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The One With The Near-Meltdown, Dragon of Disappointment, and Too Many Feels…

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Complicated. So Much… Too Much… Feels… Too Many.

… All over the place


I don’t know what to do with them. They’re scary and confusing. I can’t even make sense out of, or even try to unravel, them…!


Nightmare day before it even starts. Managing to get to sleep (as in longer than 2 hour naps), on occasion, now, but dreams still come. Disturbing, or weird, or… unnerving ones. When Mam comes to wake me up, sometimes it’s a little bouncy for my sensibilities, and this was one of those times, unfortunately. I felt rather… rattled — but this is actually quite unusual for me. I don’t think I’ve reacted this badly for a while. I didn’t really do anything about it; I explained it to Mam — or tried to, at least. I don’t think I made much sense. This day was already off to a bad and complicated, confusing start.

Then the dogs were screeching everywhere, and no one downstairs was stopping the goddamned Wackadoos. Once again, I talked to Mam about it. But she got upset, and it all rather went south from there.

Mam came up, and when I tried to talk to her (apparently “in the wrong way”… 😕🤔😞 Which, for me, is unfortunately more common than I’d ever appreciate… 🤨😒), she started getting even worse with the defensive, the frustrations, and the squeaky “up tones”… which always makes me upended and upset, off any even-keel, and unable to cope. Adding that to the state I was already in before, and how I felt after this morning, and it was a nightmare waiting to happen inside my brain.

This escalated into a Meltdown Situation — just about managing to stay on the right side of sane(ish). One which I kept precariously balanced on the knife-edge of Full Blown Nuclear Volcano Meltdown, all furiously bubbling away inside me. It felt like a six-tonne boulder, that I could barely keep holding above my head. One that was threatening to fall onto my head. I was actually physically shaking from trying to keep it in check… It was agonisingly painful, both physically and emotionally/psychologically. I managed, sort-of. It stayed out of Meltdown Mode, remaining in the pending tray instead. Keeping a grip on it, keeping it up off me. I still don’t know how I succeeded.


To make matters worse, my friend S (kindly, compassionately, clearly, and “safely” … this girl should get a Bomb-Disposal medal for executing this so perfectly…!) informed me she had accidentally opened up an Amazon package that had been holding my precious birthday present — The SSD for my PC C-Drive upgrade, which has been put to one side, untouched and unopened, until such time I am ready to be able to upgrade said computer system.

… Now, I realise it should already have been done — going to Caernarfon was a big mistake, and I should have stayed home to do up my Baby. Now, he’s buried behind random stuff and mess, and I can’t get at him, to open him up and change the drives. Not only that, but because of what happened there on that “break” away, and how I am subsequently feeling because of it, I’m also in no psychological place to safely make the “brain transfer” that my Baby needs, between my original 120GB and the new 256GB SSDs.

Technically, that sanctity of that Gift has now been sacrificed after this mistake, and the packaging of the parcel is an opened mess… No More “Untouched and Unopened”… None of that for me now, for my Birthday Present from S… 🥺😫🤯😓😥 My First Birthday Present from S, with her being here with me. But, instead of being shocked or frightened by it, I am soothed and supported into hearing it and comforted whilst processing it.

This is my Friend, S

This might be the first time that something usually so… catastrophic… does not go off and explode like an IED in my head. I’m upset. I’m horrified. I’m Hugely under the shadow of the Dragon of Disappointment. It smacks me hard, and it’s pretty awful that this happened. However, as I explained, it brought the Dragon of Disappointment, yet gave it nowhere to land. There was no Valley of Terror, Panic, Shock, Trauma, etc, for it to land in. So, he’s kinda flying around there, half-heartedly, until such time he gets bored and buggers off again. And I am free to just ignore him, because — although he’s there — he’s not really doing anything, nor (more importantlyDestroying anything.

Finally… Somebody gets it — Nailed it. The fact niggles, but it’s more like a bored and petulant huff in the background that you can’t really take very seriously. I’ll take it.


#anxiety #helplessness #frustration #ptsd #trauma #despairing #dragondisappointment #alexithymia #exhaustion #pain #depression #asd #lost #fibromyalgia #paraesthesia #drowningfeelsPowered by Journey Diary.

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The Past Collides With The Present…

 

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Today, I found an old (former?) friend on Facebook (…where else?!). I haven’t seen her since she left for Australia with her family when we were 12 years old. I happened to be looking through old photos and wondered if she was on there. And she was. And I saw her as she was now… 25 years later.

Married. Three boys. High School Graduate. Still close to her family. Her sister shared the same (birth) name as I did, and she was also mentioned on there – married also. Looking almost exactly the same as she had done, just older. I recognised her picture… That smile was always so bright and infectious, it was instantly recognisable, if nothing else.

