Friday, August 28, 2015
Thursday, August 27, 2015
Disappearring Act
After my last post, the big one, zero, zero, I did something I find myself doing when life gets rough for me.
I dove into work.
I dove so hard I missed entire days, maybe even a weeks worth of my medication. Huge blocks of time went missing from my mind. I still can't remember them. I forgot important things. All while coming off my medication.
Our water got turned off. Not because I didn't have the money, but because I forgot that that was a thing you do as an adult. Now someone without PTSD might ask "How do you forget to pay your water bill? It is due every month." and they are right, it does happen every month. But PTSD knows no bounds of time, this earth or the next.
As stress increases, and the thoughts and memories claw up from the deep below, time has a way of rising and falling like the tide. Not physically, but perceptually. You may know for a fact that it is Tuesday at 8:42 A.M., but have literally no idea what time it is. You can look at your watch, or your calendar, even your phone, and instantly forget where, and when you are.
I know when I get like that, I am trying everything I can not to break down in tears. It takes all of my physical strength to just stand there, and not buckle. While others ridicule me for letting my water get turned off, as they scoff, and judge me, I am knee deep in a battle within myself. A battle I have fought countless times before.
Now my automatic response to all this stress, and loss of time and space is to dive into the one thing I have always known. Work. I work longer and longer hours. I force myself to drive forward, as an almost physical expression of my inner struggle.
Well it back fired, and forced me to slow my roll. Literally.
I dove into work so hard, I forgot a whole bunch of stuff. Like car's aren't meant to be driven as hard as you think they can. I blew the engine in my car. I ended up "working too much", as my boss put it. I drove too much, I worked too much, I forgot too much, and I missed too much. All the signs were there that I needed to stop, but with a helpless abandonment I drove forward. I fought the exhaustion, I fought the pain, and I fought the memories.
And life kicked back, like a mule.
Now, when that kick to the chest finally comes, and it comes a lot in life now. Time has a way of getting as thick as oil. Dirty, used oil. All that time you thought you didn't have comes back, and gives it all back, letting you remember all the things you did wrong. Reminding you of all the mistakes you've ever made.
My engine blew, my water got turned off, I got in trouble at work, and I neglected those telling me to stop and breathe. I lost track of my life, I lost track of time. I tried to out run my demons and failed. Even those of us that write, or talk about it everyday can forget that. We can not out run the demons within. We can not out run ourselves, or our shadows. My pain is as much a part of me, as my own breath. It gives me life, it gives me strength, it fuels me.
Sometimes in the wrong direction, and for the wrong reasons.
I dove into work.
I dove so hard I missed entire days, maybe even a weeks worth of my medication. Huge blocks of time went missing from my mind. I still can't remember them. I forgot important things. All while coming off my medication.
Our water got turned off. Not because I didn't have the money, but because I forgot that that was a thing you do as an adult. Now someone without PTSD might ask "How do you forget to pay your water bill? It is due every month." and they are right, it does happen every month. But PTSD knows no bounds of time, this earth or the next.
As stress increases, and the thoughts and memories claw up from the deep below, time has a way of rising and falling like the tide. Not physically, but perceptually. You may know for a fact that it is Tuesday at 8:42 A.M., but have literally no idea what time it is. You can look at your watch, or your calendar, even your phone, and instantly forget where, and when you are.
I know when I get like that, I am trying everything I can not to break down in tears. It takes all of my physical strength to just stand there, and not buckle. While others ridicule me for letting my water get turned off, as they scoff, and judge me, I am knee deep in a battle within myself. A battle I have fought countless times before.
Now my automatic response to all this stress, and loss of time and space is to dive into the one thing I have always known. Work. I work longer and longer hours. I force myself to drive forward, as an almost physical expression of my inner struggle.
Well it back fired, and forced me to slow my roll. Literally.
