I lost grip of my PTSD.

I had that bitch head locked for about 3 years. I pinned her to a wall and was in control for a while.

You know what happens when you shove something intelligent in a box? It evolves to release it self. Don’t ever underestimate how intelligent PTSD is.

I lost grip of her several months back. Ok, over 6 months back.

I knew it was happening; My plants were dying. My house wasn’t dirty, but it wasn’t clean. I was working harder and sleeping less. I was taking on more and juggling it all to fill the spaces PTSD wanted to occupy. I was forcing interaction. But my PLANTS. lol. I usually live in a forest. They are all just about dead.

Now I’m strategically avoiding all unnecessary interaction without a thought. I realized today just how bad it was.

PTSD, or Pansy, for those who have been with me for a while has evolved. While she is not as aggressively loud and obnoxious in random intervals as she used to be, she is constant now, albeit a dull roar. I’m actually not even sure which is worse.

I worked 16 day straight just to shut her the fuck up. And now because I’m a good lead, I gave away a day of my overtime (today) for one of my dispatchers who needed it. So, first day off in 16 days and I’m sitting here alone in my house staring at my responsibilities. They are staring back.

I just want to build a cabin in the middle of the woods and lose my mind in peace. However, I can’t keep track of my family that way so, here we have the problem. lol. I’m fully aware that the Universe built my kid to be the anchor that keeps me in check. Backfired though. Because, the thing that would be released should my kid be removed from this world would be unimaginable.

I’m supposed to be flying into town in the beginning of September to help my brother with our Mom and I don’t even know how to fake being put together at the moment. I am just hoping they will both be too occupied with the fact that Mom is actually dying from Cancer now to notice my undoing. I don’t even have my ticket yet, that’s how much of a grip I have. Well, to be fair it was so fucking expensive that I almost fell out of my chair when I went to book it. I was hoping the closer I get it would go down in price. I was also hoping the sky would fall and I wouldn’t be able to go – how fuck up is that? Yeah. I know.

The check engine light was late and I knew it.

Catriona

XOXOX

I name you Pansy.

To be told several weeks ago that I have “PTSD medically proven to be comparable to soldiers coming home from Afghanistan” is just flipping ridiculous to hear. I KNOW that PTSD doesn’t just happen to Vets, but it is just disturbing to hear. I didn’t fight a war!  The Nine Month PTSD Treatment Plan has been thrown out the window. I will continue treatment until my brain gets back to it’s regularly scheduled program. Who the hell knows when that will be.

And because life is already colored so perfect, I have Bursitis in my left arm from incorrect injection location, from all the rounds of meds a few months. It could take a year to heal.

Medical diagnosis: FUCKED.
LMAO

 

 

I’ve named My PTSD Pansy. Why? Why the Hell not?

And, because I feel like a pansy being shacked up with Pansy. Oh and, it’s the English word for a type of flower, ultimately deriving from Old French pensee “thought”.

I feel like I’m flippin’ nuts all the time. Me and Pansy, we go at it several times a day, and not in a good way. 

Anything and everything, and NOTHING sets her off. Then there are three glorious types of Pansy Episodes:

Pansy Episode A – I lose compete audio of what is going on around me but keep my vision. The volume gets turn up to an unbearable level and instead of hearing what’s around me – I hear nothing but the memory of finding my Ex dead. The alarm going off. My saying ‘No way’ at what I walked into. The 911 call, the thud of a body hitting the floor as I pull my ex off the bed. The dispatcher telling me what to do, the fire department, my son terrified in the livingroom. The EMTS, all the questions, the Ambulance. The noises as they worked on my ex. Hearing my Ex code out, and the EMT’s scrambling in the back of the Ambulance. The wheels of the stretcher coming off the ambulance, then on the concrete, and then the hospital floor as we follow behind my Ex and the truck load of people working to stabilize. The Doctors and Nurses kicking us out of the OR as they tried to save a life. My Voice as I try to explain to my Ex’s parents what had happened. The Nurse who brought us to the Serenity room, the cracking in her voice. The loud silence of the fucking Serenity room. My voice as I lose it after over an hour of waiting in that FUCKING ROOM, and storm the nurses station to DEMAND someone tell me what was going on. Hearing the words that described the possible death and brain damage, the lack of oxygen, coma. The thought ‘Oh my god I didn’t get there in time‘ screaming across my brain. The noises of seizures when they finally let us in the trauma room. The nurses shoes rushing across the floor. Their worried voices as they work to get and keep my ex stable. More questions. The days and nights that followed in the ICU. The noises of life support. More questions. The noise as they pulled the respirator from my Ex’s throat. Ex’s first words so broken up I wasn’t sure what was said. The days that followed. All playing in my head. Never stopping until it reaches the end.

