I am back, I feel off the wagon, and got the help I needed.
The Fourth of July, came and went without incident. Usually, those of us with combat related PTSD, and even those who don't, we loath the 4th. We fear it, and it tears at us. I was lucky enough this year to celebrate it with friends. It was quiet, uneventful, and I got writing done surrounded by people I feel safe around.
But it was not all good.
The 3rd was my living nightmare. I live in an area where people are able to use fireworks. Whether they are legally, or not that is something different.
Around 3 pm on Thursday, the 2nd, is when it really started. The whistling of bottle rockets started. By night fall, they were all you could hear. At least all I heard. My nerves burned, wanting to run. Wanting to charge forward. I held it together, I maintained.
The 3rd, I woke up sore. I spent the night fighting everything in my past. I always know I sleep poorly when I wake up and the sheets under me are in knots. I woke up, and carried on, I did what I always do. Maintain. But it started around noon, once again. This time there was no whistle.
Just the echoing boom.
Over and over.
Boom.
Boom.
I don't remember much from Friday. I remember picking myself up, over and over again. My vision remained black, all day. Except for the moments where I find my lungs unresponsive to my screams for air. My fingers curled around the ground. Earth, wood, tile. I remember them all, but how I got there. My knees bruised and cut from falling, my brow soaking. My eyes wandering.
My phone goes off, and scares me straight.
It was my SO, and caregiver.
Shit, she is getting off work soon. Panic rose, I had to clean up. I scurried around the house, I picked up what I could remember dropping. I cleaned of my face, and brushed my knees off. I had to hide my weakness. I couldn't let her see what I had become while she was gone. I had to hide it all. I ran to my quiet place, I went to my shop. I worked on anything I could focus on.
Boom.
Boom.
Why am I on the floor again?
Boom!!
Oh yea that's why.
Sweat dripping from my body is ruining the stains and lacquers I am trying to use. I have to stop.
My SO comes in, and I don't remember laying down. But there I am. We leave for a bit, and I am able to find my center. We come back, and she notices that the explosions are effecting me. My body is jumping, and I sink deeper into myself.
As the night goes by, I am getting worse. My hands twitch, and shake. My lips are numb, and my skin crawls. She sends us to bed, but there is no sleeping. There I am once again, trying to sleep with rockets flying over head.
Boom.
Boom!
I get up, and go to my shop. I am so deep inside myself now, I can find peace. I am trying with all of my might to carry on like nothing is wrong. I am texting friends. I am working on a task, and I am doing chores.
It's 1 am, nothing is normal.
I don't know at what time I lost consciousness but when I remember flashes of blood, sweat, saliva flowing everywhere. My mouth was salty, I couldn't speak, I crawled up to my feet, as I crossed the backyard. My service dog, was urging me to stand. She kept reaching under my hand and lifting it with her head. I felt her hair. It was soaked. I dropped tea on her I found out later. I reach for the door.
BOOM!
I am gone once again.
From here I am told I walked inside, and was told to get in bed, but I didn't reply, except for "I cut myself."
I just kept repeating it. I was gone to the world. My service dog was whining, I wasn't there. I was somewhere else. My thoughts raced.
"You should have slit your wrists. If you had, you wouldn't be here."
"You should have taken the chisel and ran it into your throat. You wouldn't be crying right now had you."
"Look at you! You can't function. You're a failure. You are weak."
"You're bleeding? Not enough to make this all go away, finish it. Finish it, NOW!"
My thoughts over powered me, I couldn't speak. I am told, I didn't say anything except, "I cut myself". I am told I went out front, and lit a cigarette. I was told I smoked it, just sitting there, twitching with each explosion.
Then silence rained. My body shifted and jutted like I needed a fix. Like my drugs were running out of my system. I was coming back. I could feel the air blowing cool. I was shaking, but it wasn't the breeze.
My SO said something, that much I can remember. I agreed and started to follow.
BOOOOM!
I am on the ground again. But I am up in an instant, charging towards it, but stop. I remember questioning why I was charging towards it. I remember every muscle pulling tight. I remember feeling my spring getting set.
"Babe?"
"Baby? Can you hear me?"
"Babe, are you ok?"
She touched me and a sprung. I jumped at her.
The bleed ghost was let lose.
