Broken head and the sunset

Life has been so horrifying these days. I’ve been officially diagnosed with PTSD. Not that it needed to be official, I’m displaying symptoms so apparent even the mail man is looking at me funny. Not the one that heard the STD convo, unfortunately. That was at Grams house.

I was starting to really think I was psychotic. Really. But both “specialists”  assure me this is “normal”, ha. I can’t deal with friends, I can’t look at photos, I can’t handle crowds even if there are vintage items involved. Simple inanimate objects trigger a fight or flight response that is just not rational. I just want to be alone. I feel better when I’m alone. I’m not dealing well with anything. I can’t do the things I love, I don’t even know if I love them any more. The spaces in my brain that used to be filled will endless knowledge are filled with the same file I just cannot delete.  It’s like my brain and senses are stuck on an endless loop of emotional terrorism. I live with earbuds flooding my brain with the loudest, most complicated music I can find,  in order  to keep the file from taking over my head completely.

It’s gotten so bad that I walk for hours on end, blasting music, like some how if I keep moving it will keep the darkness away.

I understood PTSD before, but I really didn’t. I hope none of you ever, ever do.

Under a bridge.

Standing on the same bridge days later.

I’ve been walking the canals a lot.

Catriona

 

The Man Behind The Crotch

Isn’t he beautiful? Don Quixote. Hand carved, even his crotch.

That’s all I got, hand carved crotch.

Catriona

Name That Crotch!

I want to personally thank each and every one of you that has reached out to me these last weeks. Even you creepers. Thank you. It means more than you know. I will answer each of your messages and comments. I will, when I can.

And to show my love right back, I have something for you.

 

Lets play

Name That Crotch!

 

Catriona

Enter Title here

Usually when I fall on my face, I’m back on my feet just as fast. No beats skipped. Usually, I brush myself off, shake out my hair (Yes, I whip my hair back and forth), scoop up my kid and keep going. I back down to no one, nothing. Nothing.

However, that doesn’t seem to be the case this time. I remember the exact moment I felt my brain unravel. It was like the moment of impact in a fatal car accident. But I wasn’t in a car, I was in my bedroom. From the moment I heard myself say “No way” on Feb 8^th, I’ve felt as though I have completely lost my mind.

I keep being told that time will fix it – “You just need time to get back on your feet.” Bitch, I don’t even know where my feet are. Do I even have feet? Can YOU even see my feet at this point? Have they been stolen? They’ve been fucking stolen! Feet, ha. I’ve been down on my face for weeks. Every time I even lift my head, the Universe delivers yet another kick to the gut.

I feel everything and nothing, all at the same time. I’m on auto pilot. What’s worse is I’m pretty sure this auto pilot program was written by a drunken crackhead. I want nothing to do with anyone. Not even people I love. My son being the only exception. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want anything to do with any type of social connections. I’m not capable of handling other people’s emotions, at all.  The people I usually run to, I’m hiding from. I just want them all to stay over there. Over there, where I can keep an eye on you, but you can’t get to me. I feel nothing for them. Nothing. I know I love them. I know I do. I just can’t feel it. At all. Seems to be the more I care the thicker the brick wall I’m constructing. I know it’s unfair, I know it’s hurtful, I know it makes no sense to most. But, at the moment it seems to be what I need.. Lest I open my mouth and burn bridges I constructed in love. I feel poisonous. You should hear all the hurtful things I don’t say. I know why my brain is constructing such hurtful sentences. It would only take one or two to get you all to permanently leave me alone. My brain wants you all to go away and never look back. But logic (is it logic? Maybe it’s the fragments of my heart) is what keeps my mouth clamped shut. If I just keep you all over there, I won’t set you all on fire, my brain can’t get to you, and I won’t cause permanent damage to the things I love.

I’ve got two funerals to attend in the next two weeks, and next Tuesday is my first day back to work since the 8^th. I can’t even function, but I’ve somehow got to pretend to be normal and not the complete lunatic I now am. Catriona was crazy, and I owned it. I loved it. But I don’t know what this is, I don’t know what I am any more.

Catriona