I got laid off today.

On the eve of the darkest day yet, I was informed that tomorrow will be my last day the company I have been working for for over a year now. It is so very few that we find a job that we truly love. I love my job, the people, the work, the security.

I have talked before about how people with PTSD do not do well with uncertainty, we do better with structure and routine. Part of that is because when we see a routine we know all is well, it makes it easier to spot the odd duck out, the one following us. It's like this:

101010101012101010101

Pretty easy to see the odd one out right? Well that is how it is for people with PTSD, but instead of 1's and 0's we the small red head with freckles on her nose walking her dogs on the right side of the rode. We see the Latin FedEx guy going north on his route, we see the old man sitting in the park feeding pigeons, and the three older women that speed walk in the park waving hi to him as they do every morning.

Now when there is something out of place, say a new Mercedes parked under a tree. There are those that would think, "wow that's a nice car", those with PTSD do not think that. At all. No, instead we think, Black, four door, Mercedes, chrome trim, one drive, male 25-35, sunglasses, no plates just dealer plates, John Hine (random dealership), etc.

You get the point. (And yes not everyone with PTSD does this, but A LOT do.)

So even though we all do this, and it may seem crazy to others that we do, it makes us feel safe. Tomorrow will be my last day driving the two hour commute to work. Tomorrow will be the last time I see the blue Hyundai with the little old black lady behind the wheel, with the licence plate 02 Blue (still have yet to figure out what that means).

Tomorrow will be the last time I sit in traffic with the terrible driver from Debbie's Delites (not the real name of the catering place, but seriously they suck at driving and made me never want to order their services).

Tomorrow will be the last time I see all of the cars I have spent a year making sure the pattern was there. I do not like that. But it isn't the traffic I don't like, cause God knows I hate that!!! No it is the security I found in the routine of my daily commute. For four hours a day, I wasn't in control of anything, but nothing was amiss either. For four hours a day I could go with the flow and the flow was the same every day.

I will miss the security, and the routine. I was in a good place, I was in a good job. Tomorrow we will see if I can maintain a little longer, and keep living life even when the stressors are too much to handle. Tomorrow I will be tested.  

Today was the day I've been waiting for

If this post seems lost or hazy or even confusing I apologize up front.

Today is the day that I have felt brewing, I have sensed it for over a week now, everything is to much to take. The birds chirping outside, the sun shining on my face, the wind through my window as I drove home. All of my senses are too much today. I am constantly reminded of my events. I have yet to have a flashback, but I feel them on the edge of my mind.

I am jumping at everything, and everyone one. Everything is scaring me, as if it were the first time I have ever laid eyes upon it. I do not recognize my own image in the mirror. My anxiety is racing, dragging my heart at 1000 beats a second. My hands ache, and my body is sore. I want to run away, and hide in the nearest darkest hole. I want to fight everyone and everything that gets near me, and I want it all to go away. I want, no I need someone to make it all go away.

I am strong, I know this, but I can't do it today. I want it all to end. I want that barrel in my mouth, and I want that ringing to signal the end of the pain. End of the nightmares. The pain and self loathing are beyond palpable, I test the bitter filth of my own lacking. I can smell my own nerves curling in the heat of my own misery.

Every sound is the sound of shots fired, or explosions in the distance. The sound of the neighborhood cats howling at each other are like sirens in desperate need to thrash my mind on the rocks of my past. Dogs barking, doors slamming, my ears are assaulted with violent memories. My eyes fight to close as I drive home, the flashing of lights, and reflections are causing me to ride the carousel between the here and now, and the then and gone.

It is all just too much to take today, I have fought the good fight for a long time. I will survive this day, even though I truly do not wish to.

Stay strong, even in the days like this. 

The difficult days

Days that my mind races, I find it hard to write a post  that is clear and coherent. My last post may have been fine for some, but for myself I feel it was clouded, and a bit confusing. It's days like that that I have to look back, and remember what it was that was so distracting. Today I was so tired from the weekend, I slept a lot. My mind reeled at the idea of being awake, and alive. Just the idea of being a productive member of society was too much for me today.

I cared for nothing, I wanted nothing, I felt nothing and reveled in that.

For some reason or another I was, and still am not ready to face the outside world today, or tomorrow. I will, however, get up tomorrow and dutifully (B sensed my failing mood and decided now was a good time to interject) and woefully shower, get dressed, and drive to work. Where I will do my best to maintain, try my best to keep it all together.

