Saturday, April 30, 2016

Falling Down

Yesterday, I fell down.  I'm not even sure that's the right word, more like crashing down.  Yesterday I came crashing down.  It had been building since Tuesday, since 11 month.  I could tell.  I needed to cry and I couldn't.  It festered in me, it bubbled.  On wrong word from my husband on an evening he was stressed out and it all fell apart.

Yesterday PTSD won, the struggle won.  I didn't wake up "me", I woke up the other person.  The person who can't think straight.  I took some anxiety meds hoping that would help, it didn't.

It's important to me to be acknowledged that I am trying, that there is progress, that I AM making it.  I need to know that.  I need to know that I'm going to be okay, that a light exists and more importantly, I'm going to find my way to it.

Yesterday I didn't feel that.  I felt darkness and no light and that I was never going to reach it.  What's the point?  What am I going to do if I can't reach the light? I had a thread closed on a website I frequent that went from a journey of healing and a living child to the journey it's now become.  The other "me" had it turned off, but maybe they follow me here.  I don't know.

My mind went there.  To my end. I started to think I need a gun.  Turns out that's not exactly an amazon item or even ebay.  Hmm....  I messaged a friend who knew about guns, I was vague, but casual.  He's a guy, guys don't "get" things.  He'd never suspect.  He offered to take me to a shooting range.  I laughed in my head, shooting range.  I know how to do this, you do it through your mouth, it's the "sure" way.

I texted my therapist.  I told her I was cancelling Monday.  It turns out I wasn't making any progress and why waste time on me when she could use it on someone else? Someone else can get help, but not me, I'm beyond it.  We talked.  She refused to cancel my appt.  She wanted to know if I was safe and planned to be safe.  I wouldn't directly answer her.  I didn't know at the time.  I wasn't going to admit what was in my head, she'd be forced to do something with that.  I didn't want anything.  It was MY decision.  I chose.  Except it was an illness thinking, not me.

I didn't mean for it to come out this way, but I posted a sort of goodbye on a group I'm a part of.  I wanted them to know how much I cared about them should the day come I couldn't pick myself back up.  I deleted the post when I didn't get the response I wanted, but you know the internet.  You post, it's screen shotted.  A member called my husband, my husband called me, we talked.  I understood his comment was just a comment in a moment of stress.  He didn't realize he wasn't talking to "me" when he made the comment, and so it went wrong. I slowly calmed down as "me" came back.  My therapist called my husband too, to make sure I was okay.  He told her we'd talked, I was okay, I was safe.

I get home to my sweet girl and I felt ashamed and embarrassed. I held her extra tight, no easy feat for a "no cuddle" tot who loves her independence. My friend asks about the shooting range and I tell him the truth.  I'm not to ask for a gun, not today, not tomorrow, not ever.  I don't have interest in them personally. I was embarrassed to tell him, but he told me he's been down that road and he's there for me.  That he cares about me, as does his wife, and to always feel okay talking to him.  I apologized for involving him, for making him a part of this. I'm lucky to have good friends.  I told his wife too, a very good friend of mine.  This couple has a child a few months older than Katie and we hang out a lot.  They've been trying for their second almost as long as we've been trying to give Katie a living sibling, so we've gotten closer on a few levels.

"Me" came back last night.  And me is here this morning.  Ready to do this again, ready to keep going towards the light, ready to heal, ready to fight.  Ready to say YES. My therapist said I can contact her any time this weekend.  We'll talk Monday.  We'll talk about what to do when I lose "me" so I can find it, so it doesn't get to this level.  PTSD is real and it's horrible.  I've had so many triggers.  FB posting "memories" from a year ago.  Memories of planning and excited for two beautiful children to join our family in the fall.  There's been storm after storm after storm, reminding me of that vision being shattered. I haven't signed the contract to my new job yet and it hasn't been emailed like I was told.  Fear has gone up because even if it's just for the summer, I need a break from my current place of work.

This was yesterday



I don't need a hospital and I don't need meds.  I need people who believe in me.  I need people who know I can do this.  People who know that some days are hard, May is going to be hard. I'm going to be okay.  I am.  I'm going to make it.

In the words of Tom Zuba from the book: Permission to Mourn: A New Way to do Grief






1 comment:

  1. Ohhhh Amber my thoughts are with you all the time that the pain of your suffering will lessen for you. You are a beautiful person and I believe that you will get through this. I believe in you.

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