Hope Lives

Late Friday, I wrote this:

Horrors! A musician who visited Bruce and who is part of a huge musical show in development told me “the Arts Club is trying to get us into their ReACT festival.” It’s co-written by a woman with a long and solid history with the theatre.

Reports of seismic activity in Vancouver are false; it was the sound of my sinking heart.

What a difference a night’s sleep makes: This morning when I woke up I realized that even the two Arts Club favourites, mentioned above, don’t know if they are in ReACTor not. That means that they haven’t heard either so I still have hope.

Later this morning I’ll go to the Farmers’ Market and get some fruit to take to Bruce. My plan is to do a long walk to see him today because I can — I can both emotionally and physically and both are signs of progress over PTSD.

Thursday night was a horrid night of terror (awake, not a nightmare). It was my third such experience since my breakdown. During one, I truly feared I would die. These are, I presume, anxiety attacks but they are far, far more intense than the many more routine ones that plague me and interrupt my speech.

PTSD is, however, having less and less of a physical impact on my life. Just my speech remains a problem really. I still avoid movies and concerts because of the noise but I still deeply love life — especially in summer. Last night Robin and I had dinner together — moules … so I could have the shells for my defiant dress sculpture.

Thursday at Ming Wo (a favourite store) my inability to speak had the staff member who encountered me fetch their designated hitter: Miss Deals With PWDs (people with disabilities). Miss PWD was fabulous, if a little over-eager. She taught the cashier how to sign thank you so he could use it with me. Like a lot of people, she assumes I am also deaf. (No problem.)

I’ve decided, however, to learn some basic signs.