"How are you today?" "I'm well, thank you."

Warning: As usual, I'll be talking about whatever is on my mind. It could be graphic, or it might not be. I haven't decided yet.

Today I went to the dentist. Normally this involves flashbacks before, during, and after the experience. Years ago, I didn't know what they were nor why they came and I understand little of what I experienced in the flashbacks, I only knew I was terrified of the dentist. When I was finally able to figure out what was happening, I stopped going to the dentist. It seemed the best solution. For years I didn't go.

This is partly due to a well-meaning but rather stupid dentist who was determined to cure me of my phobia. His method of choice was to give me a hand mirror and force me to watch the procedure. Naturally, my brain interpreted his insistence in making me see what he was doing to me as another attack to be stored in my arsenal of flashback memories, albeit a benign one. I'd much rather watch blood spurting from my tooth when the drill gets too close to the pulp, than experience childhood rape in that same orifice which involves incredible pain (my mouth has never been physically large--in fact my children's mouths were larger than mine by the time they were seven or eight years old), remembered tastes and odors which leave me nauseated, sounds I never wish to hear again (which did not come from me), and gagging. Yes, the tooth drilling nonsense is definitely preferable.

Today I did not run my car through the garage door while experiencing a flashback as I tried to back out of my driveway, nor did I have to ask for a break while the dentist touched the skin inside my mouth (so I could vomit), nor did I cry all the way home and sit in my driveway for half an hour until I could be composed enough to walk to my front door. I had no flashbacks today.

This should be a victory, and probably it is. Still, I feel miserable. No flashbacks, but rather unmanageable other PTSD symptoms which left me exhausted and very sad. It's difficult to combat the certainty that I am invisible and worthless, and if I could be seen, which I can't, everyone would notice I am filthy and wish they had not taken time to notice me as they rushed away to wash themselves of whatever contaminant I had spread to them. This is not a literal interpretation of what I feel or experience, but it is the best way I can explain what happens to me inside--this is what I feel about myself, about my interaction with others, in those moments.

Lately I've been very good about contacting someone when I notice the cycle happening. Sometimes I'll just chat with them, but if the symptoms aren't subsiding I might ask whomever I'm with to help me negate them. I might ask them to remind me I'm loved and I'm okay. I can't express how difficult it is for me to ask during those moments. It feels wrong of me, I feel I'm using the person I'm with--abusing them--in the same way I was abused. But Therapist said I need to do it anyway and assured me I'm not asking for a great deal. It still feels unacceptable to me.

Today Darrin was unavailable. There were people online I could talk with, but it was too difficult. I didn't know what to say. A couple of them caught me and asked the traditional "How are you?" and I replied with the universally bland, "I'm well, thank you." I wasn't well--but I wasn't able to say, "I feel awful right now. I don't believe it's right for me to talk with you. I'm afraid of you and everyone in the world. I think I might throw up...but on the bright side--I've had no flashbacks today."

What I found out today is that flashbacks are horrible, but they seem to gather all the feelings together into one burst of nastiness, and then there is relief and catharsis as I work through the aftermath. I hate it--but I also craved it today. Probably this makes me seem a bit monstrous--I'm craving the reliving of a rape experience which my body feels in every way, which breaks my heart and leaves me helpless, which I hate and fear. I can't explain it, really. Somehow, just having the flashback and getting over it seemed preferable to the PTSD symptoms which were dragging me into despair.

Part of all this is that I've only had a couple of days in the last three weeks when PTSD symptoms were strongly felt, and those were unwelcome and nasty, but manageable. When one has had that kind of relief for such a duration, it almost seems more overwhelming when the symptoms return with a vengeance. I wasn't prepared to deal with them. However, I finally did. There was nothing heroic or formulaic in my method. I simply waited for them to subside, which happened about 15 minutes ago.

So--I made it through by myself. Therapist would be disappointed in me, but I'm not. There will be times, many times, when I will be the only one available to help me through difficulties in the future. Part of me is glad to know I can do it on my own--part of me is wondering why I would ever wish to--part of me is mad at Therapist for being so insistent that I stop relying completely on myself in these times, although I understand why he's made a point of telling me I need to talk to another person when I'm experiencing this. I have PTSD, and even though I'm getting stronger and feeling better, it's still a disorder which can leave me feeling deeply sad (as it did today) or even suicidal. It works on my judgment, self-respect and self-worth, and skews my reality. Therapist's advice is a precaution to keep me safe when I'm vulnerable.

Except, I'm okay.

I'm still sad, and I'm still sorting out the lies from the truth. It could take a few days--this was an intensely overwhelming episode. But I've been sad before. And I've had to confront destructive thoughts and behaviors. This is nothing new.

I think I'll go to bed. I'm very tired.