Pergatory

Yesterday stank. All I wanted to do was sleep; I endured the day. All I know is that it is due to “my condition.”  

At the garage and later at Robert’s where I went for lunch and in the grocery I was totally mute. I still am. I can barely make a sound. I couldn’t call Sheba; all I could do was grunt.

I made it worse, thinking of the source of my condition and feeling ashamed that I “can’t” get over something that happened so long ago. 

A friend once shamed me about my inability to get over my past. If she does it again I will say what I said to myself at the end of the day: “Would you say to a burn victim: ‘I’m sick of looking at your scars. Would you please get rid of them?” I have to give myself a break.

Dr. S. once said: “One aspect of several forms of mental illness is an episodic pattern.” I’m so glad she said that; I can use that knowledge to accept being “locked up” and to know it will pass.

Yesterday I wanted to never see any friends ever again. I don’t want to feel that way, so I wrote to Chalise and booked her for Saturday and I am going to drive to Victoria to have lunch and visit with Jessica. Then I’ll come right back.

I can “pass” so incredibly well here. With Beth and Allan and Larry, I was fluent with about a 10% - 15% stutter. I’d lock up when we went out, but I felt almost “cured.”

I keep learning the same lessons over and over: 

            Sometimes I won’t know why I lock up.

            I am never going to “get better.”

“Getting better” is about getting better at living with the condition; it’s not about healing. And getting better at living with C-PTSD seems to be primarily about staying home.

I’m concerned that Beth’s three weeks here, followed by the visit of two wonderful outrageous homos, was too much. I’m worried that my current “locked” state is due to too much company because yesterday I wanted to never see any friends again. 

The way I felt yesterday made me think of people with depression. It’s episodic too. I felt my inclination to sleep and not wanting to see any friends sounded a lot like depression, but I sure didn’t feel depressed. How could I? Not here. Not with these pets.

This blog is my diary. I sometimes forget people read it. I’m sorry to be boring; I wish I were writing about something fabulous. But “fabulous” isn’t in my vocabulary right now. “Numb” comes to mind, as does “hung over.” This will pass. I keep saying it. This will pass. 

I’ve noted this post (and yesterday’s) on my list of things to discuss with Dr. Shoja when I go back in September. If she thinks I had too much company, I’m going to have her help me determine what might be a good proactive guideline for hosting guests to prevent any further “crashes.”

When challenging experiences are parsed to yield learning they turn into something good. This crash will teach me something.