Friday, January 25, 2019

Interesting exchange on the FB page


Interesting exchange this morning... It all started with a comment on this meme:

Someone posted :

Shell shock. Quit making shit out to be so sugar coated. It's shell shock.

I'm glad they did... because I had to sit down and really pin down 'WHY' was I doing this... and why this way.

So, here was my answer :

I don't know if you'll read all this. So let me start with this. PTSD and CPTSD are both hell to live through caused by massive shit that happened. You're right.

You and I both know that. We live it day in, day out. [I made a big assumption here.]

I present things like this not really for you and me. We already know the truth. The ugly truth.

So why do I pretty things up?
(It is not to minimize things - oh Hellz no)
One - a lot of people don't 'get' it - and for them a picture of what is really going on inside our heads will freak them out massively.
Two - I'm trying to educate the people around us. Again - walking up to someone with a gaping wound is going to make most people faint or run. Putting a bandage on it - (sugar coating as you say) makes it easier to approach. To teach them, to get them interested and then to be of actual help.

PTSD (shell shock) is not the same as CPTSD. Both are trauma, yes. Both cause changes in the body and the brain.

But here's the difference.

Shell shock (PTSD) occurs in soldiers, adults. The brain is fully mature - and then boom - trauma. Massive shit happens. And the grown up brain just can't deal with all of it at once.

CPTSD Happens to kids, mostly. Their brain isn't mature. And because they can't reason - they can't say I'm being treated like garbage... They assume permanently (internalize) "I am garbage."

And it stays with you for a lifetime.

Hang in there.
I wish you well.

I don't know if it was the best answer. But it's the best answer I could come up with today. Even now I'm editing it in my head to 'be better' ... So maybe that's a post in the future.

Friday, January 18, 2019

A thread... about this mornings flashback. Joy. Not.

#CPTSD #mentalhealth #morning First off. I'm ok. I'm wired. I'm exhausted. I'm dropping things left and right. I'm moving too fast. But all that is manageable. I'm ok. I'm and hour and a half late starting my day. so #fml. But even that is manageable. Thread /1

This is the morning after a night of #flashback city. Fck. This is not a new thing for me. So at least - I know what it is. I know it will pass. I know I can outlast it. I know how to pull myself through it. So, it was a morning working a #countdown . /2

And the #anger is really close to the top today. Gotta #meditate after this if I can. A countdown: 5 things I can see. 4 things I can touch. 3 things I can hear. 2 things I can smell. ... and 1 thing I can taste, but that's hard to do when you are glued in your bed. /3 #stuck in your bed with #anxiety and the ? (I don't know that word for watching your brain do its insanity and carries you along for the ride.) #dissociation (maybe). Did I mention I'm #wired? Fck. /4 I'm glad the cat is in another room and that I'm typing. Otherwise I might just rub all the hair off the poor thing. (Just kidding, but you get the idea.) Ok. Calm it down. Try to find some center in all the meshegas. /5 "Hello Kitty!" (no, she's good. Curled up next to me. ) Did I mention I'm ok? Really. Methinks she doth protest too much. (B1) My mental chorus is being a bunch of bitches right now. Some of them are quite witty, the rest are just my mother's voice. Fck. /6 This is one of the things that happens in the wake of a #flashback. All the fragments come out and feel like they have to grab the mic. (OK. That sounds really crazy. But you get it, right? ) So, I spent most of last night somewhere between #nightmares and #flashbacks. /7 Thank God and the #mentalhealth profession that I now know what these are. Imagine doing this for 35 years and NOT knowing what it was. Fck. That was me. I'll have to #Write about that later. Not this morning. I had a point to all this... /8 Yes. My morning is a mess. I'm pretty much in the #hotmess category too at the moment. BUT, I know what it is. I have my tools to work my way through it. From here I go meditate and write... and I talk to my husband about <redacted>. /9 The main thing I am trying to say is Storms pass. There are tools to help you get through them. Learn them. Use them. After the storm is calm. (maybe a wicked #emotional #hangover ,those can be dealt with too.) Hang in there. It's what we do. #CPTSD #Survivor. /fin


Wednesday, January 9, 2019

Underground: Fiction Under 100 words

"One. Two. Three." I counted in the dark. People huddled in the crowded subway tunnel smelling of damp wool coats, black-market cigarettes, coal dust and fear. Momma held my hand squeezing it tight to calm us both. Papa was upside fighting the fires that followed the explosions of Hitler's rockets. People shifted uncomfortably on the floor as the shelter shook. Everyone counted the time between the engine's death and the detonation above. Momma picked me up holding me tight in her lap.
"Let's count together."
I nodded in the dark leaning on Momma's salty cheek. We waited together.
"One..."

Wednesday, January 2, 2019

That Mitt Romney Piece in Washington Post

I read it.
I had to.
Why? Because a friend of mine said after reading this that and I quote "Romney had a pair."

And I just have to say, "No. No he doesn't."

If Romney, or some other GOP members that pop to mind, did "have a pair" I don't think we would have Trump in the oval office. And as I read through this supposedly intense piece of political criticism it feels as if it has fallen short of the mark. It feels like a bit of performance art. As if it is designed to create the appearance of distancing Mr. Romney from the president. Instead much of it can be read with the tones of an apology.

Let's just take this apart piece by piece: