Funny thing about PTSD. It tends to make everything else in my life seem unimportant. That's a good thing when the problems I was having with my therapist no longer matter and I'm ready to get back to work. It's not such a good thing when I forget about the house payment.
The PTSD is not quite as bad. I am still cramping a lot. I am still touch-averse. The nerves in my system are still on hyper-alert. But I am able to think a little more clearly. And, as of now, it doesn't look like he will become a bigger part of my life after all. There is less fear.
But when the PTSD lets up, all those other things start to be problems again.
The depression is still in full force. I'm having to force myself to eat and sleep. It takes a monumental effort to leave the house. But I was able to perform a couple acts of service this last week. I've been able to play my flute a bit. And I even went to book club. Small victories.
My body seems to be in rebellion as well. Whatever virus it is that causes my fatigue has flared. I could easily sleep twenty hours a day (it's a different tired than the depression tired). Accomplishing any one thing, even just writing a blog post, saps me of all energy and sends me back to bed. I do a load of dishes; I have to lie down. I straighten the living room; I have to lie down. I practice my flute; I have to lie down. Not being able to do anything doesn't particularly help with the depression.
My headache has been awful, too. Severe pain. Blurry vision. Dizziness. Nausea. And an inability to process thoughts or find the words (simple words) to communicate.
I haven't gone back to therapy yet. I'm still figuring out our insurance options. But I will soon.
I'm worried about everything: money, each individual aspect of each of my children's futures, all the ways I've failed to prepare them, everything that needs to be done today, everything that needs to be done tomorrow, everything that should have been done yesterday, everything that should have been done last week, everything that should have been done years ago, my daughter's health, my husband's health, my health, the safety of each family member every second that they aren't with me, my friends' difficulties, my parents' difficulties, all the ways I'm failing my parents, all the ways I'm failing my friends, what I should be doing right now, how much to stay on top of my kids' school work and how much to let life teach them, and any other little thing that crosses my path.
I'm still avoiding people. I don't want to do anything. It's even tough for me to make myself go to my son's football games (which are my favorite things in the whole world). Octoboween doesn't even have the same appeal as usual.
I'm trying to do things anyway. I do enjoy the football games once I get there. I am doing an Octoboween count down on facebook to try to psych myself up for it because I believe it can bring me joy -- eventually. I'm trying to fake it 'til I make it. I'm trying to convince my body and mind to get back to work.
But I just want to crawl into bed and cry and let the world go on without me. Is that really too much to ask?