C.A.L.L. FOR Wales
Category Archives: Ramblings
North Wales | 11°C
I’ve just seen the date at the top of this iPad a moment ago…
It’s 7/7 — the day things changed forever…
7th July 2015
14 Years Ago Today
And it will never “Just”… “Grow Old”… We were there. In the middle of it. SN was outside a few hundred yards away from That Freaking, Frikkin Bus… Maybe not half an hour after it blew itself up…
We watched it all as it unfurled itself on the news. Heard those Ambulances’ sirens dull on the TV as they raced further away from the scene… Only to get louder and louder outside my window on the way to the Trauma Centre in the Royal Free, Hampstead. It made it a chilling reality…
The worst thing, however, was the fact that SN was inadvertently out there when the Tavistock Square Busexploded. The bomb had not long gone off, maybe only an hour or even half an hour. Entirely naïve of the situation, she had gone to meet her parents coming in to Euston from North Wales to see her graduation recital at Arts Ed.
If she had gone sooner, as she says, she decided to go take the mail upstairs to our apartment (Oakley Square, Mornington Crescent, Camden) instead of leaving right away, she might have been there when the bomb exploded… Heard It… Saw It… Hopefully nowhere near the circumference of the shrapnel trajectory…
As she also pointed out, we would walk past there to get to town. If she hadn’t been having her Recital that day, who knows where we would have been. There’s a place close by we liked to have breakfast in, I’m certain. We could have been going there, done that… It all doesn’t bear to be thinking about… 😖😢😞
But SN was in Euston a little later, thank goodness… She says there was an air of something … wrong… there… But no clear indications — perhaps a fire down in the Tube line? That it wasn’t until I called her, she didn’t know anything had happened.
For me, it had been a very long nightmareto get hold of her. Phone networks were already being jammed (the cell phone networks in 2005 were still really in their infancy stage compared to now…), and I could not get hold of her. For ages… Minutes and Minutes… Which is forever when your best friend might be in serious danger…
I had known nothing was wrong until C (my sister) emailed me to ask how I was, if I was OK. I obviously told her I was fine and at home. And asked why she was asking. She told me to turn on the TV. Any. Channel.
With that, my blood went cold and turned on the BBC… The first thing I saw was the fully exploded, destroyed and ripped out backend of the No. 30 Bus in… Tavistock Square… Which was… Right. By. Euston. Station…. 😱😟😟😟😣😣😣😣😣😣🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯😖😖😖😖😖😖
So, I flipped and started ringing her frantically, until I finally got an answer. And I nearly wept outright with overwhelming internal relief.
She came home — walking bravely despite all the horrors going on…
Her parents had been Evacuated back home from Watford Junction Station anyhow, and all Central London was in a serious Lockdown.
From then on… Well… It just go worse and worse. We were glued to the TV to get as much information as possible about it all. It. Was . Fucking. Terrifying.
SN got quite serious PTSD from it… After all, she was there. That is one seriously Majorheadfuck…
She seems to know how to deal with it well… She has a really, really powerful internal Strength of Will, and bears such a burden with dignity and Strength, despite the Fear and heartbreaking anxiety anything that triggers or reminds her of it… She still carries it with great Power and Grace, in my eyes.
Not many people understand this. Her parents were kinda there — after all, they themselves were evacuated from London on the train, not being able to get hold of SN and know if she was OK. Not sure if they ever did grasp the reality she was near enough to have been kinda involved in it, too, if she’d have gone any earlier, though….
So, every 7/7 we talk about it. Discuss it. Get our Trauma and Anxieties out to someone who can commiserate and empathise truly. We went through that together. We still go through it together.
The date brings things to the fore too easily, the memories still vivid despite pretty much an entire Decade-and-a-Half having come and gone hence…
It. Just. Hurts…
I use Dailyo diary and mood tracking app for this:
This just about says it all… 😞😖😢
When you are going through it, it’s bad enough… But to see it like this… You really do get to see “in black and white” as it were…
It was terrible to go through. It was a Hellish Month! 😰😖 … I hope that this next month will be at least somewhat better.
I’m not holding my breath or anything, though… 🥺😞
Returning to the scene of a “crime”… a Trauma… to put it to bed? It turns out you should first think very carefully, thrn realise what you’re getting yourself into — and that you really are ready to face the ghosts still there…
After being in the Premier Inn for 10 days… Ten awful, awful, traumatising, distressing days… The ordeal is finally over. It’s been so, so very bad. Then… It got worse. There are some things, though, that will still remain, to add even more Trauma inside me, from going back there again…
Left hotel after a very bad, very long night before and one horrific argument. Mam came to help, then Dad turned up later to take things back. We managed to get out by the 12pm deadline to leave… somehow.
