Suicide Awareness

Bars full of drunk people pretending to be Irish by wearing green shirts and drinking far too much cheap green beer, and yelling way too loud. Nah, thanks. I drank my pint last night, in a quiet neighborhood pizza place.

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The other story (from last night) was that the student veterans group here received a request from the newly formed campus suicide awareness group, for someone to speak at an awareness forum. I volunteered. It was a chance to talk about myself, and my life, and how PTSD affects me as a student. It was a chance to hear other people that have thought about, and even attempted suicide.

It was a way to communicate with other people about what goes on inside my head. PTSD (at least for me) can be very isolating. The flashbacks and nightmares and anxiety and everything else is really hard to deal with, and it can be hard to find people who really can understand. Writing helps a great deal. Therapy helps a great deal. Meds help, once you figure out what works. Standing face to face with someone who actually attempted to commit suicide and is now on the Dean's List is powerful stuff. There are students who are not veterans that do understand what we're dealing with-- they've stared down their own death, and so have we.

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We need to look out for one another. We're losing too many comrades and classmates.

Getting past the door (you know, *outside*)

Today started with me waking up and wondering why I was dreaming that the new classic pickup truck I'd just bought from that one shop on that one road that (I think) I used to live near (deep breath) had an inch deep fill of gasoline in the bed and had just caught fire, and was burning. This, before coffee. Not a sign that the day is going to go well. I played around with the screensaver on my computer for most of the day, lots of shiny things to play with.

In therapy this week, C (my social worker/therapist at the VA hospital) and I talked about my problems with getting out of the house; that really has to come first. The goal is getting me back to a somewhat normal life as a student. If I don't go to class because I can't leave, then the rest doesn't matter. He gave me homework that I recognized from the social anxiety group I was in several years ago-- find three scheduled things to do this week that involve other people, outside of your apartment. My three things this week are:

* Volunteer work at dryhootch.org two days this week. I worked the first day, then was up until 0500ish the next morning, then slept for twelve hours and missed the second day.

* Attend a speaker's presentation on campus, sponsored by the campus veterans organization. I got confused on which building it was in. Where I was, the numbering system didn't match up. It's *really* a short trip to go from calm to panic when I realize I'm in the wrong place and I don't know where to go next. Sweating, heart pounding, senses on overdrive-- yeah, that. I tried reaching the organizers, who probably had their phones either off or quiet because they were listening to the speaker (so not their fault for not answering). It was getting to be twenty minutes or so into the presentation when I decided I needed to just bail. I stopped for food, then headed home.

In the period between me getting home and going to work, I managed to lose my phone in my apartment. I'd been playing Scrabble on my phone earlier. I also remembered hearing my phone bouncing of the metal frame of the futon I was sitting on, so I figured it was underneath. It took me a half hour to find out that it had not fallen through after all-- it had caught on the end of the frame, under the armrest. 


This was a real half hour of PTSD-- muscles so tense they hurt, me pounding my fist on my desk (once, and where it wouldn't hurt anything), and me uttering something that probably sounded like "gaaaaaaak!!!" in between"where the fuck is it? this apartment isn't that big, it couldn't have gone that damn far!" It meant I was half an hour late for work, and I couldn't call to say I was running late! They were understanding though... so once I got to work I settled down a little.


* Saturday, I'm going to spend a couple of hours studying in the library closest to my apartment. It really doesn't matter what I study, but I'm going to go over my notes from one of my most recent classes. The past two semesters, I was never in any of the libraries; I was frightened and anxious of I don't know what. In the past, I've always had trouble studying at home. This makes being able to study in a library full of people an absolute necessity, and I'm going to slowly work my way into feeling comfortable there again.

Managing and Finding Answers

Ok, I’ll admit it, I’m a mess. I have a ton of laundry to do, still have stuff in my car that needs to be brought upstairs to my apartment, and I have no money until payday. I’ve actually been getting tired after getting home from work though, so I’m getting to sleep some nights instead of being up until 0500 or so. Small progress, I suppose. Of course, I’ve also been sleeping 10 hours or so at a time, which has me a little concerned-- not so much that I’m sleeping that long, but that I feel like a truck ran over with every axle when I wake up. (And I’m groggy when I wake up anyway.) Although true, that’s not what this post is about.

Fall 2012. That’s what this post is about. That, and what happens between now and then. Assuming all goes well, I’ll have a normal schedule of comp sci and math classes, a crapton of reading and homework and studying to do, and I’ll be drinking coffee to make it all happen. If the road starts here, then it starts here. One step outside my apartment. Where I haven’t been lately, except to go to work and McDonalds.

Tonight, I went to the coffeehouse where I spent several hours a day when I was attending community college. It’s across the street and hang a left from the downtown campus, which also puts it within walking range of the university (and my apartment).  They have really good coffee (as you’d expect), and really good sammiches, and music appropriate for doing things like learning and practicing how cryptography worked in WWII. It’s a good place, and I remembered feeling safe there.

And I’m broke, but I have gift certificates from there, so it was a good choice for supper. Certs = Nomz.

It was pretty quiet. A few people working in the main room at various tables, and only two in the back room. Some anxiety from me, until I realized that I was being quiet and no one even looked up when I sat down. I really don’t remember the last time I’d sat in that back room. It’s been a long while, a year maybe? Perhaps not that long. Anyway, once I got settled a bit I got out the binder I’d started when I was first beginning cognitive based therapy. (I wrote about this particular binder in 2009; that post is the most read of any of my posts.) Since i started adding stuff the first week of CBT, it’s had coffee spilled on it, it’s gotten wet, it’s outgrown a couple of different binders.

