It never ends

Just when I grab ahold of hope once more, I get over eager and squeeze too tightly. I hold on and I pour myself into it, even when I shouldn't.

I am not better, I am not fixed. I have been dealing with a building storm. Hoping, and praying to any who would listen. But no reply came, no reply ever comes. My knees bleed, and my hands ache from begging and praying for my old life back. To be normal for one more minute. Just 60 whole seconds of normality is all I beg of you.

But the wailing of the winds are all I hear, empty, cruel winds.

How does one have faith in something that doesn't exist? You fool yourself into believing it. That's how. There is no cure, only a life long curse. There is no magic pill, just the paranoid voices forcing you to swallow your own madness. There is no treatment, just the way others treat you. There is no going home and sleeping it off, only the nightmares that drive you from anywhere safe and warm.

If I could cry, I would rain the icy shards of my shattered soul. My mind own stop running down the river beds of my fears. If I could cry I would know that I were still human. But I can not. I can not cry, the pain within dams up everything within.

Am I no longer human? Have I lost my humanity, that undefinable piece of your soul that makes you like everyone else?

I live in shame, of my actions, and my words. I live in shame that I lost my empathy for my fellow man. I live in doubt of my own sanity. Am I living if I am an empty shell of who I was? Am I worth saving?

On dark days I curse hope for making me believe in something I can not see. On good days I pray to deaf ears that hope is leading me to a safe place. In my heart I know neither are true, and neither are a lie. The world is not black and white, it is a foggy gray.

I am a boat lost at sea with no spot light.

It's funny

I am nearing 100 posts, and I have been so busy lately that I went back and I tried to see if I could clean up my drafts.

I started with the thought of deleting them, but that quickly disappeared as I reread all the forgotten posts since the beginning of this adventure. I catch myself finding a certain fondness for them, more so than the posts that actually did publish.

Some are like a road map reminding me where I have been, and where I want to go. Some are a reminder of darker times, of times I wish never existed, but if I lived as if they didn't I would have nothing to learn from.

My life has been hard, that is a fact. Sometimes it is just as hard as others, and sometimes it is harder than others. But I do my best to remain hopeful, and I keep one thought in mind.

When others say "You never know, man", What they really mean is "You never know, something bad could happen". Now what I think when I hear that, or say that is: You never know, there could be an adventure around the next corner.

Hope isn't hiding in the things we know. Hope isn't that trust factoid you remember from a book you once read. Hope... Hope is the unknown. Hope lives, and flourishes in the unknown. I love the unknown, because I have nothing to fear there. The known is far scarier that what I don't know. I don't know if I can fly a plane, but I am willing to try. I know I can't fly like Superman, I know I can fall like gravity intended. Falling is way worse than figuring out you aren't born with the ability to fly a plane.

My SO hates it when we leave to do a random chore, or whatever, and I ask her "What tiiiiime is iiiiiiit?". When I ask that, my child like wonder is swelling over, it needs to experience the unknown. I want so badly for her to go "OMG is it ADVENTURE TIME?!" But it usually ends up with "Dear God don't crash my car."

She is not a risk taker, I enjoy a bit of risk. Just to find out where I can go, and how far I can take myself. Because in my mind, Hope is a place I haven't found yet. Hope is hiding in the unknown. I am scare, and frightened of the known. I have seen what the world is like when it is at it's worst. If I have seen the worst, than the best must be in the unknown. Even if more horrors and terrors hide in the unknown, there has to be light there as well.

There has to be good there, hope reminds me of that fact everyday I wake up.

Sleep has returned.

As many of you may know, "A friend" partakes in medical marijuana. This "friend" has spent a couple days over the last two weeks, trying to maintain a level head and stay objective.

The goal was to see if noticeable changes were taking affect, and if they were negative or positive.

And from [his] caregivers mouth, "You seem... I don't more Happy. Less jumpy."

Sleep has returned, [He] is able to focus without the nightmares from last night nagging at [him]. Because there are none! No more nightmares!!!

None!!

I... I mean he hasn't had any in almost 2 weeks!!

Now there is all kinds of science that explains all of that, and there are pot heads out there that can tell you the best strains for turning purple, but all of that means nothing to me. I have not had a single nightmare in, I don't know how long since I started getting them.

