My nerves are shot. John was here yesterday and I guess he has no computer skills at all, including how to shut down a computer. I felt like I was talking to a 4 year old hyped up on sugar. About 30 min in I was frustrated and annoyed to the point of asking myself: Where can I hide his body?
Archive for the 'PTSD' Category
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…. and moody…. and evil !!!
For the last hour I’ve been hearing something I couldn’t identify. I wanted to scream, “Stop it! Just stop it!” It’s not even that loud its just that I didn’t know what it was and it was interrupting my idea of safety and security. My head started playing tricks on me. Am I really hearing this, is someone screwing around with me? It took awhile before I realized the sound was coming from downstairs. The guy downstairs keeps his heat set to Armageddon which in a way is good but in another it drives me batty because sometimes his heating system starts to thump. I suppose you can’t keep it that high all the time without some maintenance issues. His excess heat keeps my bill about $20 cheaper than many in my building. Thanks excessive heat guy.
There are a few major things that came up when I started asking questions about possible stressors that could have added to the intensity of this flare up.
The first thing I thought about was anxiety and depression as part of the emotional process of moving.
On Friday I went to an art opening with a friend and it was fantastic. I didn’t want to go at all and started to cancel because my pain level was at a 9 and rising. Despite that I went and I’m happy I did. What happened later was that I ended up in the ER because the pain level hit a 10 and I simply could not take it. I said weeks ago that I’d considered going to the ER but didn’t, this time I did. When I got there they looked at my records and asked a few simple questions. They asked how I usually manged my pain. I answered honestly then told them that my usual method wasn’t managing this flare up. He asked when the last time it was I came in for a “cocktail” and I told him it had been awhile. According to my records it was 2 years ago.
No social workers showed up and no questions about my mental health were posed. They asked one major question: What can we do to help you? I asked for a one time cocktail that would relieve the pain enough that I could manage it again. With that I was given a shot of Morphine, Demerol an injection of Prednisone. They then had me swallow two pills for nausea and gave me two percocets. This cocktail could knock out a horse but I was wide awake the whole time.
I ran into a journal entry called Love List on the blog MotherLovely. For those of us with serious mother issues read the title again. It does NOT say motherly love, it says mother lovely. Anywhooo, the entry talks about looking around your house and noting things you love about your home. I like her idea for a number of reasons but for my purposes I’d like to change the angle a little bit and direct it to PTSD. She listed things in her home that she loves but I’d like to list things in my home that make me feel safe, secure, comforted and grounded.
After writing my last entry and quoting my mother as saying, “Would Mommy approve?” I got a bit irritated (?) so I ended up working off that emotion by writing.
My mother refused to allow us to call her anything but mommy or by her nickname given to her by my father. As an older teen I hated calling her mommy. As I type the word my nose is turned up like it’s the most disgusting word in the world. It feels as if she kept me “little” by using that word. Oh man I can’t explain how disgusted I am by that word. It’s just that she forced it. We had to call her that and she would tell people we called her that. My girls are such and such of age and still call me mommy. Of course we did, it was a requirement. It was a requirement the same as saying Yes Ma’am and No Ma’am. I have no objection to using those terms of respect. As a matter of fact I still say them, it’s just that hearing myself say it to her makes me sick.
Dr. D: When you get into situations like that ask yourself, “What would Joan do?”
Me: Maybe I should get a WWJD bracelet.
When he suggested I ask what Joan would do he couldn’t see the …contempt …the utter disgust on my face at the thought of it. OF COURSE a mother issue is involved because the woman actually said to me, “See me in your head and ask yourself, “Would mommy approve?” I will no longer gauge my behavior based on some human figure lurking behind me, over me, scrutinizing my every move.
When I was a child and even now I can picture my mother’s face right over my shoulder. She’s deadpan, as usual so I can’t tell if she approves or disapproves. It was a guessing game to figure out what was acceptable to her.
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