I dove into work so hard, I forgot a whole bunch of stuff. Like car's aren't meant to be driven as hard as you think they can. I blew the engine in my car. I ended up "working too much", as my boss put it. I drove too much, I worked too much, I forgot too much, and I missed too much. All the signs were there that I needed to stop, but with a helpless abandonment I drove forward. I fought the exhaustion, I fought the pain, and I fought the memories.
And life kicked back, like a mule.
Now, when that kick to the chest finally comes, and it comes a lot in life now. Time has a way of getting as thick as oil. Dirty, used oil. All that time you thought you didn't have comes back, and gives it all back, letting you remember all the things you did wrong. Reminding you of all the mistakes you've ever made.
My engine blew, my water got turned off, I got in trouble at work, and I neglected those telling me to stop and breathe. I lost track of my life, I lost track of time. I tried to out run my demons and failed. Even those of us that write, or talk about it everyday can forget that. We can not out run the demons within. We can not out run ourselves, or our shadows. My pain is as much a part of me, as my own breath. It gives me life, it gives me strength, it fuels me.
Sometimes in the wrong direction, and for the wrong reasons.
Tuesday, August 11, 2015
Aspie, and PTSD (100th post)
Today is my 100th post, and I am proud of myself for it. Not only have I managed to keep a promise and write this blog, but I have met so many amazing people along the way. Even if they were single serving friends (Fight Club reference :p ) I know now that each and every one of you that stop by and give encouraging words, check in on me when I have been a little quiet, or those that left comments on the posts, or my Google+ wall. You are all to thank for the beginning of this journey.
So thank you all, thank you so much for the support.
Today is a a special day for me, I am going to try and break the cycle PTSD has thrown me in without a fore warning. The cycle is one of being closed off to everyone and everything. So afraid to open up and be hurt again that you close up tight, and close yourself off from the world. Because if the world can't get in, you can't get hurt, again. Right?
Wrong. Very wrong.
When we close ourselves off to the world, we are hurting the world. The world is a darker place without us, those who have survived our events. Those with PTSD are a special breed, we are all the ones that world has seen fit to be able to survive abuse, physical/sexual or otherwise. We have survived war, rape, the ugly of the world.
We are the strong, we are the powerful. We cannot hide ourselves from the world, a world that needs us. Needs us to show them how to survive. This blog is my attempt at sharing, at guiding those who are on the dark road before us all. You are not alone, you walk among others who are there for you.
As promised, today I am going to attempt to open up and share more of my soul. Share more of myself, I am handing the keys to my castle over to you.
In one of my previous posts I mentioned that I felt disconnected. I went on to talk about how as a child I felt that way, and how now as an adult I fell disconnected as well.
The disconnection I feel now, as an adult is brought on by my PTSD, I walk through the world watching and observing as if I were a visitor of this world. Many of you can relate, I am sure.
But the disconnection I had as a child was different. To say that I was socially awkward is an understatement. I remember my brother and sisters making friends like it was nothing. I remember them walking into school, and running off to their friends and going about their little lives. I could never understand this. Most of my adolescent life, I had one friend. My brother. Yes I had people who were friendly to me, and I returned the favor, but never any friends.
As an adult this doesn't bother me, as a child I never gave it a second thought. I did not connect with people, I was more comfortable reading a book, or playing with computers. Not on computers, this was before the internet was everywhere, back in the dial up days. The first computer I remember owning had a 3.5 disk drive. Yeah, if you don't know that is old. I would spend the hour and half, my mother let me use the computer, a day compressing data, trying to get more than the maximum 3.5 MB on those disks.
I had a telescope as a child, I built tree houses, made bows and arrows. I had summer jobs, I read and I read. When I was a child they just called kids like me strange, or anti-social. I was the kid everyone wanted on their science project, but never wanted to talk to outside of the class.
