Integration, apparently, is moving along. I’m not completely sure how, nor can I even coherently explain it. Two nights ago I lost a lot of time, and the nightmares were ridiculous, and lengthy. I did not wake up yesterday until 1:53 p.m. When I finally woke up I truly no longer wanted to be on this earth.
I think Doc must have been in a bad place as well because when I called him he asked, “Are you safe?” Well, as safe as one can be with a mind that likes to switch off to different channels. He then asked, “Do you need to go to the hospital?” Once I answered those questions sufficiently enough he was pretty much done. No, I don’t need the damn hospital, just a connection to a human being that can tell me that what’s in my mind is not real. I just needed to talk to someone that was not in my nightmare, someone that can tell me that the world is not as scary as it is in my brain. I just needed to hear another person’s voice so that I know that I am not truly alone in this world, that Armageddon did not happen and I didn’t make the cut. What I needed was someone to convey to me that it’s worth finding that shred of hope, like an umbrella tucked into the backseat of your car that you suddenly remember in the middle of a downpour, and it’s worth cashing it in today because tomorrow will be better. Not all days will be like this, some will, but not all of them.
As usual, no one else was available. Instead, I found hope in a diner meal of roasted chicken, potatoes and chicken gumbo soup. Then, the bookstore was the final refuge for us. We stayed until they closed for the night as I was terrified to be home alone. But the night was better than the previous one, and today is still lonely, but, somehow, more hopeful. Not sure how, but I’m not questioning it. I’ll just take it.
A Year in the Life of PTSD 