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.

1 comment:

  1. My darling, I'm so sorry that you've had to go through these things.

    You're beautiful. I love you.

    I wish for you only sweet dreams and personal power.