I’ve also added notes (and notes to notes) as I’ve reviewed the worksheets, so I can look back and see where I was having difficulty before, and what I did about it. I can also see recurring patterns, and recurring stuck points. Looking through those worksheets, I noticed a common thread: I’m ashamed of the times I’ve failed (and of failure in general). I’m ashamed of what happened to me as a kid. And, sometimes, I feel ashamed that I didn’t do more during my time in the Desert.

Most of all, I’m ashamed of myself. How could I let myself get into a situation where money is so tight, academics are hosed, and I can’t leave my apartment except for McDoubles and Shamrock Shakes, and going to work? WTF, over?

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I was at the coffeehouse for about two hours, leafing through my notes, adding new annotations.I don’t know where those two hours went, but between reviewing my notes, sipping coffee, and eating my sandwich, I lost track of them. I was-- get this-- concentrating on what I was doing. Hell, I’m concentrating on what I’m doing now, too.

So this, then, is the start. I’d been wondering where it was. Turns out it wasn’t in my apartment after all.

p.s.: I still have the pile of laundry and the carload of stuff to sort out. Two hours of concentration on one thing is better than I did in most on 2011, so I'm ignoring those things for now. :D

Too much sleep, not enough coffee or tunes

Yesterday: snow. Last night: snow blowers, shovels, parking lot plows, city plows. All night. I'd slept most of the day, but managed to get out to get McDonalds at around 2315 or so. Mickey D's was busy, as students stopped by for food either before or between parties. I sat in my usual corner booth, and felt trapped for a bit when a group of ten people or so sat in the booth next to mine. I was blocked in, so I sat and ate my cheeseburgers and basically dealt with it (and played Scrabble on my phone) until they left. I left soon after, since closing time was midnight.

I finally got to sleep around 0500, when the plowing and scraping slowed down, then slept and dreamed for twelve hours. I woke up feeling sore and unbalanced. In the dreams, I was hurt or injured. I woke up feeling much the same. It's normal for me to need an hour or two before I'm feeling steady when I wake up from that much sleep. The soreness was new.

Anyone get the number of that truck that rolled over me while I was sleeping?

I'm exhausted, from sleeping. Caffeine and pizza are on the way. I'll take some aspirin for the soreness. I can feel the beginnings of a headache, which may be from a lack of caffeine today. If diet Dew and aspirin don't do the trick, I have a bottle of Excedrin handy. (Side note: the "migraine" version has exactly the same ingredients as the "extra strength" version, but costs more.)

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Listening to some classic rock while writing; Bob Seger, Eddie Money, Tom Petty, Eagles, Steve Miller. Seems to improve my mood lately.

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I have a lot in my life that's unfinished right now. There's still stuff in the car that needs to be unpacked, and I need to look at what I have and decide what makes sense to keep and what makes sense to be packed back up and donated. Some things I'm just throwing out even if it's not the best of ideas to do so, just because it's the only way I will ever get rid of them. I have two suitcases, and I'd like to get my collection of clothes down to the point where everything fits exactly in both. I'm not always managing life well, so I'm trying to make the problems smaller as well as getting better at life.

Speaking of which, I have a therapy appointment at the VA this week. I'm looking forward to being back in regularly scheduled therapy, which I'm considering a positive indication. I like going to the VA hospital here, in a strange way. I almost always stop at the canteen (gift shop) for a Kit Kat and a diet Dew. I figure if I'm going to the hospital, I'm sick and therefore I deserve a treat. They usually have cool coffee mugs and hats and such, so I always look at those. Desert Storm stuff is hard to find sometimes, but they make an effort to stock what they can order.

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I was thinking I'd have some sort of finishing point for this post, but one isn't presenting itself.
J. Geils Band, take us out....

Everyday situations

I have observed that in a room with a group of people, the amount of noise from people talking rises. At first it's just a little bit, and then people start talking louder to overcome the increase. Soon, it's like being in a laundromat size dryer with a handful of ball bearings. The noise gets to be too much.

Some people are just naturally loud, never having learned the term "inside voice". These are the people who shout across a table all of the time. I know some people don't hear well, so you have to speak up for them. That's ok. I'm talking about the type A people that have to be first in the loudness category- turn it down, hey.

Right now, where I'm sitting (in a corner with no windows, facing a door), I can hear five or six conversations at once. There are also occasional noises from the kitchen, fries that are ready and the drive thru window demanding attention. From the ceiling comes dance music that's not loud enough to overcome the conversations, but loud enough to make the noise level higher.

Sometimes, the TV's add CNN's narrative to the sound level. Tonight they're silent, thank goodness.

The sudden, unexpected sound of metal chairs being dragged across the stone tile floor in any other environment would be reason to worry. I try to settle for just annoying, but I still jump. It takes a few minutes to convince myself that it's not the sound of bad things.

Kids screaming I can't handle. People ask me why I am so against ever having kids-- that's why.

I can usually only stand being here for a little while before getting anxious. I'm trying to tolerate it; exposure therapy, perhaps. I'd like to think I'm getting better at it, as I'm able to concentrate well enough to write this. I take progress where I can get it.

I'm still fidgety though. My heart is beating faster than normal, and my muscles hurt because I'm holding them tight. I really want to get the hell out of here, like now.

Which is exactly what I'm going to do.

To everyone else, it's just McDonalds. Not to me.