Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Wasted tears

How do I measure the sheer suckiness of today? World class nightmares last night, one in which I attempted to cut off my breasts with a box cutter type knife in order to escape a rapist. Dream logic, what can I say?

When I was flipping through my VFW magazine, I saw that two soldiers from my former unit were killed in Afghanistan in the last 3 months. I didn't even know them. Flashback and panic attack. I ended up clutching the old memorial of one of my friends from a magazine from four years ago, and crying like I haven't cried in years. I don't cry much. My therapist thinks it would be healthy if I cried more, but it just gives me a headache. I think I cried so much in Iraq, that I have an extremely high threshold for tears now.

I'm terrified to go back to sleep. I feel trapped, frustrated and helpless. I know eventually I'm going to go to sleep, can't prevent it. All I want to do is stay awake. I want to not dream. I want to not have these thoughts running around in the back of my mind. I don't want to think about the rapes, the dead bodies, the war, so of course my bastard subconscious has all on infinite loop.

When I was crying earlier, I was crying at the stupidity of Alex's death. The wastefulness of it. Then I was crying for myself, at the ridiculousness of having survived all that I have survived and being trapped in my home by these stupid disorders. I can't seem to express the magnitude of my frustration at that fact.

I hate being so out of control.

Saturday, January 19, 2013

A little perspective please

I checked my mail today, and I found myself fascinated by a piece of paper. Name, date, social security number, address.....

Once I stood on the edge of insanity, realizing for the first time, what it meant to have men wish my death. I have drunk deeply from the cup of experience, and my eyes have been opened to the evil men are capable of. Am I now to be defined by such meaningless equations of raw data? Name, date, social security number, address. Is that who they want to think I am? Is this what I am to be judged by? My credit score? My driving record? Is this what people really believe is important? A little perspective please. It's sheer madness.

My vision of who I am as a person, has nothing to do with such nonsense. I am the girl who survived. Who still survives. Every day I survive my own fear. I survive the knowledge that people are capable of so many terrifying evils, and I do it every day. I have survived war, rape, assault, violence, insanity, despair, rage, guilt, shame, horror, and helplessness. I may not do it gracefully, but I have managed.

I accepted the inevitability of my own death, at times, I even welcomed it. I should waste time filling out three forms in triplicate, provide two forms of ID, and submit to a background check to open a bank account, when the GOVERNMENT provides my income every month? In order to fly home to visit my family, I would have to submit to invasive security measures, and pay out the nose for the privilege of that indignity. The world is mad. The government knows who I am, they have extensive information on my activities for the last decade of my life. First the army, and now the VA, but I can't be trusted on a commercial airline without a body scan? I had a security clearance for Christ's sakes. They know everything about my entire freaking life, including what all my neighbors thought of me when I was ten.

I don't understand people. A little perspective please.

I am 30 years old, and I have no debt. I have no car, and I don't make what would be considered a living wage. I also can't go to the grocery store by myself. I couldn't get on a bus to save my life. I write stories to amuse myself, and I pour my heart out on this blog every now and again. I can't look at my brother in his military uniform without having a panic attack. It is the mundane that terrifies me. If I walked down the street, how many people would I pass would be capable of the horrors I have seen men do? Would I pass the man who would shoot up a school full of children? Would I pass the man who stalks and rapes women, terrorizes them for his amusement? Would I pass the woman who would drown her four children to hurt a man who broke her heart? A serial killer? A man who is thinking of killing the people he works with because he can't stand the tedium of his own life? A soldier who is broken from the things he has seen and is one indignity away from mass murder? A person who hits their children? A car thief? But they want my name, date, social security number, and address to judge me worthy of doing business with?

What a world we have wrought for ourselves...
Please, a little perspective.

Wednesday, January 9, 2013


I am irrational, unreasonable, and difficult to deal with. I whine occasionally. With two additional people in the house, I am in the uncomfortable position of being self-conscious about it, in my own home. Agoraphobic's worst nightmare. Ridiculous. Maybe I will go hide in my bedroom and never come out, too bad there is only one bathroom in this house.

My birthday party was fun. I am keeping the streamers up, just because. I am considering buying a wedding dress and taking up advocating promiscuity. Or take up some other clever eccentricity. If not clever, at least amusing. I don't like people, and generally that is mutual. I'm not likable personally. Which fact I am reminded of, stingingly, on a daily basis, unfortunately. There is nothing like being mirrored in another person's eyes. I don't like it. I don't want to be judged. I haven't done anything to anyone, that should make it necessary for me to judged. I live a very self-centered life. I have to, I don't have a choice. I didn't like high school, and I don't want to live in high school. This is all very petty nonsense, but having agoraphobia makes it all so....uncomfortable. My life is beyond comprehension, sometimes.