Two things:
1. I'm exhausted.
2. PTSD is big tonight.

Most of the time I wait to write until the worst is over. And I really believe that's the best course of action. Tonight, however, I'm not sure what I'm feeling.

I was out with friends tonight. It was fun. Part of me enjoyed it.

Another part, however, kept questioning why I was there. I didn't belong. I couldn't connect. And words came out of my mouth that were not what I meant. Still, I said them. When I'm tired, I sometimes say things that come out wrong. There are people among those I know who would tell me that the words that come out when I'm too tired to control them are actually what I believe. I'm too tired to mask those truths in those moments. Freudian. And that's not true. Mostly what comes out are words that partially convey what I wanted to say, but not in the way I meant to say it. And that's all. The end.

I didn't belong. Well, that's a given. I'm a decade older than those I was with. I usually don't belong, really. It shouldn't be bothersome anymore.

I couldn't connect. That's a big one. I tried. I can't connect when I'm having PTSD crap. It negates any closeness I might feel.

Also I was the only female. But, again, that's not unusual.

On the way home I was overwhelmed with two simultaneous feelings:
1. I was certain I was not really wanted tonight. Why? I do not know.
2. I was certain that I didn't want to be with anyone tonight. Why? I do not know.

It's very confusing. And frustrating. And I want to talk about it.

But I don't really. Because people will say, "That's understandable. It sounds frustrating."

Thank you for validating my feelings. I appreciate it. What I really need, though, is someone to say, "Sam, I know those feelings seem real and intimidating, but they're not. They're PTSD. You don't have to buy into them. And they'll go away."

And now I'm tired so I'm going to bed.

Every once in a blue moon I do something despicable. I don't know why I do it, and it usually involves someone I care about deeply. Like share a confidence that has been kept for years. Or throw them under the bus. Or ignore a plea for help. I am, in short, not a safe person.

Therapist would tell me I do these things because I still have trust issues. I'm sabotaging. I'm not sure he's correct. I think I'm just really a despicable person at the core. I try to be otherwise. Then I find myself doing something awful to someone who doesn't deserve it, often when they're not there. And usually it's a person who is a key support to me. 

The whole time it's happening, my brain is instructing me to stop, my heart is demanding that I make a different choice, and my soul is screaming. To no avail. Nothing has the power to stop me. Not even me.

I need a neon sign that blinks every time I meet someone: DUPLICITOUS.

I had training last week with new teachers and instructors at the school where I now work. We went to lunch. I was told I was one of the nicest people they had met. Likable on sight. Energetic. Upbeat. They were looking forward to being friends. They should not be my friend. I am not trustworthy. They will tell me things. People seem to want to do that. They will trust me with their confidences. Then, when they least expect it, years later, I will betray them. That is who I am. 

I need to understand why I'm doing this. It needs to stop. But until it does, people need to not be close to me. I am carbon monoxide, gently lulling and lethal.

Moral: If you know me and like me, stop it now.