July is almost finished. I haven't written because I don't really know how to express what I've been feeling. Lots of things have happened. Lots of almost bad things, but they're tempered, so they're only sort of bad.

1. Adam found a flat tire when leaving for work. We changed it to the spare and found that the belt was coming through. It sliced up my hand nicely. We knew we needed to replace the tires on the car, but not how badly that needed to be done. This could have ended in a very bad car accident had the flat not happened. I'm grateful for Adam's safety. But it's still costly. Adam paid for half the bill since he uses the car the most. But it's my car, so I foot the rest of the bill.

2. We then drove the car to Laramie where it broke down in my parents' driveway. It refused to start. The battery was fine. There was no sputtering, just silence. We determined the problem to be a bad starter. Darrin and a friend replaced it. When they went to buy the new part, the owner recognized Darrin and reminded him that we'd purchased a new starter less than two years ago. So it was still under warranty. Result: free replacement part. I cannot complain about this. But I wish the breakdown had not happened.

3. My hospital bill in Laramie was denied by my insurance resulting in a $50,000+ bill. I was told my monthly payment would be about $4,000. That's not really in my budget. So I applied for financial assistance, hoping the monthly payment might be lowered to something more manageable. The hospital forgave half the debt and lowered my payment to $400 a month. I'm feeling very grateful for the forgiven debt, but stressed because $400 is still a hefty monthly payment.

4. Because of the above thing, I owe the surgeon in Laramie $15,000. They're not forgiving any of it but said as long as I pay monthly, I can determine how much that payment is. So I can pay as little as $50 and be fine. But $15,000 is a lot of money to owe.

5. I have a medical bill here in Utah for an ER visit. It's around $5,000. They would like me to pay $250 monthly. I applied for a lower payment but my request was denied. These monthly bills are rapidly becoming unmanageable.

6. I've interviewed for quite a few jobs. I'm still jobless. I'm pretty sure that's not because I'm unlikeable or unhireable, but it's difficult not to lean in that direction. Still, I'll keep applying.

7. I didn't pay the final bill on our apartment, partly because I forgot, and partly because I'm a little upset about the things they're charging for. But I also have zero stamina for contesting the charges. I already have to muster up the energy to contest the health insurance company's decision to deny my claim. Two contests are too many for me. So I need to pay $650 by July 31st. My brain just exploded.

I suppose I'm in the place now where I'm simply surviving. My brain cannot conceptualize a way for me to pay my bills, and I'm swiftly moving to the mental place where I will not and cannot ever be hired. Anywhere. Overwhelmed I am, I suppose.

I don't feel desperate, though. Or sad. Or depressed. I don't really feel anything. I can't. There's too much. Darrin suggested he could go without his medication for a few months. I think that's not going to be happening. We're cutting back wherever we can, and Adam helps a lot. Father-in-law continues to coo about how lucky he is that the VA charges him next to nothing for his medical care, and he makes enough from his retirement to pay all his obligations and still put $400 away monthly. That's helpful. And empathetic. He's lovely.

I make that observation without bitterness. He is who he is. We had no illusions about that when he asked to come live with us. Well, maybe Darrin did, but he's entitled. It's his father. I think most people want to believe their parents are not passive aggressive narcissists. The disillusionment has been palpable.

I'm looking out my window right now. There is a Japanese maple showing bright red leaves in the bottom left corner topped by the deep green of the tall tree across the street. The rest of the window is filled with clear blue sky. And I wonder, on a day like today, how can I possibly feel sad? For lunch, I believe I will take a walk. That will save on my food bill! :)

There have been a lot of days during the past couple of weeks when I have wanted to come here. But I'm working on something.

I am trying to teach myself to recognize temporary.

Hmm. That's not precise enough.

Okay. Long, long, long explanation:

Sometimes I come here simply to release stress. I say whatever is on my mind. Sometimes it's extreme. Also, extremely inaccurate. Not reality.

Well, it's my current reality when I say it, but it's not going to be reality in a day or two.

So I'm trying to see what the difference is when I ride out the storm without writing out the storm.

Also, a long time ago, I had this conversation with Therapist:

Th: What happens when the symptoms increase. Can you describe it? What parts of your life does it affect? How does it feel? How long does it last?
me: It feels miserable.
Th: Why?
me: Because I start to imagine stupid things about people who love me. And I end up convincing myself that they don't love me anymore. Or they won't very soon.
Th: Can you give me a specific example?
me: I don't know.
Th: Well, if you can think of an example, maybe we can decode exactly what's happening.
me: I know what's happening. And I know I'm being stupid. Which doesn't make it less real.
Th: I think it's very real. However, I also believe you can circumvent the process.

So I provided an example which basically goes like this: Person in my life is close to me. That makes me feel vulnerable. PTSD symptoms target that vulnerability and make it feel unsafe. Then I feel unsafe with Person. Then I feel guilty that I feel unsafe with Person because they have done nothing to make me feel unsafe. Then I decide that the only way to feel safe again is to stay away from Person. Then I feel guilty because I'm avoiding Person for no real reason. Then I decide Person probably needs a less complicated life and will go away shortly because that's logical. The end.

But then, when the symptoms subside, I feel compelled to go to the person and try to reconstruct the closeness so we can be "us" again. It's a little bit exhausting.

Continued conversation:
Th: What if you didn't wait? What if, when the symptoms began increasing, you went to the person right away, told them what was happening, and expressed what they might do to help you through the process?
me (sidestepping the question): There's really not a process.
Th (ignoring the sidestep): Well?
me: I don't know if I could do that. I don't think linearly when PTSD begins. I can't see logical steps. Everything just feels like a big pile.
Th: Okay. But what do you think would happen?
me: I don't know.
Th: What do you need from that person?
me: Reassurance, I suppose.
Th: Specifically, what type of reassurance:
me: Verbal.
Th: What do you want to hear?
me: That I'm not a freak. That I'm loved and needed. That we're okay even when I'm not okay.
Th: What if you asked them to say that?
me: I don't know. How would you react if someone asked you?
Th: I would be deeply honored that they would come to me when they felt weak and vulnerable and overwhelmed.
me: I don't believe you.
Th: No. It's true, though. And I would tell them that they're important to me, that I love them, and that I'm here because I want to help them through this.
me: How many times would you do that? Because this is a pretty common occurrence. I could ask every week for a year.
Th: That's only 52 times. Not really that many.
me: You'd get tired.
Th: Possibly. But tired doesn't mean you stop loving or wanting to help someone important to you.

So I walked out of that therapy session dead set on never, ever taking that suggestion. The thought of saying, in essence, "Hey! I can't handle life. And when I can't handle life, I decide you probably don't want me anymore, our relationship is stupid, and I'm a pain in the backside. But just in case I'm wrong about all that, will you tell me? Because I need to hear it. Probably 52 times a year," makes me want to vomit. And how will I know if they're saying it because I need to hear it, or if they're saying it so I'll shut up and go away?

But I tried it. Years later. I tried it this week. And I think it was helpful. What happened is the symptoms stagnated. They're still hanging out, but they're not overwhelming me.

So the jury's still out. I haven't decided if I can make a habit of reaching out for feedback before the symptoms become horrible. But I tried it. So I have a small inkling of what it's like.

And now I'm really, really tired. Going to sleep now.