I don't care about the science, I did all my research before hand, I don't care about strains or names or CBD's and THC's. I may not be fixed, I may not be cured. But I'll be damned if I am not on the road.

I don't want to be one of those weirdos that believes in something that truly isn't healthy for you. Or one of those peace loving, tie dye fruit cake hippies. But I haven't had a sound nights sleep in, going on 8 years. 8 years!!! I have siblings that are younger than that.

I have lived everyday for the last 8 years in constant pain, and steady exhaustion. For the first time in years I can feel my ankle, not just the blinding stabbing pain that radiates off of it 24/7, I can actually think about something other than the aches and pains of my body.

My days are no longer consumed by the nagging desire for sleep, and the endless fear of dreaming. Yes I still have pain, everyday, yes i still have fears and anxieties. I still have, what I like to call "soft flashes" where for a moment I am back there. For a moment I am reliving it. But I know where I am, I know when I am. I am aware of it happening. But I am not effected by them. They are fleeting, and weak. Yes I have all of that still. I am not cured, but I am better equipped to function through all of the battles I have everyday.

There may come a time when I will find myself blacking out again, falling over, or swinging on people I don't recognize. But I know that for now, I will sleep. For now, I will rest. I needed it. I learned my lesson, my battle is not over. But I can take a break now, and recharge my batteries. I've got a long fight head of me if I am going to make it another 50 years.    

There is no snake oil for PTSD

I have been having an amazing month, I had my birthday (Big 30 this year), I am gaining more responsibility at work, and picking up more sites, I have survived the 4th of July (barely). All that and I started a new method for dealing with my PTSD.

All was good, all was well. Or so I thought. My SO/Caretaker and I have been working on catching up on bills, and life, after her short vacation where I completely forgot everything. And let the bills slip. We are pretty much caught up, so it is back to life as normal. With chores, and outings, and our set in stone date night.

Last night we did something for her, and we went to a car meet. Personally, I have never in my life been so board as to watch a bunch of peacocking, living-at-home-with-their-parents, "gear heads" talk endlessly about their cars, and what they did to them.

So to keep all that inside, and not let it out, I smoked a little before hand. When I am surrounded by people, I get anxiety. When I am in a situation that bores me, I get irritated. Combine those two and I will NOT be making friends anytime soon.

So I was "chillin" my anxiety was nowhere to be seen, all the little voices of paranoia and doubt were slumbering deep within. I felt no one watching me, I felt like one of the masses. Aside from my growing boredom I was perfectly fine.

And as you would have it, the peacocks, had to peacock. It started with one back fire from the exhaust of a Miata. The crowds gathered, and the attention starved youngster got a taste of what he craved. So he tried it again, and did it once more. More people gathered.

At first, I was content, I was passive. There was nothing to worry about, I saw it happening, I knew it was happening. I was golden, pony boy.

But it wasn't enough for him, he had to spread his tail feathers big and bold.

The Miata and its owner were thirsty. They drank up the attention and let loose. Back firing over and over again. Faster and faster.

Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!

I was back there. I went from passively ignoring it, to it ripping me from the meet and sending me away.

I did not black out, I did not fall over, I did not cough and gasp for air like I usually do though. This time was different. All of my demons were a flurry, angry and fighting. Like a raging bear awoken from hibernation too early, my demons lashed out. Through the haze that I was in before hand, I was able to stay conscience and speak.

My care giver was at first transfixed as everyone else was with the tuned out car. I looked to her, I tried to say something, but no words came. I saw how slowly it clicked in her mind. It started in her shoulders, I watched as they bunched up and tightened. She said something. I couldn't hear her.

I felt my chest tighten and my breath was taken, I fought to breathe.

"Are you ok?"

"No."

The response came without thought, there was no debate, there was no inner monologue pointing out reason to protect her from everything I was experiencing.

"Did you want to leave?"

"No." There it was again, no thought, just response. It was the truth, I remember thinking, I didn't want to be the reason her night was cut short.

"Did you need to go sit down?"

"Yes." I turned and walked away.

Everything around me was a blur. I remember people talking, I remember "Ooooh no someone's been shot", I can't remember if it was a joke or not, but it stuck to me like glue.

