Sleep is a moody evasive bipolar beast

Sometimes sleep is beautiful, adventurous, and sweet. When you wake from this sleep you feel well rested, energetic, and ready for adventure. 

Other times sleep is dark, frightening, sad, and full of anger. This kind of sleep leaves you exhausted, disconnected, agitated, and tense. 

Tuesday night was riddled with nightmares. Last night a few drinks and some meds got me through the fear of going to sleep. I can't say I had a nightmare free night, (because I remember nothing) but I can say I'm on day 4 of anxiety. What's really frustrating is that I don't know what triggered all of this. 

Frustrating and exhausted. How am I to function?

PTSD Feelings

Terror is being woken from a deep sleep to the sound of footsteps outside your door, the nob slowly turning and being completely paralyzed and unable to move or scream before your perpetrator enters your room.

Helplessness is the feeling that  you can't control your environment to keep your children safe. Danger lurks in the form of grandparents, friends, family members, cars, school, sports, cub scouts... everywhere.

Chaos is feeling like every cell in your body is flying around under your skin like a mass of frenzied hornets. Terror, Helplessness, Anger, Fear, Sadness, and Mourning all scrambling around inside you uncontrollably with no way to make it stop. 

Shame makes you feel like you could unzip your skin and scrub your body with an SOS pad soaked in bleach... over and over and over again for hours and sometimes days.

Relief feels like pain. Physical pain is refreshing compared to mental pain. The pain of excessive weight lifting, running until your lungs feel like they will explode, biting your lip.... anything to make the Terror, Helplessness, Chaos, and Shame stop.

Numbness feels ambiguous. It's neither good or bad, sad or mad, angry or calm. Numbness is that place in the mind where one can go when over whelmed by the above emotions. Numbness is dangerous though, because when you feel nothing. You care for nothing. You hate nothing. You love nothing. Nothing is the black hole of emotions, because emotions are what make us human. 

A Moment of Hell AKA Triggered

Last night I discovered a new trigger. As anyone with PTSD can attest triggers are evil unconscious little buggers that fuck you up and ruin your day.

Last night I came home really late. A friend had been out of town taking care of her dying grandmother. I went grocery shopping for her after work then stayed and talked. When I got home about 9:30 pm everyone was already in bed. I sat next to the fire trying to relax and relieve my headache from hell when Duke the dog sat next to me.

Duke is a border collie and VERY smart. He's also very sensitive. When I cry he sits on me. Duke must have sensed my headache, he licked my left year.

I was instantly set off. The skin on my face crawled. I grabbed my face and rubbed it. The muscles in my face had that stomach dropping roller coaster ride feeling and it moved across my face. I started to claw my face at this point. I welcomed pain at that moment. Except for my hands clawing my face I couldn't move. I couldn't talk. I was frozen in Hell.

Desperate I racked my brain for anything to make it stop. I remembered a technique to help, so I started to alternate patting my shoulders like I had been taught. Eventually I calmed down.

I hate triggers. It's instant Hell combined with a mind fuck. I don't even know all my triggers, which makes it even worse because I can't avoid what I'm unaware of.

At this point I have to wonder... What would life be like without triggers?

I hope to answer that someday.

Riddle Me This....

I had a nightmare last night. I woke up in a pool of sweat two hours after I'd climbed in bed. I've been taking half a Xanax to sleep. I've tried over the counter stuff and the hangover is too much. So I tried not to take any sleeping aids, when I finally got to sleep I slid right back into the lucid dreams.

I'm weary of drugs. It seems to me doctors hand them out in shopping bags. I have a long family history of addiction. I have a fear of becoming addicted, but I need to function too. I feel like taking meds is a weakness when I want to be strong.

I'm frustrated because there is no one qualified to treat PTSD in my area.... Unless I'm a Veteran, which I'm not.

I keep hearing, "Get over it." "Move on." Oh, how I'd love to people. I really would, but riddle me this, how to you "Get Over It" when your body and your unconscious will not allow you to move on?

When someone has the answer to THAT then we'll talk. Until then SHUT UP!

Panic Attack on a Tuesday

This morning when I walked into the garage to warm up my car, something caught the corner of my eye. I froze, scanning the garage when I saw what appeared to be a person crouched down looking through a box. Every muscle in my body flexed tight. I stopped breathing. My muscles went numb and vibrated all at the same time.

Then, as if a magician had waved his cloak, the truth was revealed. It wasn't a man, but a brown tarp covering I don't know what.

My heart continued to beat rapidly. My breath ragged, as if I'd been running uphill. My back tingly, because I didn't know who might be behind me.

As I drove down my street, that's when I knew I was in a full blown panic attack. My skin continued to vibrate. My vision was unfocused. I drove to work on muscle memory, my brain had checked out before I even left the house.

I couldn't decide if I wanted to beat something, cry, or both. That's when I felt the last strings of sanity slipping. I pulled over and took a half of Xanax.

