Tag Archives: PTSD

Floating around in nothingness.

I’m having such a hard time with life. My marriage was a disaster in the end. It truly was. But, the first few years before she became ill were fantastic. I’m not even sure what I am doing any more.

 

I’m wounded.

Probably more than I’ve ever been in my life. As of February 8th, two years ago, I clutched the phone with my head and shoulder as I pulled the lifeless body of my wife from our bed to the floor for resuscitation.. A day I see every day, several times a day, when both awake and asleep, relentlessly. Treatment for the subsequent PTSD and anxiety disorders are a joke. Even my doctors have called it, collectively. She was the only person I ever truly loved aside from my son. My wife was without oxygen for a damaging amount of time, something they told me while I stood in the ICU for a week could take her away from us mentally, physically, or both.

When she eventually woke, she was no longer my wife. The person I brought back from death wasn’t MY wife at all. And even tho she lived, I swear I died in that room that day. Our situation both before and after that day broke me. I cried everyday where she couldn’t see because I couldn’t help her, because no one could help us, Because she was so messed up, because I was so messed up. I broke under the pressure. She beat on me emotionally and physically because of her issues, yet I would do it again, truly I would. I know she knew what she was doing half the time. And the other half I think her soul was being called somewhere else and she had no idea what she was doing. She told me the day I moved out that we would be married again some day, that we needed to heal apart, that she loved me, that it was killing her to see me go. Months later I could see both deep love and deep hate in her eyes. We got worse apart, not better. I truly believed one day I’d get MY wife back, some day, maybe years but, maybe one day. I would have walked thru hell (and in some ways I did) to heal her, to have kept her, MY HER. After years of failing to help her I was resentful because I was drowning/hurting/helpless and couldn’t see the light. I made mistakes at the end of our relationship. Not the ones I was accused of, but mistakes nonetheless. I will carry them with me everyday. A few weeks ago, short of the two year mark, she died.

She was no longer my wife, or mine in any way.

My son’s other parent is gone, and when I got home I had to tell him while holding my shredded heart in my hands, while trying to hold his together. Through all the hurt, though all the pain, if given the choice I’d walk through hell,  blind if need be,  to find her and drag her out. I’d do it every day if I could have back the woman I fell in love with so many years ago.

Don’t waste time, it’s running out. 

Due to my wife’s illness, and perception of the situation, coupled with a former “Friend” of mine crossing lines and contacting my wife out of anger for me, saying who knows what – I wasn’t even made aware when she died. My son did not get to say good bye, they would not allow him at the service, or speak to us at all. My Wife and I weren’t on bad terms. But, someone trying to hurt me ended up hurting my son more. My son lost his mom, and his Grandmother in the same week, and was left on the sidelines all because of vengeance.

You never know who people are. Even if you have known them for years. I cannot even believe the things that have transpired.

Hold your loved ones. Tell your friends how much they mean to you. Identify and walk away from the ones that truly aren’t your friends. Tell the people in your life you love them once a day.

life with my wife toward the end was a horror show. I used this site as an outlet for my anger always thinking that in the end I would be able to write about the good things that would happen in the future. It was always my hope that she would get it together, and be around for my son. I know it was a long shot. I know it was stupid. but, I always had a spark of hope.

That hope died when she did.

My son is shattered.

But, everyday we talk about one good memory we shared with her. Some times the only way out, is though.

OXOXOXO

Catriona

 

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Understanding (underestimating?) PTSD

Feb will be two years that PTSD and I have been together.

And you know what? There are still days and months that are just like the first week of Hell that ensued after that day. I’ve been diagnosed with PTSD “Comparable to soldiers coming home from Iraq”. That’s an actual sentence from my Medical record. Do you know how horrible just that sentence is? I didn’t fight in a war. Though, I now have one in my head. Almost two years, and EVERY DAY I still have issues. Every day. Every day, that one single day plays in my head, over and over, or it echos in my ears, or both. Everyday I fight my own head just to breath. Everyday I wake up, take a deep breath, and try to make it better than the last. You know what happens? I fail more than half the time, haha…And telling me I need to “be more positive” only shows that you’ve got no clue what PTSD is. Lmao.

PTSD is having the BEST convo with my son, after having had the best day together, then all of a sudden I’m crossing through a 4 Lane crosswalk, holding my son’s hand, when my PTSD decides for NO REASON at all, to take over both my vision and hearing.

Yeah.

It’s being curled up in the lap of a friend, for over an hour,  as he tries to hold you so close that you KNOW it’s hurting HIM, as you cry because you’re Ex wife text you something stupid, after an already trigger filled day.

Yeah.

You know what I’ve learned in the last year and half?
A.) Most people sincerely THINK they know what PTSD is.
B.) Most people are wrong.
C.) I’m not crazy. Sorta. Ha.
Annnnnnd worst of all D.) Most people, even if they care, don’t do much research. Why? See A.

This article is one of the best I’ve read, and I’ve read many. So, imma leave it right HERE.

Now excuse me while I go try pretend to sleep. Lmao.

Catriona

XOXOXO

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Heartburn & Sherlock

Spent the day cleaning, catching up on E-mails, and cleaning out half of my son’s closet to make a “Club House” so he’d stop searching about all the closets in the house with a pillow and flashlight. Lol.

Now the kid and I are now watching Sherlock.  Lol.

I have the worst heartburn, ever. EVER. I may name it. Like, Bethany, or Beatrice.  Nothing seems to help it. I think she’s here to stay with me and Pansy.