I sat in the car, I shook, I was burning up. I wanted to cry, I felt so weak, so helpless. My hands grabbed for my weapon, my arms kept rising in an effort to look down the barrel.

I had to go for a walk. I couldn't sit there. About my 3rd lap of the McDonalds, I saw my SO walking towards the car. We left, and I felt like shit. I knew it was my fault we were leaving. I had ruined her night.

I shut down on the way home, she kept me linked to this world by holding my hand and never letting me drift too far. But my mind tried to run.

Lesson learned, there is no quick fix for PTSD, yes I found a tool to aid me in my fight. But I am not cured. I thought I was and I let my walls down. I was so hopeful, so thirsty for freedom that when presented with a glimmer of dawn, I dropped my guard and took an arrow to the knee.

A "friend" wrote this post.

I have spent many hours researching, talking and reading about today's post.

That does not mean I am an expert, IN ANY WAY.

I have tried to maintain a personal point of view for my blog up to date. I believe that when dealing with PTSD, the data can be a bit, shaky. I know people with PTSD that range from light to beyond crippling. The later of the two could never be in any study. Let alone leave their own homes. So the data, in my opinion, is a bit "positive". That being said, I would like to say again, this post is my own opinion.

Slowly but surely over the last few weeks, towards the end of my current bottle of medication. I started feeling the stress, and anxiety rise. The paranoia was back. I was back to counting and remembering the LIC# of the vehicles around me. I thought people were following me. This isn't a major thing for me, but I realized I take one road to work. The same one thousands of other people go. So the odds of people going the same direction, for the same amount of time is fairly high.

I have done my best to mask it. I played the role of the good friend, the good son, even the good boyfriend. But inside I was screaming for help. I was no longer balanced, I was riding a wave of exhilaration. But drowning inside.

I decided I would try something, something some of the people that read this will object to, but I don't mind. You're allowed to have your own opinion. As am I, and here it is.

I tried marijuana, not for "recreational" purposes. But I tried it for the medical purposes. I got my medical marijuana card. After sometime, I can say this, this may not be for me, but I can see potential. Now I have smoked before, when I was young and dumb. I enjoyed it then, and I enjoy it now, for different reasons. Yes, I just said I enjoy it, and I said it may not before me. Let me explain.

Now the "I enjoy it" part. That does not mean I enjoy being "high", that means that I enjoy it. I enjoy the way my mind doesn't race, I enjoy the absence of pain for the first time in years. I enjoy, the way I can think without my fears and nightmares slithering around my thoughts. I enjoy the sleep, the sound, sound oh so sweet nightmare-less sleep.

The flip side to that is the fear that comes from people reading this, and taking action against me. I am a responsible adult, I (with the help of my caregiver) live on my own. I struggle with PTSD, and I function perfectly well. I have a career, a degree, and I have hobbies. All of this is at stake when people have negative viewpoints of things they don't agree with, and they act of those feelings. I for one, do not agree or disagree with abortion (I don't think ANY MAN should ever tell a woman what to do with her body, so I object to the idea that a man should ever have an opinion of abortion). But I am not one to care enough to waste 5 dollars on markers to make a sign. While I know other people care far too much, I hope they will continue to read.

Let's move on, as for the "it may not be for me", while it may not be, it may be as well. I have not walked this path long enough to make that decision yet. I count myself among the fairly intelligent, and rather level headed. I am not quick to jump into things, and I always do my research before attempting things. I stray from addicting and damaging substances. I rarely drink, and I am not a fan of medication in general. So I view this as a form of treatment just like any other. I am hesitant, but I am willing to stay non-biased long enough to see if it works.

It may not be for me, because I may end up not liking it, or forming a habit I am not a fan of. I try an limit my addictions to zero.

But it may be for me, and others. I can not say yet. But I can say this. In less than a week every bodily pain, every relived nightmare, and memory... well they've taken a holiday. I have not jumped, or blacked out. Even with the remaining fireworks trickling in from the 4th.

I will continue to report in, and see if I can't figure this out. For now, I think it is safe to say this. I feel normal, I feel like myself before my event.

It is nice. I missed who I was. No, who I will be.

The Bleeding Ghost

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.