The Fourth of July, came and went without incident. Usually, those of us with combat related PTSD, and even those who don't, we loath the 4th. We fear it, and it tears at us. I was lucky enough this year to celebrate it with friends. It was quiet, uneventful, and I got writing done surrounded by people I feel safe around.
But it was not all good.
The 3rd was my living nightmare. I live in an area where people are able to use fireworks. Whether they are legally, or not that is something different.
Around 3 pm on Thursday, the 2nd, is when it really started. The whistling of bottle rockets started. By night fall, they were all you could hear. At least all I heard. My nerves burned, wanting to run. Wanting to charge forward. I held it together, I maintained.
The 3rd, I woke up sore. I spent the night fighting everything in my past. I always know I sleep poorly when I wake up and the sheets under me are in knots. I woke up, and carried on, I did what I always do. Maintain. But it started around noon, once again. This time there was no whistle.
Just the echoing boom.
Over and over.
Boom.
Boom.
I don't remember much from Friday. I remember picking myself up, over and over again. My vision remained black, all day. Except for the moments where I find my lungs unresponsive to my screams for air. My fingers curled around the ground. Earth, wood, tile. I remember them all, but how I got there. My knees bruised and cut from falling, my brow soaking. My eyes wandering.
My phone goes off, and scares me straight.
It was my SO, and caregiver.
Shit, she is getting off work soon. Panic rose, I had to clean up. I scurried around the house, I picked up what I could remember dropping. I cleaned of my face, and brushed my knees off. I had to hide my weakness. I couldn't let her see what I had become while she was gone. I had to hide it all. I ran to my quiet place, I went to my shop. I worked on anything I could focus on.
Boom.
Boom.
Why am I on the floor again?
Boom!!
Oh yea that's why.
Sweat dripping from my body is ruining the stains and lacquers I am trying to use. I have to stop.
My SO comes in, and I don't remember laying down. But there I am. We leave for a bit, and I am able to find my center. We come back, and she notices that the explosions are effecting me. My body is jumping, and I sink deeper into myself.
As the night goes by, I am getting worse. My hands twitch, and shake. My lips are numb, and my skin crawls. She sends us to bed, but there is no sleeping. There I am once again, trying to sleep with rockets flying over head.
Boom.
Boom!
I get up, and go to my shop. I am so deep inside myself now, I can find peace. I am trying with all of my might to carry on like nothing is wrong. I am texting friends. I am working on a task, and I am doing chores.
It's 1 am, nothing is normal.
I don't know at what time I lost consciousness but when I remember flashes of blood, sweat, saliva flowing everywhere. My mouth was salty, I couldn't speak, I crawled up to my feet, as I crossed the backyard. My service dog, was urging me to stand. She kept reaching under my hand and lifting it with her head. I felt her hair. It was soaked. I dropped tea on her I found out later. I reach for the door.
BOOM!
I am gone once again.
From here I am told I walked inside, and was told to get in bed, but I didn't reply, except for "I cut myself."
I just kept repeating it. I was gone to the world. My service dog was whining, I wasn't there. I was somewhere else. My thoughts raced.
"You should have slit your wrists. If you had, you wouldn't be here."
"You should have taken the chisel and ran it into your throat. You wouldn't be crying right now had you."
"Look at you! You can't function. You're a failure. You are weak."
"You're bleeding? Not enough to make this all go away, finish it. Finish it, NOW!"
My thoughts over powered me, I couldn't speak. I am told, I didn't say anything except, "I cut myself". I am told I went out front, and lit a cigarette. I was told I smoked it, just sitting there, twitching with each explosion.
Then silence rained. My body shifted and jutted like I needed a fix. Like my drugs were running out of my system. I was coming back. I could feel the air blowing cool. I was shaking, but it wasn't the breeze.
My SO said something, that much I can remember. I agreed and started to follow.
BOOOOM!
I am on the ground again. But I am up in an instant, charging towards it, but stop. I remember questioning why I was charging towards it. I remember every muscle pulling tight. I remember feeling my spring getting set.
"Babe?"
"Baby? Can you hear me?"
"Babe, are you ok?"
She touched me and a sprung. I jumped at her.
The bleed ghost was let lose.
Just sticking my head in the door to check on you. Hope things are "calmer" for you now. Have a good weekend!
ReplyDeleteSorry, this last weekend, was painful, and tiring. I took a couple days to reassess things. I needed it, things were not as solid as they had been.
DeleteBefore I go off on a tangent, thank you. I appreciate the checking in on me.