Last week was rough.  I realize my dreaded sub-conscious was hard at work while my conscious just wanted to be normal. But alas, I am not.

I have been doing everything but writing today. I am in a “I don’t wanna” mode with sharing my thoughts. I even started going through old paper work and recycling in avoidance. My week of sadness with Bells continued with one of the worst nightmares I have had to date.  This was my Facebook post from Thursday:  “I rarely have full on nightmares. Apparently it is a lot more common when exposed to trauma. Last night I did. I almost woke up screaming. I woke up with a start and kept the screaming inside. The dream started meh, with Bella. She was four-ish, same as I remember. We were walking down a path and talking, I asked is it good to be back, and other questions. From what I gathered, she was gone for a while, I think kidnapped? That was my conscious analysis when I woke up. Anyhoo, I told her I would take her shopping for new clothes, and we’d go to the park. The dream was long, and as disturbed as I was in it, I cherished being with her, touching her, holding her. Until the point where she was turned and turned back to me and was like what I found her the night she died. Yet, she wasn’t dead, she was talking. That’s when I woke, it was 320am. I worked on calming myself so not to wake up the house, but every time I even dozed, I would go right back in it. And no matter what I did to get it out of my head, I couldn’t. So, I made Fis lunch at 545, wrote her a note saying I didn’t sleep well, found the medicine I never take to make me just check out and took it and thank god it worked. Ptsd sucks.”

It was one of those dreams that just stays with you.  I was grateful not to have had patients that day as I was wrecked. I don’t take that medicine often because it makes me quite worthless.

I have my suspicions on the causes.  Last week, four years ago, I had picked Jesse up from the psych ward that he had been in for almost two weeks.  I won’t even go into what a stressful and scary time that was for him, me, and our family. In my mind, being in that hospital, was one of the final nails in the coffin as they say. Having a psychotic break from coming off the pain medicine that he did not even want to be on, but had to, because of the awful accident he and Bella were in. It was as if his body betrayed him. Having seen him fully manic, I have no desire to see it again, in anyone. So, there was that roiling in my mind.  It is a time where it comes to the forefront, where the memories filter in, whether I want them to or not.

Then, this past Sunday was his birthday.  He would have been 38. Ahead, I shared that I wanted to try something different this year. The first year, I went away and was silent at the beach for two days. The second, I went away for a night and drank it away. Last year, I went for a vigorous hike in nature, again, alone for most of it. This year, I tried (and succeeded) to be apart of society, and reflect in my mind.

I let Raffi have a sleepover Saturday night, and awoke to cook for them. Because it was a dry and warm day (rare this time of year), I looked up a hike and the three of us went. It was not a taxing hike, but being by a rushing river for most of it, cleansed a lot of roughness out of me.  That evening was spent having dinner with friends. I was ok.  A little impatient, a little sensitive, but ok.

Progress?  Hmm. I guess? I don’t know. I feel like partly yes. I have an amazing husband, who I can share how I am, what is up, how I am attempting to deal, I don’t hide any of it from him. He listens openly and hugs me, which is the support I need. He can’t fix it or take it away. He does not say, it will get better. He is pretty dope.  Yeah, needed to throw some humor in there. That is what Raffi says about him, which is I think one of the highest compliments out there. Anyways. I think, having that someone really helps. Having had time to figure out how to “be” with all of this crap within my body and mind, and not completely fall apart every single time, helps. That is the key with PTSD and people who have been through trauma. It does not go away. And, the world keeps moving along, and if you want to be apart of it, you need to figure out how to be in it, and still have all the crap you carry. You have to work so so hard on working with your body and mind to calm it down from all the triggers that arise. And I have, mostly.

I am grateful. I am eternally grateful for the friends and family that support me as I try to figure this out. I know it is so hard.

From our hike Sunday