I was born different, and thought nothing of it. I was born with Asperger. Asperger's is amazing, at least I think so, it is a form of autism. But I see as my own super power. The left and right sides of my brain communicate in such away that the line between the two is blurred. I am able to understand concepts, ideas, equations, theories with ease. But as with all super powers there are down falls. Social and emotional ques, are my kryptonite (superman's weakness for all you non-nerd types).
Since I was a child I thought I just did things that other people refused to try doing. I was good at math, and couldn't understand why others weren't. I was fascinated by science, and computers, and reading. As I grew older, it dawned on me that I wasn't like others.
When I was a child I the other kids would call me an "asshole", or "heartless", I even got "Why can't you just be normal, like everyone else?". When I was in high school, I tried to be like everyone else. I would watch people, and study how they interacted with each other. I would go home, and spend hours trying to mimic the facial expressions of the kids I saw that day. I would copy the tones of the words they used. The inflections in all the wrong places, would drive my aspie mind insane.
Why was everything a question in high school? WHY?!!
Well I played the mimic, the copy cat for as long as I could. My dad would take time out of his day to talk to me, just me. He would try to tell me that "No man is an island", I still remember this phrase, because even to this day it doesn't make sense to me. Of course no man is an island, that is silly. But at the same time every man (and woman) that has ever been is an island. We all die, and go back to the earth. So literally every dead person is an island, and every living man is just waiting for his turn to be an island.
He was trying to tell me that "No man, can survive alone", I didn't understand that fact until I studied social and physiological studies. The scientific fact that social interaction is required for life, is what got through to me, not my dad's words of wisdom.
I lack the ability to read social and emotional ques. That has lead people to call me names like "heartless", when I am confronted with a problem, I try and solve it using logic. When I was in high school, the logic I possessed said to mimic those who wished for me to be more like them. As an adult and now with PTSD, logic tells me:
If I am not like you, that is a good thing, I have experiences and knowledge you'll never be able to understand.
The reason I write is a two fold issue. One being my PTSD makes it impossible for me to vocalize my problems. Two is because as an aspie, a person with aspergers, the written word is easier for us to communicate with. The written word is free of emotion, yes it is possible to convey emotion, but you are still using words that are free of emotion. There is no confusing inflection on any of the words.
When I say that I have waking nightmares, I mean that. No more, no less. There is no mood, or gender or questioning inflection there. So after all the puzzling questions of high school, after all the "you're weird" comments of elementary school, I found my way in life.
I may have asperger's, I may have PTSD, and I may be a very broken man. But after all that I have over come in life I know that there is nothing in life I can not do. I am done trying to be "normal", it is exhausting trying to be like everyone else. I can only be me, and the me that I am, I like. Flaws and all I love myself.
So from now on, I won't be like everyone else. I won't be anyone but me, the crazy, broken, aspie, PTSD self.
So thank you all, thank you so much for the support.
Today is a a special day for me, I am going to try and break the cycle PTSD has thrown me in without a fore warning. The cycle is one of being closed off to everyone and everything. So afraid to open up and be hurt again that you close up tight, and close yourself off from the world. Because if the world can't get in, you can't get hurt, again. Right?
Wrong. Very wrong.
When we close ourselves off to the world, we are hurting the world. The world is a darker place without us, those who have survived our events. Those with PTSD are a special breed, we are all the ones that world has seen fit to be able to survive abuse, physical/sexual or otherwise. We have survived war, rape, the ugly of the world.
We are the strong, we are the powerful. We cannot hide ourselves from the world, a world that needs us. Needs us to show them how to survive. This blog is my attempt at sharing, at guiding those who are on the dark road before us all. You are not alone, you walk among others who are there for you.
As promised, today I am going to attempt to open up and share more of my soul. Share more of myself, I am handing the keys to my castle over to you.
In one of my previous posts I mentioned that I felt disconnected. I went on to talk about how as a child I felt that way, and how now as an adult I fell disconnected as well.
The disconnection I feel now, as an adult is brought on by my PTSD, I walk through the world watching and observing as if I were a visitor of this world. Many of you can relate, I am sure.
