I drift through the days, counting. I count the hours until the next meal, class or nap. I count the days until the next trip to town, the weeks until I am home, the months until I turn twenty-one, the money in my wallet, the crackers left in my room. How much longer until something else happens?
In Argentina, and I’m sure many other places, Christmas festivities are in full swing on Christmas Eve. A moment of Christmas traditions.
The sun soaks through the curtains, slowly flooding the room with soft morning light. You are gently roused from a truly restful sleep that was uninterrupted by the sounds of impatient traffic or insomniac neighbors. Opening your eyes, you look up at the natural wooden beams and whitewashed ceiling. You slip out of bed and…
Sometimes one thing that frequently makes me happy will be completely joyless and painfully uninteresting on another day. Which is a hindrance for trying to create a life that allows me to follow my bliss in my work.
These thoughts are dark. The shame is so big that it tries to stop me from talking about the thoughts, which prevents me from processing the pain.
My motivation ebbs and flows. Real dedication to work towards contentment and health comes through on an unpredictable stream. It’s rarely strong and often is barely a trickle, but it is just enough to keep me going.
“Are you drinking again?” I said it. It was out. The question was with me only as long as I said it. I was trying to be casually supportive.
One thing about trauma in PTSD is that it starts to show itself when you’re safe(r) than before. Our brains are working on overdrive trying to protect us and to handle all the threats and to keep us alive after the earth shattering trauma(s) we lived through. We feel scared because we know how bad…
I’m in Cozumel. It’s my first time here. I’m lying on a towel in my black and white retro high waisted bikini–lathered in sunscreen, of course–already dry from a long swim in the ocean.
Now that I’m here, I really want a drink, but Alejandro won’t let me. I’m so nervous and anxious. Lost. My thoughts are circling, and I can’t stop the spiraling repetitiveness of my obsessions. I’m afraid.
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