"The hardest battle you're ever going to fight is the battle to just be you." ~Leo F. Buscaglia

It's been about two weeks since I've written anything here. During the first week I didn't even think about it. I was having difficulty navigating almost every area of my life and blogging did not occur to me even once. This is a little bit odd since, for the past five years, I've used this as a place to unwind, look at things rationally, spew self-pity and melodrama, and record ideas and experiences. Writing has been a coping device. Two weeks ago, I forgot it.

The level of disinterest in people I love and in my life, in general, has increased dramatically in the past fourteen days. I've been trying to "fake it", as instructed by Therapist (Faking it = continuing normal interaction with those closest to me including initiating conversations and allowing physical closeness, and pretending I like and have interest in both those things). I've been trying to be honest with those closest to me. This is what I've learned from doing those two things:
1. Faking it makes me cranky.
2. Faking it makes me stressed.
3. Faking it causes intense panic attacks.
4. Faking it is increasing the non-interest and numbness I feel toward people.
5. Faking it is a very bad idea.
6. Most people don't like it very much when a spouse or parent or best friend is being honest and says she doesn't really care about them anymore.
7. Most people are sort of stunned/hurt/angry when such honesty is imparted.
8. Most people don't really know what to do next when I honestly tell them what is happening with me and they don't address it ever again...in fact, they don't really want to address anything with me anymore.
9. Honesty, in this particular case, might possibly fall under the auspices of Too Much Information.
10. Honesty might be a very bad idea.

I'm doing those things anyway, bad ideas or not, because I don't know what else to do.

I talked for a long time with Tolkien Boy a couple of weeks ago. I have to hand it to him. He allowed me to rant and argue and try to explain all the reasons why I just need to give in and let this happen (translation: stop fighting this overwhelming disinterest and apathy toward people I'm supposed to be in love with). Then he told me how he felt about my current emotional state. Funny, I forgot that he might feel something about this situation. By the end of our very long conversation I felt almost "normal" (my normal, of course, which is still wildly abnormal, but I was feeling like maybe I could have deep feelings for people again without internally combusting).

But then I didn't talk with anyone again for awhile.

And I spent tons of time alone.

Although, I do have to admit, I tried to contact people. Apparently my social availability schedule does not coincide with anyone else's.

Thursday I decided it had been too long since Jason and I have talked, so I called him. I didn't want to, but I rarely want to do anything lately--nothing new there. And I told him about the newest developments inside me. This time though, I didn't feel concern about offending him with my "I don't really care about anyone--you're included in that global feeling, or lack, as the case may be), as I had when I talked with Tolkien Boy. And it had nothing to do with Jason being someone different--it's just that that's how far the numbness had progressed.

Thursday night I finally talked about this with Darrin. He just stared at me and didn't say anything. Finally he asked what I wanted to do about it. I said nothing. He said that didn't seem fair to anyone who cares about me. Sigh...  fair...

Two days ago I realized I haven't checked the email address connected with this blog for more than two months. So I did. And I found a lovely comment for my blog that needed to be published (thanks, Debbie), and some personal emails from people I've never met before who have visited me here. 

This morning I decided that regardless of how I might be feeling, it's rude of me to not respond to emails, so I sat down and read them again. And I wrote back. 

I'm not sure what happened during that process. It could be that I realized some people have difficulties exceeding my own; or maybe I realized that one sweet wife loves her SSA/abuse survivor/PTSD husband so much that she has spent months reading my entire blog, hoping to find answers that will help sustain their long, beautiful marriage; or maybe a bit of the love those writers have for the people struggling in their lives made its way into my own struggling heart--I don't know. 

What I do know is that I found myself weeping, understanding the hurt and the loneliness, recognizing that people who love me would probably express similar words about wishing they could help me, strengthen me, comfort me--somehow guide me through the latest stress that is turning my life upside down. And something inside me reminded me that I'm not a spouse, or a mom, or a friend because people just grant those things freely. I've worked with the people closest to me to build relationships, to grow love, and to learn how to receive it (still working on it). 

I'm not ready to lose that. I'm not willing to give in. I'm not going to just not feel.

Sorry PTSD. You lose.