But the disconnection I had as a child was different. To say that I was socially awkward is an understatement. I remember my brother and sisters making friends like it was nothing. I remember them walking into school, and running off to their friends and going about their little lives. I could never understand this. Most of my adolescent life, I had one friend. My brother. Yes I had people who were friendly to me, and I returned the favor, but never any friends.
As an adult this doesn't bother me, as a child I never gave it a second thought. I did not connect with people, I was more comfortable reading a book, or playing with computers. Not on computers, this was before the internet was everywhere, back in the dial up days. The first computer I remember owning had a 3.5 disk drive. Yeah, if you don't know that is old. I would spend the hour and half, my mother let me use the computer, a day compressing data, trying to get more than the maximum 3.5 MB on those disks.
I had a telescope as a child, I built tree houses, made bows and arrows. I had summer jobs, I read and I read. When I was a child they just called kids like me strange, or anti-social. I was the kid everyone wanted on their science project, but never wanted to talk to outside of the class.
I was born different, and thought nothing of it. I was born with Asperger. Asperger's is amazing, at least I think so, it is a form of autism. But I see as my own super power. The left and right sides of my brain communicate in such away that the line between the two is blurred. I am able to understand concepts, ideas, equations, theories with ease. But as with all super powers there are down falls. Social and emotional ques, are my kryptonite (superman's weakness for all you non-nerd types).
Since I was a child I thought I just did things that other people refused to try doing. I was good at math, and couldn't understand why others weren't. I was fascinated by science, and computers, and reading. As I grew older, it dawned on me that I wasn't like others.
When I was a child I the other kids would call me an "asshole", or "heartless", I even got "Why can't you just be normal, like everyone else?". When I was in high school, I tried to be like everyone else. I would watch people, and study how they interacted with each other. I would go home, and spend hours trying to mimic the facial expressions of the kids I saw that day. I would copy the tones of the words they used. The inflections in all the wrong places, would drive my aspie mind insane.
Why was everything a question in high school? WHY?!!
Well I played the mimic, the copy cat for as long as I could. My dad would take time out of his day to talk to me, just me. He would try to tell me that "No man is an island", I still remember this phrase, because even to this day it doesn't make sense to me. Of course no man is an island, that is silly. But at the same time every man (and woman) that has ever been is an island. We all die, and go back to the earth. So literally every dead person is an island, and every living man is just waiting for his turn to be an island.
He was trying to tell me that "No man, can survive alone", I didn't understand that fact until I studied social and physiological studies. The scientific fact that social interaction is required for life, is what got through to me, not my dad's words of wisdom.
I lack the ability to read social and emotional ques. That has lead people to call me names like "heartless", when I am confronted with a problem, I try and solve it using logic. When I was in high school, the logic I possessed said to mimic those who wished for me to be more like them. As an adult and now with PTSD, logic tells me:
If I am not like you, that is a good thing, I have experiences and knowledge you'll never be able to understand.
The reason I write is a two fold issue. One being my PTSD makes it impossible for me to vocalize my problems. Two is because as an aspie, a person with aspergers, the written word is easier for us to communicate with. The written word is free of emotion, yes it is possible to convey emotion, but you are still using words that are free of emotion. There is no confusing inflection on any of the words.
When I say that I have waking nightmares, I mean that. No more, no less. There is no mood, or gender or questioning inflection there. So after all the puzzling questions of high school, after all the "you're weird" comments of elementary school, I found my way in life.
I may have asperger's, I may have PTSD, and I may be a very broken man. But after all that I have over come in life I know that there is nothing in life I can not do. I am done trying to be "normal", it is exhausting trying to be like everyone else. I can only be me, and the me that I am, I like. Flaws and all I love myself.
So from now on, I won't be like everyone else. I won't be anyone but me, the crazy, broken, aspie, PTSD self.
