I Don't Even Know

I'm not even sure how I'm feeling tonight. Numb, I suppose is the best answer. I want to injure, but that isn't a good idea. Why injure? Because I feel numb and tired and need to feel something!

I told TG about the PTSD diagnosis. She was lovely when I asked her if I could call her when I feel panicked. While she doesn't know about the self harming, or at least I've never told her, she does know about the depression and now the PTSD. I'm a bit edgy about that, though I know its only a diagnosis and not a sentence.

In an earlier post, I believe I rant for a while about my nightmares. If not, here's a bit of my thought process: The  nightmares don't make sense. I dream that I'm bound in some way: tied to a chair, locked in a room, hanging from a ceiling. And I'm being tortured for information that I either do or do not have. I've been beaten, electrocuted, tasered, and burned with cigars/cigarettes in my nightmares.

With the diagnosis of PTSD, the nightmares make sense. Its an emotion that connects them all, feeling trapped against my will. Being hyper-vigilant in crowds, or even at the mall or grocers, makes perfect sense when you add in the PTSD. Before I couldn't make a logical connection to the nightmares. But when I connect my past and the trauma of it all then it works. Its a relief in a way.

I'm edgy and tired and going to bed soon. I'll worry about work later and the season ending.

Numb and Alone

So I'm in a support chat for self harm. I say that I'm feeling numb and urgy, no one says a damned thing and starts talking about shoes! SHOES?!?!

I don't just say things to say them! I felt that I needed to talk, but no! There is less and less support in that chat lately. Its not easy for me to say anything especially when I need something. I'm tired, I'm stressed, angry, numb, urgy. Being ignored isn't what I needed.

Almost tempted to pull a Patch Adams. There's a scene where Patch is talking to his therapist, who is ignoring him. Patch tells him, "And then I decided to use my penis as a po-go stick until I realized that it wasn't a good mode of transportation." I'm so tempted to say that so often, to so many people. But there are two reasons why, 1) its a bit rude, 2) I do not, in fact, have a penis.

I see Doc tomorrow, I'll hang out till then, hopefully.

Stresses of the Life

So many things going on that I really don't care to deal with. I have to go to the welfare office tomorrow to apply for food stamps again. The last time I went it took an hour, time before? Three hours. I hate going through all the hoops for this! Its stressful and makes me angry, urgy.

On Tuesday, I have an appointment, we're discussing diagnosis this time. She mentioned that she thought I may have PTSD, and I want to discuss that more. Honestly, its a bit scary for me. PTSD is not an illness that has "popularity" around here. Of course, most people lump it with the soldiers that return half crazy. I was never in that type of traumatic event. I suppose though, having trauma over a long period of time can result in a mild form of the illness. I won't know more until Tuesday.

I haven't been sleeping well, but when do I ever. Tired, chilled, depressed. I want to scream or injure right now and I have no valid reason as to why. So exhausted I want to cry. I'm actually rather jealous of TG, she can cry and feel better emotionally. I can't and I wish I could.

Dear Body

So I saw this video ( Dear Body by Laura Lejeune ) and I thought I might make my own attempt at it, of course through words and not a video. No web cam and the built in camera on my computer is rubbish. Besides, it feels weird for me talk to myself out loud. As a writer, I tend to have monologues or stories playing out in my head all the time. So here goes, an open letter to my body.

Dear Body,
Overall, you're all right. You're nice and tall, which hides the fact you're chubby. Of course, being tall makes it hard to find jeans. I love your hair, its length isn't too long or short. Its shiny and straight, and very soft. I don't have you coloured often, but when I do I always choose aubourn. It looks lovely that colour and everyone seems to like to it.

Teeth... oh my, I'm very sorry for all the coffee. Your a tad stained, but not too bad. I've tried to keep you clean, but you've a few cavities anyway. For the most part you look good and you're nice and straight and you make for a lovely smile... when I actually do smile. Your eyes are lovely and quiet expressive. A dark brown that I use to communicate because often the words I need fail me.

I love your legs, so long and beautiful, though I keep you covered often. Being in the sun so often, I don't want you to get burned by it. I am sorry though, for the scars. There aren't too many and they aren't terrible looking, but I am sorry. Your arms have a sort of clumsy grace, long and beautiful like your legs but constantly bumping into things. The scars that mar your surface are things that I truly apologize for, more so because I know there will be more in the future.

Body, I do love you, though I don't treat you with the respect you deserve. Thanks for holding me up.

Bed Rest

Not doing too great today. I wasn't feeling well, and came home. The stomach pain is gone, mostly, but I don't want to get out of bed. I'm writing this post from my tablet, I can't get to my computer. That takes effort. Instead, I'm curled in bed watching CSI:NY and blogging or trolling pinterest. My parents are outside and enjoying the evening air.

I want to sleep, but am unable. Or else my system is unwilling. I'm tired. Damn it... I am so tired that just thinking about it makes me want to cry. I won't though, I can't. I think I may have forgotten how. That isn't true, I do cry, just never often.

Damn you, depression! Damn you.