Living with clinical anxiety (PTSD) and without medications is challenging when I leave home without Sheba as I did yesterday.
I once rented a horse from a stable to go riding and it was hugely disappointing because the horse took no direction and just plodded along as we went for a ride under the high tension wires in North Vancouver. He’s stop to eat berries no matter what I did; I was his prisoner. And then, when it was time to go back and I tugged at the reins to turn him, he bolted and galloped at full speed right back into the barn. I had absolutely no control.
I’m like that horse in a way: My departure and the return experiences are radically different. Being to Vancouver was dreadful. The constant conversations of strangers to each other and into their phones and all the noises of the city crush my soul. I felt dreadful until I was walking on the (largely empty) seawall in warm sunshine to meet Bruce for lunch.
Coming home, on the other hand, was a euphoric experience. I could speak to others and I was quite comfortable ‘once I turned around.’
I pigged out at lunch. I loved every second with my friend and I was passionate for better food than we get on the island. I wanted lots of it. Then I went to see my asthma doctors and now I have a third asthma medication! This one may help my breathing at night. My God I take a lot of meds—but not the mood altering kind.
It was gorgeous and sunny coming home; I was one of only two passengers again and Mr. personable (Ryan) was the pilot. Sheba went nuts when she saw me; it was the first time I’d left her away from home (at Anna’s). It felt very good to get home and reunite with my ‘family.’
Today I go on the small group dog walk and then I go to the doctor’s to see what the Hell is wrong with my wrist and learn how to help it heal. Then I’ll work in the gardens to make everything pretty for Steve et al.