I have a lot on my mind. Pansy and I have been going at it again. Our fights are worse than ever. It’s worse when someone provokes Pansy, knowingly. Friggen awful that Pansy can be used against me. Oh well, everyone has a weakness, mine is just out there like a huge red lighted button for anyone to slam, causing me horrid pain.

Lots, and lots on my mind.

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I think that’s enough for now.
OXOXOX
Catriona

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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

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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.

 

 

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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

 

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

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(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

 

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Just add it to the list.

So you guys know the Universe and I have been fighting.

In Feb I spent a week in the ICU with Drs telling me that my significant other had lost too much oxygen, they weren’t sure there was any brain activity. I had managed to resuscitate before the EMTs showed up, but it took over a week to see brain activity. That person that I brought back isn’t the one I married.

Also in Feb, my close friend lost his leg, had two heart attacks, and lost a part of his mind along the way.

That same month, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer for the fourth time. This one being the one the Drs said would finally get her.

I was diagnosed with PTSD, so was my son as a result of finding a dead body in my bed.

I had been taking care of this person for three years, on Feb 8th that person died. What I brought back was a nightmare. Now, I am not saying that the three years prior was a cake walk. I took care of everything. The Money, the bills, the house, the animals, the child, the homework, the volunteering at the school, everything. There wasn’t a thing that wasn’t my responsibility. But after Feb our house became volatile. Hostile. Terrible. Horrid. And, I was still taking care of everything. I was being treated in ways I wont disclose.

Last week, I packed up my son without notice and brought him to live with his grandparents while I pack up the house.

I’m losing/lost everything. My mother, my friend, my sister. My marriage, my house. When I moved in here this house was a WRECK. like WHOA. I built this house that I am leaving. I trained the dog I can’t keep. I am leaving here with nothing; oh wait I get to keep the kitchen table.  I’m losing all the effort, everything I worked for.

I’m leaving here with HORRID credit b/c there were medical supplies, and insurance that HAD to be obtained, so I let my personal bills go. I’ve sold everything to take care of it all. Granted, I don’t pay rent any more here – this is my Mother in laws house that we had planned on buying, and I have worked damn hard on it. But, I think being a nurse to someone for three years, paying for everything else, and taking care of EVERYTHING evens that out a bit (It doesn’t ask them both).

However, what little I do have left that was valuable, my electronics, is been kept here.  My Ex using the line “This is mine b/c of all they money YOU owe my mother.” At first I was going to fight it, now I am just letting it all go. It’s not worth the fight. I have my kid, and his stuff. That is all that matters.

I’m leaving with the loss of the life I built for my family, for my son. I’m leaving with the damage that has been done to my son. The loss of  my dog, my two cats, my credit, my personal possessions, and all I get to keep is the kitchen table, and the PTSD.

And to top it all off, my son’s other parent couldn’t get out of bed for the last three years, but came home with a brand new 700.00 cell phone last week, and is on vacation right now (getting hammered a friend) while I wait and pray to the stars that the town house I applied to last week accepts me, so I can move my son and what little I have left into a new life.

OH wait, AND – I don’t even get to leave here with my privacy b/c the person who couldn’t even take out the trash for the last three years, had my cell phone hacked last week obtained my journal, my texts, and all of my photos. Good thing I have nothing to hide.

There’s so much more, but just add it all to the list.

Please send positive thoughts my way that I get this town house, my son and I are drowning.

Catriona

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STOP HUMPING MY FRIGGEN LEG.

So, while in the Post Office, standing in line with about 15 people in front on me, I feel and hear a whisper in my ear “you need to move forward”.  Now this guy was so close to me, he was just about touching my neck. I moved forward, said something about him not having to be so close to me, and continued filling out my label. Not even 30 second later he was right up against me again. Soooo, again, I moved a bit forward trying not to crowd the woman in front of me. Annnnnd again he moved so close to me  that he could have been humping my leg if he twitched even in the slightest way. So, I am sure we all know what I did next.  I causes a ruckus. I’m damn good at causing a scene.

I yelled something about him “humping my Fucking leg” and “I’ve moved three times because of it, you do NOT need to be that close to me!”

Small USPS store means the whole office, patrons, and all the tellers heard.  The guy put both of his hands on the counter as if he was used to being made to account for his hands, and said not a word more.

I went to the next teller, and as always asked how his grandbabies were while everyone stared are the freak behind me. Snarl.

UGH.

 

Anyway. I have a photo dump for you all. These are from the last few days.

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One of the loves in my life.

Walking around the last few days to clear my head.

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Also, while in the store I found some Spotted Dick – I’m VERY familiar with that. But, what the hell is Treacle (in a can)? And, is it just me, or does it look wayyyyy worse next to the Spotted Dick?

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On my way home yesterday this was on the sidewalk of a construction site:

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Hope you are all well.

XOXOXO

Catriona

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To answer your questions

My other half did survive. I’m not sure I did.

It’s a struggle every day. There was permanent damage, still recovering. May never recover.

I am a single parent again, taking care of 3 people on one income. My poor son was diagnosed with PTSD last week, too. The whole house is damaged.

The universe and I are fighting.

My son, for the first time in his life has asked for a big Birthday party with his whole class and just one gift. It just so happens that the gift is very expensive. This is a kid that never asks for anything, so I am struggling to make these things happen. Sigh, I’m failing at the moment, and on a time crunch. Friggen’ Time, I wish I could stop it. I may actually take up standing on the corner, lol.  I was asking for an STD a while back so this is fitting, don’t you think?  haha.

I know I haven’t responded to anyone, I will, I’m just a wreck. I will tho, when I find my head, or an STD.

Catriona

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