Pansy Episode B – I keep audio. I can hear everything that is going on around me in real time, but the volume is cranked up so high it hurts my ears, and I lose visual. While I can hear what is going on around me I cannot see anything but the memory as described above. My bedroom. Pulling the blankets off my Ex. My son in the door way. My phone as I call 911. My hands and feet as I brace myself against the bed to pull Ex to the floor for resuscitation. The look on Ex’s face, I will never for get it. Clearing air way. Listening for breath. Following the dispatchers instructions. The EMT’s. The Fire department. The scene as they work from the floor. Me grabbing the nearest EMT to explain my son’s Autism. The EMT who  took him outside. The EMT that pulled me from the room to pummel me with questions. The three men that carried Ex in a white sheet, like a corpse,  from the bedroom to the front door because the stretcher wouldn’t fit. Grabbing my son’s hand and directing him to the Ambulance. The sight that could be seen as they worked on my Ex in the back of the Ambulance. The procession of EMT’s, Doctors and Nurses that met us at the hospital working as they wheeled the stretcher into the OR. The looks on the faces as I was told I would have to wait in the waiting room so they could work. Pushing open the door of the waiting room to find my Ex’s Parents. The look on their faces. The Nurses eyes as she had us follow her to a Tiny room filled with tissues and bibles. Me stumbling as I saw where we brought. The sign that said “Serenity Room.” Staring at my Mother and Father in Law as we waited. The hallways as I stormed down them to find the Trauma center and someone to tell us what the hell was happening. The look on the faces of all of them behind the counter before I even opened my mouth. The 30 seconds in which everyone looked to the person next to them not sure what to say to me. The Nurse who had locked eyes with me as I rounded the corner and never took them off me, even as she rounded the counter to whisper to the Doctor. The halls again as I following that same nurse back to THAT FUCKING ROOM. The look of horror on her face as she explained the situation. The Trauma room nurses rushing around the room. The days I stood in the ICU with my Ex hooked up to every machine known to man. The nights in the waiting room because they wouldn’t let me stay. The pure sadness on everyone’s face, including the nurses,  until the day Ex woke up almost a week later. The condition and lack of motor skills when Ex woke up. The days that followed.  All spinning around me as reality buzzes in my ears.

Pansy Episode C – A combo of both A & B. No joke. It’s like I’m swept away and slammed right into the memory as if it were real time. Only I’m aware that it’s not what is actually happening at the moment, but I am trapped until the memory plays itself out. I have to wait until Pansy releases me from this other dimension and then pretend like I am totally fucking normal, and carry on with whatever I was doing prior; Laundry, work, riding the bus with my son, ordering coffee at the bakery, the grocery store, the Mall, the fucking Pharmacy. You name it. Pansy doesn’t care that I might be walking my son to school, or crossing an intersection.

It’s like having an abusive Spouse that follows you everywhere.

 

 

 

This is how I know Pansy is Female. LMAO

My doctor says that I will most likely be dealing with these issues, to some degree for the rest of my life. Oh. Fucking. Goody.

I say OFF WITH HER HEAD. Who wants to help me with a brain transplant? Anyone? LOL

 

 

 

All in all, I say being in a relationship with Pansy is great. Everyone should try it (Help she beats me), and this:

(Hey, why is the person in this photo wearing Rape gloves?)

Hope you are all well and didn’t actually read this. LMAO.

Pansy says hello (not really, what she actually said was obscene. She’s a Bitch.)

Love you guys,

Catriona

OXOXOX