a way I didn't know it could.
Being part of the division colorguard, being aid station NCOIC and standing up a non-existent aid station as a SPC with three years in the Army, the 270 PT score and hopes for a 300....
That woman is dead.... No, that SOLDIER is dead.... And she's never coming back.
My heart is breaking.
There's nothing I can do about it.

Forget

Today, I got angry.
I was angry the whole morning in fact.
I calmed down after an anxiety attack forced me to take a benzo chill pill.
I was proud of myself after that. I went to the office and to my fathers, just me and my service dog, without my husband, for the first time in months.
Then I got lost driving home. I tried to take the route I take every day. I still got lost. I couldn't remember/figure out where I was for about fifteen minutes. I got scared, angry, and cried. I eventually found I-10 and found my way back.
I cried after I got home, and apparently fell asleep doing so. I woke up a bit later, fed the husband and the dog.
I went into the closet to get something, something fell, and I got so angry I threw something- narrowly missing my husband.
I really hate who I am today. I don't know who I actually am anymore, because if your actions don't define who you are, what does? I'm not a good person anymore. I don't even want to look in the mirror. I try to dress nice, I try to force myself to do things for myself, but, really, if it's not doing something for my service dog or my husband, it really doesn't seem like there's a point anymore. I'm angry, anxious, and I keep causing more problems for myself and everybody else.
I don't want to be this person anymore.

Outpatient- Out Of Patience

Yesterday was a horrifically eventful day.
The day of my last post- the day before yesterday, now- I had left a note for the gentleman who is assigned to my unit to help aid with "Combat And Operational Stress". He is a wonderful guy, but didn't get back to me about this note, in which I asked for someone to talk to about the anxiety. I didn't hear anything, but had my first true anxiety attack in formation during PT.
For those of you who aren't military minded, and I commend you for trying to follow this mess, we line up in several rows, with one person in charge (more or less) and that's a formation. Now, we do our exercise in these formations- to include running.
We got about a block before the pain in my chest was so horrible I couldn't breathe and run at the same time- and certainly not while surrounded by other people running and bumping into or stepping on one another. I took myself out of the formation, trying to continue to run, albeit at a much slower pace, but eventually gave up and walked. A senior NCO came over, and asked what was wrong. Breathless, I told him 'anxiety attack'. He told me I could just go back to HQ, and my response was to shake my head and say 'that's quitting.' He didn't argue. A female NCO I'm pretty close to fell out of formation to come run/walk with me. We followed the same route the runners did, and I didn't quit. By the time we made it back to HQ, people were already finishing their stretches. My 1sg and company commander pulled me aside. My commander asked if I'd run that route, and when I (still not able to breathe well at all) told him I'd walked it, my 1sg (First Sergeant) asked me what was going on, I, again, said "anxiety attack". He instructed my boss to make sure I was alright.
For those of you that are familiar with medicine, my blood oxygen level (pulse ox) was 93. I wasn't getting enough oxygen, go figure.
Anyhow, I went to group yesterday, and was pulled aside at the end of the session. A social worker noted that I'd been coming to these groups "religiously" each Tuesday and Thursday, while most showed up once a week, at best. The note I had left the combat and operational stress guy had also been brought to her attention. I told her about the anxiety attack, and the incredible amount of problems all of this was causing for me at work.
She said I sounded like a perfect candidate for outpatient therapy.
....Wait, what?! That's an option?!
I spent several hours after that at a behavioral health clinic about 30 minutes from work, filling out papers, until I was certain to be late to my reiki appointment. Fortunately, the person scheduled after me for reiki wound up rescheduling completely, and the woman I work with on this was very understanding about it.
Today, I headed to work, not knowing whether or not my command was okay with me taking part in the outpatient program. After several hours, and more than an hour and a half after I should have already been at the clinic, it was finally cleared up.
My command is allowing me to go, and I am responsible for keeping them in the loop about everything and maintaining my own physical fitness, so I won't find myself moving from multiple hours of therapy into a crowd of running soldiers (again). This is expected to be several weeks long, 10-14 business days. Today was only a small taste of what I'll be dealing with, as I will be moved into a military group (I wear civilian clothes to this, wearing my uniform makes me more tense and anxious than I already am).
I am incredibly grateful to my commander for blessing off on this, and incredibly grateful in a more general sense for the opportunity to be away from my work, away from those people, and actually take some time and heal all these raw, open wounds.
I'm terrified, too, though.
I have had more anxiety since that one hour meeting with the social worker summarizing my life than I have ever had. If that's what happened after one hour, what happens after a day or a week of me talking this out, spilling my guts and really looking at those still-gaping wounds?

This sweet thing managed to nearly put me into another anxiety attack. I love her dearly, but she is so excited to see me sometimes that she gets a little bit too much so. She clocked me in the mouth after repeatedly jumping on me (she's full grown, but new to us, and not completely trained yet) and I had to push her away, and, eventually go put myself behind the closed door of our bedroom. She didn't want me to walk away from her, and she didn't mean to do any damage, but my anxiety turns to anger too quickly, and I will NOT hurt my dog, or anyone else.
She really is a fantastic dog, though, and very attached. I'm really glad to have her.

Anxiety

I'm still going to "check-in" groups twice a week.
It helps so much to talk to other people who are facing the same ignorance and dealing with the same struggles that I am. It's so hard going through this and not forgetting that I am not crazy.
More than anything, I want to feel like it's okay for me to be going through what I am, like this is just part of the healing process and nothing to be ashamed of.
But I don't.
I'm embarrassed to have PTSD. I'm embarrassed to have gotten myself into not one but TWO situations where I could be raped. I'm embarrassed that I can't control my anger or my tears more often than not. I'm embarrassed that I feel like everybody is a threat. I'm embarrassed that my boyfriend is carrying so much of our relationship right now, as I fall apart and find him taking care of me over and over and over again. I'm tired of being this way, and I don't for one second feel like it's okay to feel this way.
I woke up this morning with an elephant-size ball of anxiety sitting squarely on my chest. When my wonderful, amazing boyfriend tried to get too close to me physically, it got worse. I've never had flashbacks with him, and I rarely feel the need to close myself off from him. This morning, though, it was like he was the enemy. I had to get him away, even though I wanted nothing more than to feel loved. I had to hide my fear and anxiety and hurt, even though I wanted nothing more than to hear that it's okay to feel this way, and that the man I love so much understands.
I hate being stuck inside this ugly, angry, horrible shell.
I just want this all to go away. I don't want to be anxious about being around people anymore, and I don't want to wonder when I'll fall apart again. I don't want to worry about being in formations because I don't know if something will set me off while I'm surrounded by so many people. I don't want to worry about how much trouble I'll get in after I've had to walk away from a situation so I wouldn't lose control. This isn't who I want to be.
Last night, when I drove over to pick up my boyfriend from work, I had someone run up to the truck on the driver's side, to my open driver's side window, and scream at me to slow down. I was doing 10 mph in a 25 or 30 mph zone. It scared me and startled me so badly the one hand I had on the wheel at that particular moment jolted, and I caught myself just short of running the truck in his direction. I had been having a good day, and he set me on edge so badly I couldn't calm down completely for most of the evening.
I'm at work now, having chest pain and fighting tears and there's no specific reason that I can think of that I feel this way. I'm so frustrated.