Recovery?

Being in outpatient therapy is scary.
Scary.
I said it.
It drudges up so much, and makes you look at every. single. emotion.
It's like everything you've felt is suddenly under a microscope and you can't avoid looking at every detail of it now.
Today, our group moved through three different rooms. I was surprised when I realized it was stirring up anxiety in me. I was shocked when I found out I wasn't the only one.
Anxiety.
So much anxiety.
Soooo much anxiety.
Sunday night, my roommate came home very drunk and very angry.
He started yelling at me about my dog, and just kept yelling. I started to black out, and left the room. I spent three hours in an anxiety attack. Three hours. Three HOURS!!!
So, the boyfriend and I are moving out of the house and back into the barracks, and taking our dog to his dad's house.
I hate the thought of not being able to live with him, but I know it's the right choice right now.
That night brought up so much for me, and made me understand so much more about myself. Once I started to come down from the anxiety a little bit, I started talking to my boyfriend about how much I hate it when my home is taken away from me, and how it's always happened. I never had a home I felt really safe in, and even the better ones were taken from me, one way or another. I've never really had a true home. As he and I talked about that, I realized this was also the reason I was so eager to get married. I wanted a home. I wanted a place I felt safe and that wouldn't get taken away from me. I told him that, and he promised me we would have it.
I love this man. He stayed by my side the entire time I was going through that anxiety attack. He did everything he knew how to comfort me, but never once questioned my emotions or my reaction to it all. My dad thinks he's a saint. He said that.
I keep thinking about my fiance- the one that died over a year ago. The one I broke up with only months before he died of an asthma attack. The one I hadn't seen in years (I was stationed in Korea when we got engaged, and were in a long-distance relationship the entire time, but had been friends for years before) and who I hadn't come to see when I first came back to the states. The one who I still have so many questions about... I loved him, and I still do. My gut told me something was wrong though, and I never have gotten any real information on anything he told me. I don't know if everything he told me was a lie, or if all of it was true. All I know is that he promised me the world, and I believe he loved me, even if I don't know what he believed. I had loved him for so long, and had wanted to be with him for so many years. When it finally happened, I was practically blinded with happiness. When I started questioning things, I don't know if it was fear of commitment or just that something didn't feel right... I don't know what to believe, and I can't ask him. I have never felt more guilty than I do about him. There are so many pieces that just don't fit, and so many things he told me that other people know nothing about... It hurts so bad to think of how I might have hurt him... and it hurts even worse thinking that it all might have been a lie...
I don't know how to get past this...

Rest in peace, no matter what the truth is....

Like Sensitive Teeth

It finally hit me what I hate most about this whole PTSD mess.
I'm ridiculously sensitive to EVERYTHING.
It's like having a sweet tooth and sensitive teeth at the same time- you don't want to separate yourself from this world you just want to surround yourself with, but you can't help but be in horrible pain with nearly every little interaction.
I have spent the vast majority of my life cultivating the tough girl image. I'm heavily tattooed, tall and "thick". I'm not fragile looking, and, when surrounded by "the guys", I've always stood my ground, and managed, often enough to be known for it, to be able to respond to their dirty or shock-value jokes with something that none of them would have thought of. I'm a smart-ass. I've worked very hard to be the queen of comebacks and snide remarks. I pill poke, push or play-hit more guys I know than ones I would hug when I run into them. It's this person I've worked so hard to become- and now she's crumbling right in front of me.
And there's nothing I can do about it.
I know I take everything too personally lately. I feel like everything is somehow a reflection of me, and I know that I way oversimplify and, at the same time, over-think everything. If it wasn't obviously my fault, I will think about it and think about it until I can see how it "obviously" is my fault. And I will feel bad or guilty about it, no matter how long it took me to "see" that it "was my fault". It's a ridiculous game I play, really, and I can't possibly win it, either.
If my boyfriend isn't in a good mood, I take it to heart, and think about how difficult I've been lately. If I can't keep the dogs from overwhelming me, I find myself having trouble with my anxiety, but, of course, it's still my fault- I haven't trained them well enough. In my world, everything centers on me, but only when it's bad. In my world, that's the only thing I do, is mess things up for myself and everyone else.
I'm so tired of being miserable all the frigging time. I have gotten better about catching myself and fighting myself as I try to go down that all-too-familiar path, but I have a long way to go before I feel like I'm in any way in control of my emotions.
I make a huge point of holding on to that tough girl image at work- and now I've found myself crying- CRYING!- there, falling apart every time I deal with certain people that generally are more than a little willing to throw people (especially me) under the proverbial bus. People have seen me cry, AT WORK! For the love of God, this is not who I want to be.
Truth is, under the tough girl exterior, I've always been very sensitive to other's emotions, and a very compassionate person. It never bothered me too much until people started seeing it when I didn't want them to. In the military world, a sensitive woman- hell, even your average woman- is a risk, a problem. Women aren't seen as allies or possible strengths, and they aren't seen for their strengths. We're seen as the weakest links in the fence, physically and emotionally.
I have found myself having very generalized emotions lately, not triggered by anything in particular, but things I wake up with, and have the most trouble shaking. The blanket anxiety I felt last week was followed by blanket anger yesterday. I was just pissed off from the moment I woke up, and it took me well into the evening to really be rid of the majority of it.
I suppose someone will read this and know that this is "all part of the healing process" or some such cliche, but right now, I can't see how any of this can possibly be something anyone else has survived or understands.