Waiting

Sleeping a lot, trying to "recharge". Dr has me carefully sedated so I'm tired all the time. Ordinarily it would probably bother me, but I'm sleeping without the nightmares, so I am not really going to complain.

I'm being very careful not to think too much about the future, that way lies madness. I'm just going to kind of coast for awhile, I think. Take my peace and quiet when I can, and try to enjoy it. They will probably change the meds around again soon, because I can only deal with this high level of sedation for so long before I start having cognitive problems. Short term memory loss, confusion, and the ever popular dissociation. That is a problem for another day. I've still got a bit of a hair trigger for anxiety, surprising really, considering the medications. Overall though, I'm feeling better, which is a miracle.

I would not be surprised if I wound up in inpatient treatment again. My meds might need a complete overhaul again, and they probably need to find a different track for therapy. Anything too intense, sets me off completely, but the lower key stuff doesn't help much.

Happiness is a good night's sleep

I had another appointment with the civilian doctor who is supposed to objectively evaluate my disabilities for compensation. The doctor had no idea why I was there other than he was supposed to look at my right ankle, and x-ray it. I think he was a little embarrassed about it, because I had been to the same clinic for evaluations six months previously. It was acutely stressful for me.

I've also recently been having minor dissociative fugues, associated with flashbacks. So far it doesn't seem like a huge deal, other than being frankly terrifying. My therapist made us review my "safety plan", and I am forbidden from handling sharp objects or being left unattended in the kitchen. They changed my meds around, so I am sedated most of the time, again. My psychiatrist took me off of Trazadone, because it was preventing me from being able to wake up from nightmares. Instead I'm taking a cocktail of anti-anxiety meds to help me sleep. We're all hoping these dissociative states are caused by unusual levels of external stress and will be temporary.

So mostly, I'm sleeping a lot lately. I haven't been able to do much reading due to concentration issues, so I've been watching cartoons. It's frustrating, but I have to deal with it. Not much choice.

Hopefully the VA will get it's collective shit together, and make a decision on my request for Individual Unemployability. It would be nice to be able to do things like, you know, pay rent. Buy groceries. Stuff normal people do.

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.

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.

Selfish

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.

Penguins vs. Llamas

Ho, ho, ho. Merry Apocalypse that wasn't. It's almost a shame. My anxiety has been off the chart lately. Got some family drama, because no holiday would be complete without it. My birthday party, in 9 days, is only partially planned. Christmas is being divided into two parts this year, due to aforementioned drama.

Four panic attacks today. Good times, good times. My anxiety is like this little voice in my head telling me that no matter how hard I try, I am going to be a complete failure at every venture. It's like being haunted by my dead grandmother on my father's side.

I tried to quit smoking, and the timing was bad to begin with, but I couldn't handle it. I'll try again after the new year.

I am fighting with myself to do my therapy homework. I don't want to do it, because it sucks, but I need to do it. At least according to my therapist. My cats are fighting right now, and I am too tired to give a damn.

I haven't read a book in like two weeks because I'm too stressed out to sit still that long. It's almost bad enough that I feel like I should be inpatient for awhile. Almost. It sort of feels like the feeling you get when you drink a bunch of energy drinks. Heart's pounding, everything is almost painfully bright and clear, my brain can't quite get my body to do the right thing at the right times, and I feel disconnected from people around me. It's like being a penguin and everyone else around me is a Llama. Penguins and Llamas can't empathize with one another very well. The penguin is a land and sea creature, but llamas only understand the land. The penguin can't very well ask a llama for directions for routes via the sea. It just doesn't work.

I'm not making any sense anymore. That means its time to stop writing.

A fun time was had by all

So, I don't know if you've picked up on it or not, but therapy has been fun lately. I'm ready to give up on the VA, because I don't think they can help me. I'm tired of living this way. I'm tired of going to the VA every week and feeling more and more helpless every appointment.

They play roulette with my medications, and with my therapy. There is no consistency. For two years, this has been going on. Three therapists, three psychiatrists. It's like being violated all over again, every time I have to talk about it. Talking about it isn't really helping. Taking my meds isn't really helping.

I went to the mall yesterday to get a dress for my birthday party. Three separate times I thought I was being followed. I was convinced that someone was going to grab me and hurt me. What am I supposed to do, in order to feel better?

I am seriously tired of it all.

I can't go to the residential treatment program for PTSD, because my symptoms are incompatible with their program. I take medication prescribed by my doctor for panic attacks that they don't approve of. Also I disassociate. I space out. I can't pay attention.