Taking Xanax seems like a failure. It feels like I gave up. I know I could have eventually pulled it together, but when? Today? Tomorrow? Next week? I don't have the time to be crazy right now. My desk is full at work, I have to help my Beloved's with school work, and everyday life.

Even though I feel like a failure, I should have seen it coming. My insomnia is back. I've been having lucid dreams compounding my crazy. I've been having a new kind of panic attacks. My therapist isn't sure what to do with me because this isn't her field. That's right, I'm too crazy for my head doctor.

The Xanax has kicked in. My limbs feel heavy. My eyes want to close, but my skin is still crawling annnnd I have 8.5 hours before I can go home.

Awesome.

The Crazies

I have a case of the crazies. I'm not sleeping. When I am I'm not reaching REM sleep, instead I dreaming lucid dreams that are so real I swear they're really happening. For example I fell asleep one Saturday in my recliner. I would swear on a Bible I woke up and my husband made me a tuna fish sandwich..... Only it never happened.
I'm easily startled and my brain bum rushes the crazy train constantly playing through scenarios and tactics of What If....
My counselor swears I'm not crazy, but the anxiety attacks aren't helping. One was so bad, Xanax didn't even stop it.
Why is this happening?
What is the purpose?
All I know for sure is, I'm exhausted, amped up, and tired of feeling crazy.

What Is A Hero?

I read an article the other day that quoted Michael Jordan, before his father was murdered as proclaiming his parents his heroes. What was my first thought?

My parent's aren't my heroes. It is because of their actions or the lack of that I have PTS.

What are the qualities of a hero? Will I ever be my children's hero? I want to be.

The Purpose of Thorns

I can't remember what book I was reading, in the mystery book a character asked God why he made thorns on Roses. God replied, so people would handle them with care.

Recently I was looking at the Sterling Rose when this response came to me. I find the Sterling Rose to be among the most beautiful, best smelling, most delicate roses I have come in contact with, and yes that contact has made me bleed as I have touched several thorns.

I chose the Sterling Rose as my identity here for all the reasons above. It wasn't until I thought about the passage from the book that I considered my thorns, which I've been trying so hard to rid myself of, might be necessary. My thorns will protect me as well as make people handle me with care.

Sure, a part of my brain says I shouldn't be so delicate as to need to be handled with care, but shouldn't everyone be handled with care? Don't we all need it? I'm not saying people should be treated like their fragile, I'm saying people should be treated with respect and purpose.

I'm going to work on changing my point of view about my thorns, as thorns have many different purposes, I have discovered but two.

Mommie Dearest Beat Down

A couple weeks ago I was really anxious. I'm not sure why, I just was. I jumped at shadows and was constantly on alert. I even told my husband, make noise as you approach me, or be prepared to get hit. Well, he didn't believe me.

I was in our closet hanging clothes when I saw a figure out of the corner of my eye. When I turned my head all my brain registered was Strange Male. I felt threatened, and instantly feared for my children. I took the only weapon I had, a hanger and started to hit the man while screaming in anger. I was trying to figure out how to poke the man's eye out with the metal hook when my brain registered the man was my husband. I was so upset he had scared me I kept hitting him, only this time I was yelling what a jerk he was.

Eventually he ran out of the closet to get away from me and my deadly hanger. He laughed as he showed me his welts. I asked him what the hell he was thinking and he said, "I thought I'd sneak up on you and plant a big kiss on your lips."

Yeah, did I marry Captain Brilliant or what?

I tried to explain that he couldn't do that to me, and how lucky he was to still have both of his eyes. I don't think it truly sunk in though.

Throughout the day I would relive that moment in the closet over and over again. The memory would make me nervously laugh, not because I thought it was funny, but because I laugh when I don't know what else to do. Survival tactic.

Lying in bed that night, I laughed again. Captain Brilliant asked me what was so funny. I told him I was thinking about the closet scare he gave me. His response, "Still?"

I tried to explain to him, due to my past, and my anxiety my brain honestly didn't recognize him as anything more than a threat. When I was beating him Mommie Dearest style I was in true fear for my life. I was seriously going to attempt to poke his eye out. He's lucky my brain finally registered he was friend not foe. What he thinks is funny, or sweet my brain translated as a threat.

I'm not sure if he got the message, but I don't think he'll be sneaking up on me anytime soon, especially if I have a hanger in my hands.

2013 Goal- Fortitude

Back in December/ January I meant to write about my Goal for 2013. Instead of a New Years Resolution, I have a Goal. If you read this Link it will tell you about last years Goal of Peace, Courage, and Wisdom.

Last year I cheated picking three words to strive for, but I was so lost I couldn't narrow it down. How did I do with last year's Goal? Well, I have more Peace then I did, but could still use more. (Who couldn't, right?) Courage, I'm not sure I have any forward movement with this Goal, but I haven't back slid, so I'll take that as a good thing. And Wisdom, I have grown here. I believe I have gotten better at seeing people for who they really are, instead of who I want them to be, and accepting it.