Had really, really extreme hard time all day, today. Feelings of immense dread, terrifying fear, of floating pointlessly through a dark space black hole, waiting to kill me… Numbed. Paranoid. Lost. Alone. Floating through nothing into an inevitable end. Dead and dying already, and simply waiting for it to come. Overwhelmingly depressed and in despair, and zoned away from reality, almost in complete disconnect.
A lot was let out in Costa. Hiding under hood of my EMP “squishy jumper” (long story behind that name…) I cried, for the horror I’d endured since the last time I’d come. How events — and selfish decisions made by other people — destroyed me. Took the last of me away from myself. Right here. That Premier Inn. That room. Room 9.
Where Mam had a huge blow-up at me, and stormed away. Where the police were called by my father against me, when I went outside into the freezing night to feel better, like I was a vulnerable child who knew naught and was missing. Where my selfish mother destroyed my insides enough to send me outside into the night, alone, to which my selfish father called the police to fetch me like I was a frikkin three-year-old. The incident that made the c****s at Rosalin Mental Health decided to utterly utterly destroy everything inside me, cause an atom bomb in a volcano Meltdown of all Meltdowns (despite being “ASD Trained” — utter frikkin BS…!).
A Trauma To End All Traumas inside me. All of it. The last straw against any trust in Professionals.
The break inside my brain the made me refuse medical help, until I nearly could have died. The six gods-and-spirits-damned weeks I spent with cannulas in my arms to pump in IV antibiotics infusions into me, until I was safe. Until there was more Tazoan in my veins than blood, or even coffee.
I missed my first niece’s christening. Instead of waking in a hotel by Southport that day, I awoke to a bunch of lines in my arms in a hospital bed. It was terrifying. I’d been screaming my lungs out from overwhelming waves of horror agony, all day, every day. Now… They were less… But I had blood poisoning. Sepsis. Staphylococcus and streptococcus. A “Horrific” UTI (their words). A bowel infection. As well. That had also caused it. And I’d refused help because that… cow… at Roslin, who destroyed my brain. My trust. My life. My soul.
I went back to confont it… Confront It All. I went for my birthday. For the day of the Anniversary of my hospital release (8th March). And it destroyed me all over again. The agony inside. (Where there’s Feels). The agony outside. (In my body). The Desperation. The Loneliness.
I was thrown once more into the Nether World Void by “Professional” mental health “specialists” who knew absolutely nothing, who destroyed my insides without thought or care. Suddenly… I was 12 years old once again; left utterly destitute inside, once again… Devoid. Of. Everything. I went through all this; had already been through it all once before. All. Of. It. Now, after spending over Two damned Decades trying to overcome those feelings, I was thrown into them all over again… By people who did it the first time round — Parents and Mental Health imbeciles… It was Hell.
PTSD is Hell Itself. It’s haunting, tragic, terrifying, and never lets you forget. I’ve already been through it once — where I saw it take away my memories, disintegrate my life destroy my soul. All whilst I was a child. Now, as an adult, somehow, it seemed even harder to manage, especially the Flashbacks. They never seemed to stop.
I spent the entire time I was there, in that very same hotel as this all started, being haunted by my experiences, by the feels, burdened by Hate, Angry, Trauma, Destitute, Depression, Despair, Aloneness. The others with me, the friends I had taken along there, they suffered as well. Trying to keep me there with them, in the present, but instead, I simply remained trapped in my head with the Flashbacks and the nightmares, apparently there just to rain nothing but bad karma and hard times upon us.
I was processing it all. Reliving it all. Being drowned by it all.
And… Then, I realised it— It. Was. Over.
It was too much to bear. To be inside all of that so much — not only for that trip, but for the last year.
The Pain. The Fear. The Grief… It all came out, along with the new things I had been left with. Like 3/4 of a body I was left entirely unaware of, thanks to all this Trauma… A total of more than Five Years of Emotional and Physical Trauma, cumulating in all this. Trying to find “Life and Meaning” in the middle of it. I know of neither, right now. It helps immensely I have S. There are no words to even begin to cover what she has done and continues to do for me, inside and out. There’s also doggies Soul and Buddy. And also there’s “Universe Sister”, Boo. And my Parents… They finally Get It. That I am damaged, destroyed, have ASD and Alexithymia. And that I also still have to be a grown up, despite all this leaving me much younger in capability than my 17 month old niece.
But it’s too little, too late, now. The damage is done. Cannot be undone. It’s just… more Sellotape, more of that flimsy repair-job-paper-and-string that barely keeps me (metaphorically) putting one foot in front of the other… Frankly, I’m beyond tired of the all crappy repair jobs done to me, and really tired of people thinking that that’s actually an Okay and Acceptible thing — to screw up, to hurt, to damage and harm as they please, then just muddle a crappy, makeshift “fix” to patch up what’s left of me back together…
If my breaks were like scars you see on a vase, there would be no vase… Just endless spiderweb lines of cracks…
I’m left with the detestating consequences. My life is destroyed even more. I’m the one who can’t walk or feel her body. I’m the one who’s Traumatised.
