In October I made a plan for therapy. I was going to meet with Therapist in October, November, and December. In those meetings we were going to track my amazing progress as I learned to manage every symptom of PTSD--the end result being that by January my symptoms would be negligible and I would be on the road to having a real life again.
In October, Darrin threw a wrench into my plan--wretched man! He informed me that his training for the next six months would all be done at once, meaning he would be gone for an entire month, and this would happen in February.
I am not an unreasonable person. Those who work with me would call me patient and tenacious to the point of aggravation. I'm logical in most every part of my life. However, when Darrin dropped his bombshell, I lost all those lovely qualities and regressed chronologically to the ripe old age of thirteen.
me: You're not going in February.
Darrin: I don't really have a choice. I have to go when I'm scheduled.
me: No. Not February. That's our anniversary. You can't be gone then.
Now, while Darrin and I definitely celebrate the day we were married, it's not a huge celebration. We go out together, occasionally exchange small gifts (usually some sort of really wonderful chocolate), sometimes we see a movie. Once or twice we've gone away for the night which has been my favorite celebration because I get Darrin all to myself for more than just a few hours. The reality, though, is that we rarely celebrate on the exact day unless it falls on a weekend. We schedule our time together on the Friday or Saturday nearest the anniversary date. So... we very easily could have spent time together in honor of our anniversary before Darrin left or after he returned. I was simply being obstinate. And I continued to be so.
me: I'm serious. Not February. Either you call your boss and talk to her about changing the month, or I will.
Darrin said nothing. He looked at me very carefully and left the kitchen. I finished making dinner, feeling alternately angry and foolish. Then next day Darrin let me know he had been reassigned to leave in January. That's next month. I thanked him. Then the panic set in.
My plans for becoming a PTSD supermanager did not come to fruition. My November therapy visit dealt with the new issue of me becoming an utter idiot in nearly every aspect of my life because of obvious control issues. My feelings were uncomfortable and overwhelming. And I hated pretty much every person alive.
Therapist had several theories as to why my life was falling apart. I'm sure he was probably correct, but I was in no mood to look at any of them. I was seeing a side of myself I despise, and it was manifesting itself more and more often.
In the meantime, my ability to express what is happening inside of me has taken a prolonged vacation. I've tried to tell Darrin with dismal success. I tried to talk about it with Jason--failure again, but I have to say, I'm not the most expressive between midnight and one in the morning, and I have a feeling that Jason's cognition went to bed at 10:30 that night, so probably all he heard from me was gibberish. I tried to tell Sully and AtP. Their concern for me has increased exponentially since that day--not because of what I expressed, but because they're both certain I've lost my mind. I tried to tell Tolkien Boy last night. I realized that nothing I was saying was exactly what I meant and every word I said made me feel more like a freak. I'm beginning to understand on a very personal level why silence is golden.
And my beautiful schedule is gone, gone, gone. My plan was to see Therapist this month, then spend the next three months working on all the delightful assignments we concocted together in order to become the best PTSD micromanager EVER!!! I'm just praying I can talk during my next session, that Therapist will work some magic to help me pull myself together, and that I actually can float through the next three months without becoming bald from the stress. And it would be really nice to be able to talk about the mess inside me someday.
When my kids were toddlers and preschoolers, we had a chart on our fridge. It had small pictures of faces expressing different emotions. I think there were fifteen different faces. When they couldn't find the words to say how they felt, my kids would go to the fridge, find the face that looked the closest to how they felt, and point it out to me. Naturally, I had all the faces labeled with the corresponding emotion so I could look at the picture and understand what was going on inside their little bodies. I think I need one of those charts for me. I'll carry it in my pocket and when someone asks me why I can't talk, I'll just pull it out and point. And they'll say, "Ah, I see, you feel sad today. Would you like a hug?"
I know. Probably this is not as enormous as it feels...as I'm making it. Blowing things out of proportion isn't really my style, but I seem to be doing many things that are out of character lately.
I need to go run. Speaking of running and superheroes (which I wasn't, but I am now), have you ever noticed that no one really knows what Batman wears on his feet? He just has amorphous black somethings there. But Wonder Woman has to run in those ridiculous high heeled boots. I've been known to run in high heels when I have to, but I much prefer the proper athletic shoes. So Mr. Fob (just in case you stop by), if I ever do fit into my superhero bustier, I'll probably not wear the boots. But I'll put red, white, and blue glitter on my running shoes. I'm sure you'll still recognize me.