Today is better than yesterday

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.

Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all

I want to know more about what’s hidden in the recesses of my mind. But, I am beginning to question the wisdom of such an endeavor.

It may seem trivial, but before today I would have sworn that I’ve watched every single episode of Modern Family. Well, I’ve been watching a marathon on the USA network for the past couple of evenings, and roughly 50% of the episodes thus far are alien to me. I know that I physically watch this show every week, but, apparently, I do not always watch the show. I guess other peeps inside enjoy Modern Family. This discovery gives more credence to my theory and belief that I lose time at home.

Last night was a horrid marathon of upsetting nightmares, one of which consisted of a bizarre car accident. Don’t know if there is any meaning there.

I actually felt myself getting physically panicked all day today, and even this evening.

God, I know this post is dreadfully boring. I’m even boring myself, but I feel compelled to get it all out in the hopes that all of this writing will eventually lead to some understanding of myself.

Letty keeps talking to me about Dad. At least she’s not asking where he has gone, “I had a Dad, but he not coming back. He sick, very sick. He not coming back. I wish I could call him, but Beatriz says we can’t cause he’s sick.”

After the last session with Doc where Letty talked about food and being hungry, I had another revelation. Over the years, people have mentioned funny things to me that have happened when I’m eating something I really like. Just a couple of weeks ago, my colleague and I went to our favorite diner for dinner. They had meatloaf panini as a special on the menu, and I ordered it. All I remember is getting my food, and telling the owner’s fiance who came over to our table that it was fabulous. As we were leaving the diner, my colleague told me that when I picked up my panini I brought my sandwich up to my face with eager crossed eyes, and I was making a gleeful humming sound. Thank god he was laughing about it, but I had no recollection of such a thing happening. I now realize that Letty was likely enjoying the sandwich with me.

In that last session this week with Doc I keep replaying in my mind something Letty said, “It don’t matter if the food didn’t taste good. I could make it taste good in my brain. It don’t matter.”

Guess it makes her happy when food is truly good.

I am fighting the urge to quit, to quit trying to remember. I am fighting the urge to just give up altogether. I am fighting ,and I’m having a hard time remembering why.

Last night

Last night at my friend’s house I was told I had bad dreams and cried out in my sleep. Great. I remember feeling bad in my sleep (I know that sounds strange), but I don’t recall any specifics. I think tonight my friend could tell I was feeling scared about going home, and he offered to rent a movie for us. Then I started falling asleep on the couch and he told me to go to his room to go to sleep. He insisted on taking the couch, though I would have felt better if I slept on the couch.

It’s nice sleeping here, but eventually I have to go home. Perhaps the fact that I can hear him cutting his toenails in the next room will motivate me to be fine with going home tomorrow …