I'm cutting back on PTSD therapy at the VA Hospital a little, to focus on the readjustment and stabilize-my-life work I've been doing at the Vet Center. I have some work to do on keeping my stress/trigger level below the level where PTSD just completely shuts me down. The problem is that I've been through almost all of the available therapy options at the mental health clinic. It doesn't make sense to do the same thing at both the mental health clinic and the Vet Center, or to rehash the things I've already done.
I need to practice the mindfulness and positive thinking and everything I've learned about as part of my life, all the time, every day. Easy. Sure. Trying.
I've almost convinced my brain not to worry too much about the fact that I have to move out of the apartment bedroom I'm subletting in two weeks. My body knows full well what will happen if I don't have a new place by then, and it's pissed off. I've been fighting to not get sick for a while now. I'm not sleeping right. The more I don't sleep right the more likely it is that I'll skip a time taking my medication. On and on the wheel keeps turning.
In two weeks I'll have been technically homeless for two full years. For the three or months before that, my living situation wasn't all that stable. It's been a long time since I didn't have to worry about finding a safe place to sleep or if/when I'd be evicted from somewhere.
I don't know what the effects of the past two years or so will be, later on. I see the world differently, now. I'm not sure exactly how. I just know it's a different view.
Intentionally, I don't have much to pack. As much as I've wanted some things that are in my rented storage locker, I've left them there. I want moving out from where I am now to be quick and painless, just grab a couple of bags and GTFO. I'll need to do some cleaning, vacuum the floor, scrub the walls in a couple of places. Normal stuff. I'm not getting a security deposit back, so I'm not worried about that, but the person I'm subletting from doesn't need to get stuck with a bill.
Still swapping paperwork with a potential new landlord. I'm cautiously optimistic.
I have a lot of things that have been in boxes, stacked in storage, for two years. Unpacking all of that in a new apartment will be nice because I'll have my stuff back. What I'm not looking forward to is that my stuff is a moment frozen in time from two years again when I packed it. This is the kind of stuff PTSD comes up with to knock me off track. That little voice, always explaining how dangerous a situation will be when I get there.
I slept for about 20 hours this past Saturday. Slept through work calling me wondering where I was. Slept through my alarms. Slept through nearly an entire day and night. Sometimes my body just says "enough" when my brain does roll call, and stuff shuts down.
I knew sleep would be jacked up this summer. It's actually pretty quiet in my apartment, and even during the day when my room mates are moving around I don't hear much noise. There's a water cooling tower next block over, so there's constant white noise from that.
Still, it's hard to feel really comfortable in my bedroom, or in my apartment in general. It's a place to crash, nothing more. I don't see my room mates much, and although we are all friendly and polite to each other when we do cross paths I still don't know their names. It's a temporary arrangement for some of them as well.
It's not really home, in any case. Home is an elusive thing lately.