I've been thinking a lot (which is too much) about this PTSD stuff in terms of an idea from Transitions Clinic and WRAP-- what do things look like when they're going well? I don't have an answer. There are many times in my life when things seemed all right. Some of those times I know I had to adjust my definition of what "all right" meant. Some of those times I was drinking quite a bit, quite regularly. For a long time I just avoided everything, using whatever method seemed like a good idea at the time.
Bits and pieces at a time, I've had parts of what most people would call doing all right. Those bits and pieces consistently ended in me not doing all right, and having to recover and reinvent and rebuild.
So it's hard for me to imagine a future time when everything is just fine. I've never seen that movie.
The words "PTSD with s. cognitive impairment" are still bouncing around in my head. That's what's written on my emergency medical information sheet, taped to the inside of my door.
If I told you that on a first date, would you decide to try to get to know me anyway? Or would you make it a point to delete my number from your phone at the next opportunity?
So yeah, my social life is pretty desolate lately.
I missed my Transitions Clinic group today.
Last night I went to bed right after supper and slept until about 0300. I think I fell back asleep for a while, but I made it downstairs for breakfast at 0600. I don't remember the time between 0600 and about 1100, when I started getting ready. I did get showered and dressed, and then watched time go by until it was too late to even bother trying to get there.
Someone from the VA called later in the afternoon to check on me since I wasn't there. I sense that the people trying to help me are getting worried about me.
I worry about me, too.
Since I moved into Transitional Housing, my PTSD symptoms have been steadily getting worse.
Mealtimes are especially bad. The TV is on too loud, so people have to talk louder to hear each other. The kitchen staff sound like they're trying to make as much noise as possible. I barely eat the last bite of food on my plate before the dishwasher is standing behind me, wanting to grab my plate and get it washed so they can finish up and leave.
Some veterans here are using religion to help straighten up. That's fine, but I don't want to hear about it. I don't announce when I'm going somewhere, and they don't need to announce that they're going to church several times before leaving.
There's always the fear that I'll get kicked out for some reason and end up back on the street.
Some days that doesn't sound so bad.