I don’t want to go to bed, even though I am tired, it’s true. I’m trying to sort out my response to a particularly large trigger, one related to my PTSD. It’s not something I like to remember. I don’t think I can tell you what it is, so nasty was the experience.
Which is one of the problems. It is an isolating problem, not something you share. If my PTSD was caused by being torpedoed in the Gulf while on active service, I could be free of it eventually, in the main, with treatment, because I would not be going back to the Gulf. Mine is something that can happen again, and given present circumstances, is threatened at the moment.
My adrenaline levels are way above what they should be for sleep.
At the moment, I am almost permanently afraid.
Around is peaceful, inside is like shattered glass in a tumble dryer. A friend, writing on Facebook, has helped to ground me a little, though I doubt she knows she did. I must try to sleep.
I slept. It took an hour to drift off – was tempted to nip downstairs and get a zoplicone, but nature took over.
I awoke with far less anxiety than should have been the case, given the circumstances. Had a lot to do with the fact it’s Wednesday and I am due at Towers Above, a local charity that is art based; healing through art is its bye line.
I’m having breakfast quickly, so that I am not too late in. The sunshine helps. I don’t want to read the news. I’m going to paint this morning. Depth and grounding is usually the result of being on the rot end of a paintbrush.
I’m looking forward to it, we have wifi there now I think. I’ll blog from there. Looking forward to something is not something I often get. The bigger the event to look forward to, the increased anxiety due to the possibility of me being taken away beforehand. Sectioned. Imprisoned.
Got to get ready.
1400 hrs. Blogging direct from Towers Above. All of us here – leader included – have mental health problems. We use art in order express, distract, empathise and make peanuts. Don’t ask.
I’m – as usual – quite manic and people think I’m just my usual jokey self, quipping and making people laugh. I’m terrified, actually. But it’s quite easy at times to play this particular mask. With friends it’s easier. I seldom go raw. They wouldn’t take it.
I’m painting. It’s not pretty, but then again neither am I. I’ll try and take a snap and post it.
I’m usually inspired at this point, and, while I am here – safe – I am. But this week, today, it will not carry over into reality.
But I have a quieter determination this afternoon, I think.
And I’m going to produce something if it kills me. Maybe some cookery.
I’ll see you all later.
Thank you so much for reading. You are the reason for this.
A modicum of peace returns. I have surmounted the fear somewhat, and have just put a Dolcelatte & radicchio pasta bake into the oven.
Creativity can be about anything, I have found. Cooking, painting, photography; I know people who use a variety of creative devices to help themselves. It gives one validation; we are what we do, so the narrative goes.
As any cook, I’m a little nervous about the result, of course. But this is normal ( we are allowed to use that word now ) and I’m hoping not to be too disappointed by the ensuing meal. I find creativity in buying different beers, too, I am happy to say.
I’m aware that this lack of agitation may stay for a few days, a week, or an hour or two. A particularly stubborn helicopter which hovers for ten minutes over the estate could bring me crashing to the ground.
But I am thankful for the semi peace for the while; I’ll enjoy it while I may.
I might even forget to listen to the outside world for a short while.
I have to go see to the pasta. I’m hungry.