I read stories, and see ads for people with PTSD who have gone missing. Some are found, some are even found alive. Others are not found at all. I think on these people and I wonder if they have an answer I have yet to discover. Those that are never found, the ones that go missing, and stay missing. Do you think they found themselves, and are happy somewhere? I like to think so, I like to think that maybe they couldn't keep it all together, like maybe they couldn't maintain in a society that is as backwards as ours. So instead of fighting it, and being forced to hop on the medication train, they find their own peace.

Wishfully thinking I know. But I think if we dwell on the negative then it spreads to the rest of the world. But if we remain hopeful, and we keep a positive out look, maybe someone some where will be effected the same way as with negative thoughts.

So as always remain hopeful, find someone to talk to, even if like now as I am, you are unable to. Find someone and yell through all that guilt, and shame, and anxiety. Someone is out there that wants to listen, wants to help. Even if that wall of memories and guilt are so thick you can feel the tangible weight of them crushing your chest, find someone to talk to, do not go silently into the night. Fight with all that pain and sadness, use it as fuel, and help others, and yourself.

Stay strong. Stay above ground for one more day. 

Lazy Sunday, hardly (what it looks like when I write and I am not here)

Today started like any other, and if you like me have insomnia, today was actually just a longer yesterday. I was up late, 4 A.M.-ish, thoughts racing, worry over flowing, and tension on high alert. I laid in bed, with the S.O. sleeping soundly next to me, B was as usual curled up on my side, and her (the SO's) new kitten and its bothersome brother playing between us.

After several hours of balancing my attempt to sleep, and the animals needing attention, I passed out and woke up at 7, I was instantly alive, and aware. My S.O. was a little hung over, so she was in no mood to get up :) But she hopped up and made an amazing breakfast as usual. Then I set off to work, I was still tired but I had to keep fighting.

Friday after work, I felt my own demons rising, I knew that it was only a matter of time before I would have issues. I can't be the only one that can sometimes feel the wave of depression, or anxiety, or that darkness that comes with PTSD. I dealt with it Saturday as best I could, I stayed ahead of my demons. I was on alert, but on alert for my own fears more than anything.

I set my mind to a task, I difficult one, one that I had never done before. The idea is simple:

Find a project, any project. Woodworking, sculpting, something to do with your car. Anything you've never done before. Find a picture, and do it. That's it. No research, no training. You dive in head first and focus on it with everything. And then you find a way to make it more difficult.

For me it was woodworking, I have done woodworking in the past but this was something new for me. I had to build something I would never make any other way, and I had to use as little materials as possible. So from Saturday morning to Sunday night that is what I did. I discovered things about myself, and I fought the demons by giving them no quarter in my mind.

Since I have started this Blog, I have come to realize that if I go back and read my other posts i can see when I was most effected by my symptoms. I have noticed that because I write about them, I tend to dwell on them more, and I allow them to wreck my vision of the world around me. PTSD comes like waves, it is always there, but some days are worse and some days are better. Just like the waves they can turn on us and throw a storm our way.

I have been doing really well lately, I haven't had any nightmares, or moments of paranoia. I have been sleeping well, and even my mood has improved. But like most waves they leave and then return. Friday my tide was on the rise. I fought and I found a way to push the waters back. My body is sore, my mind aches, and my soul feels tired, but I can say that I won this battle.

I am tempted to call this a "prolonged attempt at aversion", but for now I am going to hope that I really did win this time. Because if I didn't then I must prepare for it's return.

Caregivers and service dogs

I am lucky enough to have a caregiver in my life. She is there to take the brunt of my PTSD symptoms and tell me it is going to be OK. She is also my SO, she does what she can for me. She cooks, she cleans, she makes sure to yell at me when I forget to take my meds, or when I forget to text her that I made it to work. She takes care of the things I tend to forget about. She doesn't support me financially, she supports me emotionally.

She is there to remind me that even though I have seen some stuff, that not everyone else has. This may seem like a small thing, but I assure you it is not. If you have read my previous posts then you know how all this started. If you haven't let me catch you up.

All of this started with American Sniper, the movie. It triggered a huge episode, and I was a complete @55 hole to the people in the theater, all because they clapped. I thought I was maintaining through the film, but when the credits rolled, and the audience clapped, I lost it. I had a break down that night, and all of the my PTSD demons were released. I was unable to speak, I was unable to do anything I just remember shaking a lot, crying, and my SO/Caregiver handing me my service dog and taking charge. Calming me down, and since she saw that I was unable to talk about it she made me promise to write about it.

Flash forward to today.

