I am stuck at the moment. Stuck like gum on the bottom of your shoe. I wanted, I planned on going to look at a house on the other side of town that may be affordable to buy. But … clearly or claro, as we say in Spanish, a peep or two objects very strongly to this possibility. It took me an hour to get in comfy clothes in order to do this errand. Now I am in bed very much in fogland. Must. Make. It. Stop.
Tag Archives: Dissociative identity disorder
Scared numb
I want to go to church. Heck, I drove all the way here, and I’m in the parking lot. But for the entire drive here my head started doing that involuntary shake thing that usually means that at least one peep is trying to say No!
I love this church, but I feel my peeps getting all jacked up with the crowds of people. The peeps don’t like crowds, even though I try to explain that this is a good crowd. So, my system is freaking out, but I really want to go inside the damn church!
Out of compromise, I’m waiting until the very last minute to run inside as to minimize conversation before the service. I hate doing that because I look like a snob, and I do like meeting people, but we have to meet somewhere in the middle. Here goes, it’s time to go inside …
Fogged down
The fogginess has kicked me.
I am struggling to remain grounded. The dissociation is persistent and exhausting. All I had to do in order to make dinner was reheat some meat in order to make a pot roast sandwich with leftovers. Even that was too daunting. I would up eating cheese and crackers and an apple for dinner. I must have had the nightmare about the director attacking me again because I woke up yet again with that same leg in pain.
This fog is relentless. I’m trying not to let my brain go to the dark place. It’s like I’m crawling in sand to get home. The effort is that excruciating. All my energy goes to trying to keep it together so that I can work. The rest of the time I am trying to put myself back together again so that I can go back to work with some functionality.
And to think that someone told me today that I “dabble in mental illness.” Hah. They have no idea.
A Year in the Life of PTSD 