99th post
Today I am writing a bit lost at the moment. My head is in the game, my body is willing, but my mind is wandering. Like a small child all the shiny things are distracting today.
This being my 99th post, I thought I would share my plans for my next post, usually I open my blog, stare that the screen, while I visualize all the ways I can express myself, once I do that, I write how to over come those things.
My entire blog is very raw, there are errors everywhere, and I keep it that. It is a way for me to remember the hurdles I had while writing. Like little invisible flags that say, "hey this, this right here, is when you almost lost it writing that sentence. You remember?"
Yes, yes I do remember.
But tomorrow I am going to try something new, I am going to break my habits. As I write this blog, I keep person information to a minimum, while sharing my soul. My last two posts have gotten a lot of attention. A lot of questions have arisen, some that can only be answered with tomorrows post.
I have an issue sharing my personal information, even with people I love, and call family. Large portions of my life no one knows about. Huge chucks of my life I have kept secret for fear of giving people the ammo necessary to harm me.
My walls are still up, my defenses are still strong. My will still fights me, to pull back, and delete this entire post. My mind screams for me to stop. But if I am to break through the walls of PTSD, I must push myself. I must open myself to the possibility of being hurt, of being weak, so that i may grow and become stronger.
I must fight the anxiety, the nightmares, the waking dreams, the fear. I must fight it all, so that I may over come it.
Now I say tomorrow, because I am not yet ready to open up. I am not yet ready to hand over the keys to my castle and hope that those who enter mean me no harm.
On the marrow, my good friends. On the marrow, we shall rise stronger than before.
This being my 99th post, I thought I would share my plans for my next post, usually I open my blog, stare that the screen, while I visualize all the ways I can express myself, once I do that, I write how to over come those things.
My entire blog is very raw, there are errors everywhere, and I keep it that. It is a way for me to remember the hurdles I had while writing. Like little invisible flags that say, "hey this, this right here, is when you almost lost it writing that sentence. You remember?"
Yes, yes I do remember.
But tomorrow I am going to try something new, I am going to break my habits. As I write this blog, I keep person information to a minimum, while sharing my soul. My last two posts have gotten a lot of attention. A lot of questions have arisen, some that can only be answered with tomorrows post.
I have an issue sharing my personal information, even with people I love, and call family. Large portions of my life no one knows about. Huge chucks of my life I have kept secret for fear of giving people the ammo necessary to harm me.
My walls are still up, my defenses are still strong. My will still fights me, to pull back, and delete this entire post. My mind screams for me to stop. But if I am to break through the walls of PTSD, I must push myself. I must open myself to the possibility of being hurt, of being weak, so that i may grow and become stronger.
I must fight the anxiety, the nightmares, the waking dreams, the fear. I must fight it all, so that I may over come it.
Now I say tomorrow, because I am not yet ready to open up. I am not yet ready to hand over the keys to my castle and hope that those who enter mean me no harm.
On the marrow, my good friends. On the marrow, we shall rise stronger than before.
Saturday, August 8, 2015
Never quit.
When I was 7 years old, I wanted to be the first man on Mars. I wanted to ride NASA's X-23 Rocket (that is a real project NASA had) all the way to Mars. I used to dream, as a child, of my boots hitting the surface of our red sister planet. Red dust billowing in the airless atmosphere, the sun reflecting off my helm, and NASA patched through my helmet.
"Commander, do you copy mission control."
"Roger, read you Lima Charlie, mission control, over."
Then the long wait for a reply.
Even as a child I would imagine that NASA would take minutes to reply because of the long distance between Earth and Mars. While in the midst of these day dreams, I would train myself for the mission. I would imagine that if anything happened on Mars I would at some point be forced to hold my breath, if there was a hull breach. Waiting for the imaginary reply from NASA, I would hold my breath.
Waiting. Counting the seconds.
As children we have a sense of hope that is invincible. We create worlds without limits, without "can't's", we live in a world of possibilities.