I am the one who needs to deal with being stuck unable to move. I realise I have be “reprogrammed” to work within these new physical and mental parameters and boundaries, and be the best within them; to make the best of them. The old ones are done with. They are no longer Valid. By still putting my expectations within them, I am harming myself badly, inside and out. Emotionally, it’s draining and disappointing — and that Disappointment Dragon sitting on my head needs to, frankly, leave. Forever.
Maybe in having set myself within these new ones, to properly (re)survive(?) the horror and Tempest from Hell that these last 10 days in that Place have created, I really have done something good for myself. Maybe.
Time will tell… Even if you do not like waiting for it.
Today is the anniversary of when I first was taken into hospital…
On the 28th January 2018, I was booked into a Premier Inn, to go to my niece’s christening the next day.
Instead, I was carried into hospital, barely semi-conscious and screaming so loudly apparently they had to put me into a former office/storage closet, until they had a bed to feed me tramadol and morphine … I woke up in a hospital’s SAU (Surgical Assessment Unit) instead of a hotel… and my parents lost over £200 for the booking… 😢🥺😖
My brain is trying to process it, rather unsuccessfully, to be honest.
However… I like the fact the anniversary of my leaving coincides with one of my new physio appts. I think that’s telling. I could not even wheel myself through the hospital back then.
To celebrate it with something that would have been so alien to me back then, doing what I thought was impossible — like being able to sit up a little on my own, or hold myself up on parallel bars for nearly a whole minute so my body is “standing” upright (as in, I have managed to become strong enough now to hold all my bodyweight enough, so I could raise myself upright on them)— is almost confounding … 🤯
Anxiety and Chaos rules my mind. It feels like it’s been long buried under mountains of agonising pain, sorrow, grief. Fibro-Fog, medication, and more and more Chaos and Anxiety. I can feel my mind still there, calling, struggling to be freed, to be heard… yet, there seems to be so little I can do about digging it back out.
As long and all this overwhelming Anxiety and Chaos rules me, rules my life, is forced upon me – truly, it seems that no matter what I do to prepare against it, it floods and breaks through my defences and laying siege until I can do nothing more against it. – it will Rule me. It overwhelms me. Then, it eventually takes over me. My life. And now, it just simply continues to do so… because I have only so many spoons at all, and that number is barely above Zero, and none of those spoons are even remotely strong enough to fight against the sheer mountain of things that continue to suffocate me every minute of Every. Single. Day.
With no Short Term Memory to speak of, and pretty much no Long Term Memory to fall back on (although, thankfully, the odd one can be brought out with certain triggers, unfortunately few and far between), it’s like I am nothing and no one.
As an Aspie, who once remembered everything and anything just about, this fact is near killing me inside. I still don’t know what to do with it – the grief and frustration of going through this, being forced to live without something embedded into me, that was an intricate part of me… Quite often, it is all too overwhelming. Even the inability to control my environment was entirely reliant on this… and without it, Anxiety and Chaos reign entirely. It is painful and frightening, and there seems to be nothing I can do about it – and I feel this because I have gone through everything I can think of over these past Five Years this has been happening to me…
I physically cannot move – my condition leaves me with only the shoulders and arms and what is above it; pretty much nothing else is movable by my own conscious will. I must remain on the floor whilst upstairs because my chair (or any chair) cannot fit up here; the house is too old and the landing is far too narrow to accommodate one. This means that I remain next to useless up here – unable to move or control my own environment in my bedroom. Despite assistance, there is no way to keep it sane without someone perfectly able-bodied to take things out and put them away as required. Whilst I may be able to retrieve something, putting it back may cost too much spoons, or be too difficult – or worse, I might forget.
I have been numbed by the sheer and exhaustive amount of confusing and destructive emotions that keep washing over and drowning me. I do not like emotions – actually, I loathe them, and wish they did not exist. And, quite frankly, there are definitely far to many of them. It’s a cornucopia of horror that I flail at, until I fall victim to my terror and end up falling and drowning beneath them all. “NT” people have called this dead numbness “depression” – but I’ve studied psychology for years, and what I have has never quite been fully described by that theory, and it does not fully cover what it is that I experience.
I am TMI (Too Much [Sensory] Information) when it comes to all these emotions – and all are fuelled by my two arch enemies: Anxiety and Chaos. I literally cannot live like this – I barely even exist like this. To live, to participate in… well, something, anything… to do what I love again… That would be Everything.
So, by that measure, it seems that right now I would have nothing…?