Today I begin the process of bottling up tinctures and oils used to help with Lupus and Chronic Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy. The tinctures help ease pain, decrease inflammation and strengthen my immune system.
Today I’ll press out the lavender infusion and bottling that before I start on tinctures. The last thing I want is to cross contaminate lavender infusion with turmeric tincture. It’s not a good mix. The Passion Flower tincture is the one that helps ease anxiety and aid in sleep.
The homeopathy care plan I have is a good one, but there are times when I don’t take it even though I should and I can. I’ve always done this. Even though I am fully med compliant I hardly ever take extra meds, even when they’re prescribed. I’ve been given a medication script to knock me out when my pain level reaches a nine. I’ve been told how to take this med but it’s hardly ever done. I’ve been given medication to assist with anxiety attacks and assist with sleep but it is hardly ever taken. Why? Why do I continue to deny myself comfort or an easier course?
I know I have a hard time letting go. I don’t really want to go to sleep. That’s the bottom line. Heck, my dreams are as bad as waking hours. I don’t really want to go to sleep but I know I have to. I buck. I do not want to go to sleep. When it comes to high pain levels, I absolutely want to escape, but I don’t do well with the idea of being all but unconscious. That medication knocks me out for a good long time which brings me back to being in bed in a vulnerable state.
Beds are always seen as negative things for me. I have to be certain to avoid colors that make me feel too young or colors that were on my mother’s mattress. My room has to look like an adult’s room. Other than living in my body, going to bed is the most frightening thing for me. I do not trust sleep and I hate restrooms.
I have several effective measures to ease insomnia, but they go undisturbed because I have not stayed on top of controlling some of my most disruptive PTSD symptoms. The way my bed looks has to change. I can’t have so much pink on it and I know it. I can’t have so many bears in sight. My bedroom must look like the bedroom of an adult woman so I can remain one as I attempt to sleep.
The dollhouse is in the living room. It doesn’t have a childish look to it at all. It’s a miniature home with clay dishes and a wonderful boho theme. It’s artsy but not a playhouse. There is no bedroom for me and no restroom. I can’t bring myself to do it. I made a little comforter and pillow shams but no bedroom and no restroom…. at this time.
I’m collecting original artwork for the dollhouse. I’m creating dried flower bouquets. The broom for the porch I handmade out of lavender stems. I’m still throwing around how I want to do the aquarium. All these ideas and designs are written in a little book. Dishes, linens, miniature books, original art, a miniature conch and the address stone have been stored in an old chocolate box. The project is in full swing and most certainly represents my current understanding of home life; however, that’s not the goal. The goal is to rebuild what was torn down by abuse.
I’ve allowed myself to leave out the bedroom and restroom with the hope that I will eventually feel safe enough to include them. Maybe later down the line I’ll redecorate but for now, I’ve got to manage my fear of the bedroom and restroom I have presently.
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