As we grow older, life tends to think we can handle more. The more we take on, the more we realize that the odds are forever against us. We won't get rich at the Casino's, the odds are literally against us. We take this underlying lesson and apply it to everything in our lives, without realizing.
I am here to tell you, that even in Casino's the odds are not always against us. Sometimes, just like in casino's there are areas where the odds are in no ones favor. In those sweet spots, even in life we have a chance. We have a chance to come out on top.
We have a chance to beat the house, and walk away stronger and wiser than before. But I don't want this to sound like you have a chance to beat the house, sticking with the casino analogy. In live there is only one "house" you need to worry about, and that is you. You house all the demons, all the hope, and all the angels. You house all the despair, all the malice, discontent.
When there are no demons within that can harm you, there is nothing that can harm us outside.
What makes us quit, quit dreaming, quit fighting, quit screaming into the endless darkness, isn't the world around us. It is our voice within telling us we can go no further. Every time we list all the things we "can't" do, we aren't helping ourselves. We are setting up all the road blocks needed to halt our progression in life. But when we say, "I don't know what to do" well that is something completely different.
"I don't know what to do", is allowing the possibility of success, all while admitting you need help.
I have over the last few years slowly, and surely given up saying, "I can't".
Now instead of listing the things I can not do, I say "I will handle it", or "Let's do this", or "let's find a way to get this done." Failure is not an option, failure is something you either sow, or let grow. When we set it in our minds to never quit, to never give up, failure has no place to plant roots.
Never give up, never quit. Change isn't automatic. We won't find a cure, today, or tomorrow. Or even next week, if we aren't around to fight for it. PTSD is a call to rise up, and find the strength to carry on. It is a call to break down the walls that shot up without our knowing. I am unable to share my life with anyone for fear of giving them the ammo necessary to destroy me. My walls are up, my guard is vigilant.
But I will be here tomorrow, and the day after, and the week after, because I can not quit.
I can never quit. I will stop fighting when the nightmares stop. I will stop when the PTSD stops making me fear everything, every second of the day.
Fight with me, stay with us. Never give in. Never go silently into the night. Leave this world with all f your dreams and aspirations fulfilled. Leave nothing undone, leave nothing un-invented. Leave no story untold, leave no inch of this world or any other ndiscovered. Make our children, and our children's children take up the same fight.
If fear breeds fear, then hope, and bravery, and courage in the face of those things must breed something so beautiful that my finite mind can not fathom it.
Never quit.
Never lie down.
Never go quietly.
Friday, August 7, 2015
Disconnect
I have tried to remind you, my readers, that hope is always there. Always present, and not far from the pain you are feeling. But... Half the time I am trying to convince myself. Life has a funny way of testing us, of pushing us.
Recently my car was broken into and ALL of my work equipment was stolen. Not too funny, right? I mean that is a terrible set up and delivery of a joke. The "funny" way life tests us, isn't in the events, but in the type of events. In the way we react to them, that is where funny is transmuted into peculiar, the strange, and even odd.
Now in my car, I had tools, wires, gauges, connectors, power tools, even a 300$ juicer that didn't belong to me. They left all of that. They took my emergency cash fund out of the glove box, and my work equipment, and my medication. I work in IT, and an IT guy without a laptop isn't much of an IT guy.
In one night, my safety net, my career, and my medication were all stolen from me.
No my safety net was about 30-40$, not a whole lot of money. But it represented a cushion, in case something happened. Something did happen, I was without my cushion.
My career, will go on, I called work they sent out a replacement, but I lost all my work. Life goes on, just a mild irritant.
My medication, now that is a slippery slope. I realized yesterday that it had been almost a week since I took it. That is getting close to it no longer being in my system, and I have noticed it. I am saying mean things, things I do not mean.
So in one night, fears of being without a safety net, adding in growing irritation, and my anger over nothing all came back. I was asked if I am doing ok, I am maintaining as usual. I am partially dead inside, so that helps keep everything from seeping out. But I feel it a boiling. The truth is I am a powder keg ready to blow, ready to destroy ones own self, and everything around me.
