The truth is: You can probably make me feel bad. You can probably succeed in making me cry or have an anxiety attack. I might be incapacitated by it. But I’ll pull through, I always do.
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?
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.
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.
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.
It was the longest period of time I have gone without a psychologist appointment since I first began treatment three and a half years ago. And I was getting weird, real weird.
I allowed a seed of anxiety to grow and take roots in other parts of my psyche. It is kind of like when a tree brings water up through its roots to nurture itself, only in a much more fucked up and non-poetic kind of way.
I still don’t like speaking of it, of this fear, I don’t want people to become intrusive about me. I don’t want the worry of people who don’t understand because they’ve never felt this way.
As they walked away the baby girl watched me and smiled and then started giggling with joy. As if our encounter had tickled her as much as it did me.
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112 & 999
112, 999, 110
112, 911, 999, 111, & 000
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