What will my Goal be this year? Well this year I am inspired by Ancient Greece. The Ancient Greeks believed courage or fortitude was one of the four cardinal virtues, along with prudence, justice, and temperance.

Fortitude is defined as forbearance, endurance, and ability to confront fear, uncertainty and intimidation.

Fortitude is my Goal for 2013. I will exercise fortitude. I am going to start by making the above definition the wallpaper on my cell phone, so I will be reminded several times a day of my Goal. Is fortitude the type of goal you achieve and walk away from? No. It's the type of goal you carry with you for the dark times. It's the type of goal you strive to wrap around you and your loved ones like a protective armor.

Who couldn't use a little armor?

Nightmares

I've had intense nightmares my entire life. I'm also a sleep walker which just added a bit more terror as a child when I'd wake up in a strange room not understanding reality. Since my repressed memories have come back, the nightmares have been anywhere from Alfred Hitchcock terrifying to waking up and knowing I've had a nightmare, but not being able to remember it.

Sadly I've gotten so used to one form of nightmare or another that they have become my new "normal."  (I have a friend who says, " Normal is a setting on a washing machine." Oh how I'd like settings on my dreams.)

My husband is not used to my nightmares. It's just in the last year I've felt enough faith in our relationship to allow him to see my crazy. In true survival fashion I hid the majority of my nightmares from my husband. Now that he sees how frequent they are, he wants to fix my dreams. Recently, I woke him up saying, NO sternly over and over as I thrashed about. The next morning he asked me what I had been dreaming. I told him I had no memory of dreaming, but I was still exhausted. Later he asked me how we could make the nightmares stop. I thought for a moment and said, "How do you make something stop, you have no memory of? How do you fight that? The bits and pieces I do remember are fleeting memories that don't last long and don't make any sense. How do you fight your unconscious?"

He of course had no answer.

This morning I woke up with a start as I had a dream two men were trying to break into my house. I'm not sure whose house I was in the dream, because I didn't recognize the window I was looking out. In the dream I was a child, maybe nine or so. When the front door came busting open, that's when my eyes came flying open.

After calming down I tried to consciously complete the dream as a grown up. To make myself feel like I wasn't helpless I guess. It wasn't the same. I slipped into that weird place between dream and awake, where I was tormented by new nightmares, which I don't remember at all.

My husband came in and saw I was wide awake and asked what was wrong. (I'm not a morning person and it was 7:30 on a Saturday.) I told him I had a nightmare. He was on his way out the door to go fishing with a friend, but took a couple minutes to cuddle with me. I know if he could will, or maybe even love my nightmares away, he would.

I'm not sure I'll ever be nightmare free. I think the nightmares are directly related to me feeling safe and able to protect my family. Most of the time I feel utterly helpless. Feeling helpless makes me angry  and ashamed.

On a positive note, I haven't had any daymares in a while. Maybe, I just need to hold on to that as progress for now?

Birthdays and Miracles

Today is my father's 65th Birthday. It is a milestone to many. A celebration. Here is a man who prayed on at least three minors, and ten women. These are just the ones I know of, how many others were there in his 65 years? Why does such a morally lacking predator get to live to 65 years of age? Oh let me add, the last time I spoke to my father (over a year ago) he was going through the process to get approved for a lung transplant through medicare, extending his life. That's right, he was attempting to live through someone else's tragedy. (Note: I'm all for organ donations, I just don't want him to have one.)

Did he get his lung? I don't know. I know he's not dead yet, or I would have heard about it, so Happy Fucking Birthday to my predator father.

Gee, do I seem hostile? Well yes I am. Even if we take away the fact someone could lose a family member, so my father can continue his life.... even if I could possibly forget that for a second, lets consider the things I can't forget at all.

I have a friend, a wonderful mother of four who is married to the man of her dreams. Not only have they been fighting for years for their son to beat brain cancer, but at 40 years old she was diagnosed with a different inoperable brain tumor. She has weeks to live.

There is a nine year old boy who is close to one of my friends who also has an inoperable brain tumor and has been told his days are numbered. Much like my friend's boy, he's innocent, pure, and hasn't even been given the chance to really live life yet.

Then there is my friends cousin, who is 31, a wife, a mother of two young children who collapsed due to a blood clot in her neck that burst, which led to the discovery of SIX blood clots in her brain. While undergoing emergency surgery she had three strokes. Her brain was swelling to the point they cut a hole in her skull and are keeping her in a medically induced coma. The doctors are not optimistic.

So here we have it. I am praying for three miracles for three separate families. The miracles all involve children and mothers. When did the number three become so monumental?  Then there is a man like my father who is celebrating his 65th birthday and possibly with a new set of lungs.

How do I feel about that? Well... I'm pissed off. I'm angry. I'm hurt. I'm sad. I'm scared and I'm heartbroken. I know what it's like to live without a mother. I never want to know what it's like to live without a child, but can imagine no greater pain.

Why do the innocent hurt, while the predator celebrates?