I don't feel violated by this robbery, I don't think like that. My SO was freaked out by it more than I was. I feel like maybe...
Like maybe the medication isn't helping like they say it is. Like maybe life is meant to be hard and disappointing. Like maybe there isn't light at the end of the road. Maybe there isn't a road at all. Maybe there is no such thing as light, and we created it in our minds to have something to hold on to. Maybe I am just fanning the flames of my own destruction with the blankets I keep throwing on the fire of my own raging insanity.
I started writing because I was unable to talk about PTSD, now I do my best to write about the hope we need in the dark times. I try to show people that just because life is always spitting on you, just because your fears and pain keep you chained there will ALWAYS be a better tomorrow, just around the corner.
But as usual, since I was a child, I feel disconnected from the world. Now I have PTSD, I have hope, and I have a raging storm inside, and no way to scream for help. I have demons whispering vile, disgusting, horrendous things in my ear, and I love them all. I have nightmares that fuel my passions. Hope has become a name plate I wear as I check into work. Hope is the pair of glasses I put on each morning, to filter out all of the bad.
Through my hope goggles life seems pretty sweet. Luckily they weren't stolen. But then again maybe if they had, the person who needed them the most would have them.
Recently my car was broken into and ALL of my work equipment was stolen. Not too funny, right? I mean that is a terrible set up and delivery of a joke. The "funny" way life tests us, isn't in the events, but in the type of events. In the way we react to them, that is where funny is transmuted into peculiar, the strange, and even odd.
Now in my car, I had tools, wires, gauges, connectors, power tools, even a 300$ juicer that didn't belong to me. They left all of that. They took my emergency cash fund out of the glove box, and my work equipment, and my medication. I work in IT, and an IT guy without a laptop isn't much of an IT guy.
In one night, my safety net, my career, and my medication were all stolen from me.
No my safety net was about 30-40$, not a whole lot of money. But it represented a cushion, in case something happened. Something did happen, I was without my cushion.
My career, will go on, I called work they sent out a replacement, but I lost all my work. Life goes on, just a mild irritant.
My medication, now that is a slippery slope. I realized yesterday that it had been almost a week since I took it. That is getting close to it no longer being in my system, and I have noticed it. I am saying mean things, things I do not mean.
So in one night, fears of being without a safety net, adding in growing irritation, and my anger over nothing all came back. I was asked if I am doing ok, I am maintaining as usual. I am partially dead inside, so that helps keep everything from seeping out. But I feel it a boiling. The truth is I am a powder keg ready to blow, ready to destroy ones own self, and everything around me.
I don't feel violated by this robbery, I don't think like that. My SO was freaked out by it more than I was. I feel like maybe...
Like maybe the medication isn't helping like they say it is. Like maybe life is meant to be hard and disappointing. Like maybe there isn't light at the end of the road. Maybe there isn't a road at all. Maybe there is no such thing as light, and we created it in our minds to have something to hold on to. Maybe I am just fanning the flames of my own destruction with the blankets I keep throwing on the fire of my own raging insanity.
I started writing because I was unable to talk about PTSD, now I do my best to write about the hope we need in the dark times. I try to show people that just because life is always spitting on you, just because your fears and pain keep you chained there will ALWAYS be a better tomorrow, just around the corner.
But as usual, since I was a child, I feel disconnected from the world. Now I have PTSD, I have hope, and I have a raging storm inside, and no way to scream for help. I have demons whispering vile, disgusting, horrendous things in my ear, and I love them all. I have nightmares that fuel my passions. Hope has become a name plate I wear as I check into work. Hope is the pair of glasses I put on each morning, to filter out all of the bad.
Through my hope goggles life seems pretty sweet. Luckily they weren't stolen. But then again maybe if they had, the person who needed them the most would have them.
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