So now I have this awesome little service dog, that comes and checks on me every 5 mins whenever I am writing and sleeps right next to me until I pass out. I have an AMAZING caregiver that makes sure I am OK, and handles the stuff she loves and makes my life easier. But it isn't just about cooking and cleaning. She is always on me, in a good way, to make sure that I am not going down the road I was going down before we met. She is there to easy the frustrations I have with life. A lot of the things in modern society I just don't get. I won't go into them, cause then I'll get distracted and go on a rant again. She handles all the stuff I would not do if I were on my own. I wouldn't cook, I love to cook, but if I were alone, or in charge of that I'd get pizza. or sushi every night. Cleaning, well not gonna lie on that one, I have never been good at that. I tried to use the swiffer thing the other day and some how made a bigger mess. She laughed it off and told me to go write.

Anywho...

We met shortly after I tried to kill myself for the 3rd time.

There is always a high after trying to kill myself, no a high like you feel from a drug, or an emotion. More of a high like, things seems to make sense and work out for me. After my third failed attempt, I was urged to get help by family members, and I did. I felt I had to, I was almost ashamed to the point of depression that I had failed. I felt I had to get help to try and redeem my failure. But I got help, I got on medication, that is working wonders for me. I got the help I needed, and I did what everyone was doing I swept it under the rug, and carried on. I was broken inside, like an engine with a cracked block, running on no oil. I was maintaining, and I was feeling like things were working out.

But I wasn't getting better, I was maintaining, yes. I was fighting a fight I had ignored for so long that I forgot that it was even something you do. My PTSD was attacking me and I was losing. I would put the smile on, and I would tell everyone I was good, but I was and always will be a terrible liar.

When I say this I am being honest and truthful, PTSD was taking me down that road once again. I was thinking and plotting, and planning my own death. All just to make it end, to make the nonsense of life disappear.

Over time, I got more help, and more help. I told others what I had done, and they told me what they had done. Together we realized that we weren't alone. I talk with my best friends everyday now. People I have been to war with, people who I would go to war for, and people who I wish I would have gone to war with. People with PTSD, just like me, people who are fighting the same fight I am.

PEOPLE. Human beings that have been where I have, or are where I used to be.

Now I am not a social butterfly. I am the guy that will go to party, or dinner party, and have to take a nap half way through because social gatherings are exhausting for me. I work 8 hours a day, and commute 4 hours a day, I am up from 4 am to 9 pm. I don't need naps. But if you stick me in a social situation I am done for, expect me to disappear cause I will.

But since my service dog, "B" (yes that is her name), and my social butterfly SO/Caregiver have helped me, I have recovered. There are still days when the thought of suicide graces the darker corners of my thoughts. But I am now able to fight the battle that rages within, without having to remember the water bill is due, or that the dog needs to be fed. Because of my support system, I am able to write, heal, work, and live. My Caregiver does not give me care, she does not take care of me. She gives me the ability to find the hope in life, and chose to live life.

I know it sounds crazy that paying bills or remembering to feed another animal is hard. I know it does. But when half your mind is stuck reliving terrible events 24 hours a day 7 days a week, night and day, awake and asleep. Some how that stuff slips by, BUT when you have a caregiver, or a support system that says "hey, I got dinner, just go take a moment to collect your thoughts, and remember to pay the water bill." HOLY SNOT ROCKETS! That right there, that is a breath of fresh air. Because I still, after almost 10 years can not fight this battle and make mac n cheese.

I can't.

I am a fully grown man, I have a career, I have hobbies, I have responsibilities. But if my mind is taking a trip down PTSD blvd, that is what I am doing. That is all I can do. My caregiver makes sure I don't forget that there is a here and now. My service dog brings me back to the here and now.

Thank you to everyone who helps and supports those with PTSD, we are trying, I swear to you we are. We just can't find our way back all the time. Be that anchor for us, and I promise you, you will see how strong we can be. Remind us to take a moment, come back home, and we will fight for that home til we have nothing left.

Thank you to everyone that has given me hope in his fight. Thank you to all my brothers and sisters in uniform for going down that road.

Until Valhalla, brothers and sisters, until Valhalla.  

Time for a rant

One of the symptoms of PTSD is irritability and out bursts of anger. Now I was going to write about other stuff. I was really, I promise I was. But I had to run to the store, and I used the SO's car, not my own that has the antenna removed from the radio. My SO's car has all the bells and whistles. Bluetooth this, and sub-woofer that. It is beyond irritating for me. I drive it because after 2 hours of traffic I am unable to drive my manual car.

Ok so back story complete, moving on. So I was pulling out and the stereo was on a different station than what I had left it on, now I know its not my car and that shouldn't bother me. And it wouldn't have except she listens to her spotify on her phone. So there should have been no reason for the station to change.

