Tag Archives: postaday

breathe, it’s just the doctor …

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I Need a Doctor

You’ve dreaded it all night and all morning, but there’s no more dawdling. You’re there. You know you’re over due for an exam and that you need to be there. The waiting room is torture because prolonging the appointment is painful.

The last time you had such an appointment it was a disaster. The moment you were touched it was over. You were no longer in that exam room. Instead, you were back in that place where you were vulnerable and unsafe and you couldn’t get away. You wanted to get away, and you tried to get away to no avail.

You wound up having to call your therapist in the midst of that last exam so that you could get yourself out of the dissociation. It was the longest appointment you’d ever had, and you didn’t even finish your exam.

But this is today with a different doctor in a different office, and you’re even in a better place now. You like this doctor. Just tell yourself that this is Dr. Stan, not that other person. Dr. Stan is safe.

And, lo, and behold. He either remembers, or took good notes, or both, because he recalls that it’s better for you if he tells you exactly where he’s going to touch you before he touches you. For example, he’ll say, “Now I’m going to touch your stomach.” That was actually the one you dreaded the most. At that point you were calm enough that you even jokingly said, “Aww! Not my favorite! Really?”

Before you knew it the appointment was over, and you were fine. Dr. Stan did say that it was time for you to start thinking about getting a pap smear. You said, “Fine, another day.” But not today because today was a good day.

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The pool

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swimming pool

The pool scares me. I just stare at it, and dip my toe in, while I try to figure it out.

My particular pool is a new friendship. I don’t get a lot of social invitations. Between my PTSD and depression, I’ve not socialized on any grand level in a long time. I do get out to see friends, but only a choice few, and not on any regular basis.

Jack is a new friend. He was originally a match.com date where we both mutually decided we weren’t right for each other. Then, shortly thereafter, he asked me via email  if I was interested in a friendship. In that moment I remembered asking Carlene in girl scouts if we could be friends, and she just gave me this uncomfortable look. In that moment when I read Jack’s email I thought to myself, “The rules changed? It’s ok to ask for friendship? Where have I been?”

I was invited over for dinner, and you would have thought my elation meant I had been asked to the ball. Something as seemingly pedestrian as a dinner invitation does not come around very often for me. When I was actively alcoholic I was known as the “fun girl” and I had plenty of social invitations, but the transition into sobriety has not been smooth socially. There’s no other way to say it. It’s been lonely.

We made dinner, and talked. We really talked, not just news, weather and sports bullshit which bores me.

I enjoyed his company, but I didn’t want to like it too much. I think I’ll stay in the shallow part of the pool for now.

(Photo credit: freefotouk)

Try, try again

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Sunday was one of those days where I had to try a lot of things in order to try to not feel shaky and anxious. Waking up at noon after being unable to sleep until after 3 am did not help matters. I finally just got dressed, and went to the nearby coffee shop to write and finish homework. While in the coffee shop my anxious state did not improve.

So, to make things even more challenging I told myself I would go to an AA meeting at 5 pm. I drove to the other side of town for this meeting. But again I got freaky the closer I got to the meeting, so I quickly turned into the Barnes and Noble parking lot, and went in there instead.

Finally, the serenity of the bookstore started to calm me down, and I decided to stay there, and skip the meeting. Then it came to me, I would go home and make Irish meat pies. I went to Ireland in April, and I felt very peaceful there. I thought meat pies would bring back that feeling of serenity.

So I made meat pies, as you can see. They turned out okay, could be tastier. But, the cooking smells and the activity got me out of my head, and I started feeling better. Yay!

Today I kept up the activity in the kitchen, and I made watermelon aguas frescas, which is basically watermelon, ice, lime, and sugar blended together. It’s a favorite drink from a childhood near the Mexican border.

I know this post may make no sense … PTSD and food? But, I’ve learned that, if I am able, sometimes I just have to keep trying different things until I feel better. There are times when I am so triggered that doing anything in the kitchen is out of the question. I can’t tell you how many cartons of buttermilk I’ve thrown out with the intentions of making muffins, but then getting so triggered I never got to making them, and then the buttermilk went bad.

Yesterday turned around, and today was not bad. Sometimes trying enough things until something works will change things for the better. It’s not a guarantee, but I’ve never felt worse by trying different things.