CPTSD…You can check out, but you can never leave….
Wow, that was really weird. Met a new GF today at my house and it felt like Old Me interacting with a new friend. Bleh! So awkward! The only thing that made it tolerable for me was that an “old” GF who knows my history, “gets me,” was there too and I knew it was CPTSD causing my mild dissociation and word vomit.
Nevertheless, a lovely afternoon with two women worthy of the title Supportive BadAss GirlFriend…. and now Miss BadAss has washed the dishes and wiped down the counters and still can’t get it together to call the ACLU and get the ball rolling on a slam dunk harassment case that could open doors to promoting public awareness of CPTSD and stop this nonsense of “Emotional Support Dogs” (aka “My dog pees on the rug if I leave it home alone”) that chronically calls into question my REAL need for Ginger’s constant companionship as my CPTSD Service Dog.
All I want to do is sit on the couch watching TV and smoking…I thought this person was behind me…so it’s true, you never fully recover. The best one can hope for is long term remission punctuated by periodic immersion into The Abyss.
In spite of the fact that I know cognitively this will pass, I am filled with an overwhelming sense of nothing mattering, seeing no point in continuing to fight it out….It is all too exhausting…Entirely too pointless…Overwhelming even to contemplate…Impossible to execute.
The fact that I am surrounded by beautiful and comforting things and friends does help, it’s true. But only because I’ve been through this enough times to understand that I will once again look upon my surroundings with joy and a sense of well being, accomplishment, peace and belonging. It took a million rounds with the Big D and judicious therapeutic dosing of Cannabis to attain some degree of confidence that this time won’t be “The One,” the Dark Hole to finish me off once and for all, to finally relieve this planet of the burden that is ME.
I have a loving, committed, compassionate boyfriend, a dedicated, loving, adorable service dog who looks and acts like a wind up toy (literally the dog of every little girl’s dreams including mine), girlfriends willing to drive 40+ minutes each way to spend time with me, a picture perfect home that is all mine, the body of my dreams (thanks Pure Barre), freshly colored bad ass hair, and fewer wrinkles than I did before discovering Derma-Nu…but I’m still in a hole of depression from which none of that has the power to lift me. It is quite literally irrelevant to this fire that is raging in my brain as a result of a bizarre trigger that ought to have been nothing more than a humorously appalling anecdote to share at Girls Night and has instead set off a chain reaction in my brain, infecting my ability to function and poisoning my relationship with my boyfriend. This is the reality of CPTSD. This is my world. Welcome to my Fun House.
*Please don’t tell me to take a deep breath. Any more of those and I’ll die of oxygen poisoning. For Real. The fact that I am ALIVE is proof I’ve got this shit covered.
Don’t know about Complex PTSD? To start learning click here.