My instinct was to say Hi. Naturally. Since she would never be able to find me on Facebook (I deliberately ensured that no one from my previous life could find me first), I thought it would be nice to get in contact, because before she left we were the best of friends and fellow Beatlemaniacs. In the pictures we looked like we were having a great time. But after that initial thought… another feeling came over me.

My reaction to finding her wasn’t quite what I was expecting at all.  I ended up with that now-familiar shockwave I get when I realise that what “normal” people with their average lives take for granted, I never can. When I see what other people my own age are doing… in glaring comparison to mine. And I was left feeling… Sad. Inadequate. Pathetic. Lost. Forsaken. Broken. Pointless. A Nothing; A No-One.

She had a husband… I had Fibromyalgia. She had three boys… I had what felt like a hundred pills a day to take. She looked like she was doing well… I had a wheelchair and a catheter that refused to stay put. She was living a good life… I was barely alive and broken into too many pieces to even count. She lived in Australia… I lived with my elderly(ish) parents (and don’t tell them I said that!) who have to care for every damned need I have, despite my being the very wrong side of 30 (and I used to think saying “the wrong side of 20” was a tragedy…).

What on earth was I ever supposed to say to her?

All I could ever offer was the possible bad news (or unfortunate news, at least) that her former [best] friend was a wheelchair-reliant, mobility-impaired Fibromyalgia sufferer, who could no longer do anything, nor remember much of anything, and lived in constant and consistent agony. Was I only to simply talk about what I used to do – what I once was?  I had no conversation, nothing to offer, and what use could there possibly be from bothering her with a G’d Day from me?

And no, it’s not about falling for some “perfection” boloney that most people put on there (there is surprisingly little about her life on here, except some recent pictures of her boys, who look adorable anyhow), and then putting my life up against them. I don’t do that anyway. It’s about the fact that what other people have, and take for granted, was never mine to enjoy, or have. There is almost no one I know, if anyone, that is in the same situation as me. Immobile, in agony, with a life lost at age 32, now living with and being taken care of by my parents for almost everything,  as if I’m some kind of overgrown toddler (sort of, I’m not exactly that much taller than a child!).

Every small thing brings home what I’m not. How broken I am. What has been lost. What nothing has been left behind. I hate the self-pity… But after nearly five damned years of this, I still yet have no idea how to process all of this. Because there is no How or answer to Why… It’s something that exploded from nowhere and no one can ever explain it. Leaving me struggling to do the most basic of things, and dignity be damned! I haven’t had any of that for a while now…

This woman is a memory of what could have been, what may have been. When I knew her I was a young child with endless possibilities. Before the serious bullying (it turned out that it was she who was inadvertently keeping me safe from this, as it started up almost the moment she was gone…) that destroyed my childhood and teenage years, as well as the first half of my 20s. Before umpteen illnesses and allergies – not to mention the Fibro. Before I was killed inside and a zombified vampire of a soul returned to attempt to survive and cope with whatever little that was left of me.

She left just before the shit hit the fan… so the (rather spotty and sporadic) memories, the seemingly unending amount pictures of her or the two of us, the girl that I had been and that I was back then, all are shadows long lost to the older, destroyed woman I am now. Seeing me then, with her, innocent and ignorant of the hell that was to come for the next Quarter-Decade of life, was a shock. I don’t remember those times – I don’t remember most of my entire life – so I have no recollection of who I was before. But in those pictures I was introduced to her. This person I was. Alongside my friend. I was smiling. Having fun. Clearly being silly and enjoying it. Being Beatlemaniacs together. Being in the first year of high school together (before that school played its part in pulling me apart). It was a relationship full of fun, hope, and playfulness. Without a single clue as to what was going to come next…

And thusly, contacting her would achieve nothing but encouraging the Ghost of Life-Once-Was to haunt me again. They’re haunting me enough as it is. This woman isn’t really the same person who was my friend. She’s no longer CE but Mrs. H, a mother, whatever else she has become. The only thing that is still the same is that infectious smile, and her kind and sparkling eyes.

I do not remember the past, so it must be best to let sleeping dogs lie. I was long traumatised by everything that happened to me, and probably the best thing is that I have forgotten. Retrograde Amnesia happens in PTSD for a reason, after all – and I’ll kind-of thank Pregablin for deleting the rest. I may not have much Short or Long Term Memory, but although that is annoying and unfortunate at times, it’s a good thing most of the time, and it’s best not to go rooting around what’s there in my mind.

Therefore, Mrs. H, née CE, I think it still best you still don’t know where I am or how to contact me. I ensured my old name is not linked to my online footprint or profiles for good reason. My past should stay where it is. In the pictures. In memories. In the past.

 

 

 

 

 

 


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