But it did, and that bothered me, it bothered me because it was on a random station that plays "The Biggest Hits of Today!". Now if you're old enough to remember when MTV was actually Music TV and music had a purpose, and a meaning. If you're old enough to remember when songs had a message, or if you can even understand that songs can have a meaning then you can understand why I got irritated.

Music today is garbage. Its pathetic excuses for adults yelling incoherent nonsense over techno beats, rhyming words with the same words. I don't know why, I don;t really care why either, but "todays" music bothers me, it makes me very angry. No offence to anyone when I say this, but:

Dear Nikki Minaj, nigga does not rhyme with nigga. Saying it 20 times in a song does not make that a song. Or a rhyme. Or a rap. That is not how songs work, please go away. Thank you.

Today's music is a trigger for me. I hear the inane and misdirected "Idols" of the music industry and I get angry. I get angry because there was a time when we sang songs, or listened to music that meant something. And today's "hits" are glorifying things that should never, ever be glorified.

"I'm in love with the Coco" REALLY? This is the message you want to tell the world, tell your children, tell your friends? There was a day when we used to kick the shit out of crack heads, and put them in rehab. Now we give them a record deal? WTF?!



  

Life is a funny thing

I was talking with a friend recently, she has PTSD as well, and is in the service. Now her PTSD is the cause of other things unrelated to her service. But she has the same symptoms. I have seen her jump at loud noises, I have witnessed her vigilance, and I have seen her insomnia get worse.

Now I am not going to go into details of her life, but I would like to take a minute and talk about what we talked about. When we have PTSD stress is every where, and effects every aspect of our lives. Whether its the stress of our demons, or the stress we are unable to cope with now that we view the world differently.

Her stress was building. When we have PTSD we find it difficult to talk to others, because of the way we view the world. I read a study recently that stated that those with PTSD view the world, and the problems of their life not in first person view, but in a dislocated (almost) third person view. So when we need to talk to people about the troubles, or the stress were having, we find it hard to connect or express ourselves. We find it difficult because on a certain level the issues in our life aren't happening to us. They are happening in our life, but we are unable to express them as a personal thing.

That I find interesting. As well as enlightening.

I have said it before, and I'll say it again. I am not in love with life.  But I love my life. That statement now makes sense to me, as to why I say it. According to the study, I have dislocated myself from life, and now instead of being in life, I am with life. I have realized in my short life, that one can be in, and out of love.

We all know this if you have ever loved another, and you no longer know them. The same is true for life. We can be in love with life, as well as out of love with life. But we can still love the life we have, I am not in love with life, but I love with all of my life.

Stress can make life hard, and when we have PTSD it can be hard to think clearly. We can tend to think life is a terrible affliction and the only way out of it is to end it. But I have had an eye opening moment this week, and I have come to a realization.

For the longest time I would fight tooth and nail. Blood, sweat, tears would mark my path in life. I would push against everything, and everyone making my life the way I thought it should be. The way I wanted it to be. But as I grew older, and hopefully wiser I realized 99% of the stress I was having life was created and nurtured by me. I had the nice car, the swanky sea side apartment, the fancy job, and a house full of stuff that I thought you should have as an adult. 

Now I am practically stress free. I say practically because my old habit still come and go, I still get the stress of normal life but I push it aside now. Now when I am thinking clearly and I am able to manage my PTSD, stress is just a mild irritant. I try everyday not to worry about bills, bills don't care about you. My nice car didn't care about me. My apartment by the ocean didn't enjoy the view of me. Now that I have none of those things, I am not creating stress in my own life. 

I have a house I live in, and it is free of clutter. I don't have the big TV, or leather couch, or fancy pots and pans. I have my recliner, and my office desk, and a workshop. I didn't spend a lot of money on them, I was given them or built them myself. I have an older car, that breaks down a lot.

But I am content. I am happy. Life has found me, and I have found my purpose in life. The struggle is over. I am not a rich man, my account hovers right around zero, but with my friends, my family, my writing, and this blog, I am a rich man. 

Bills come, and bills go. Cars come, and cars go. But life, life can be hard, and it can be easy. Life can be something you're in love with, and it can be something you fall out of love with. Or life can be something you love, you love with, and something you cherish. Stress is not part of life. It is the result of us fighting life, trying to make it what we want. 

Find your purpose, I found mine, and my life is free. Stop fighting it, stop creating stress making your PTSD worst. PTSD and bills don't mix. PTSD and stress mix, but only result in poisoning your life. Take a moment and meditate on your life, and find your purpose. Fear is not your master. PTSD is not your master. Stress is not your master. Find your purpose, and find your life.

When we deny our purpose in life, we dance with the devil and play with insanity- E. Pepper