My Story… My Life…
The Second Time My World Imploded into PTSD…
When I was 34, literally my entire world fell apart. I was so ill I couldn’t move and was in 24/7 agony from Fibromyalgia, and after 2 years of this illness and 10 years together, my partner snapped and she sent me home to live with my parents. Actually, she asked them to come and get me.
Just one random day. She stopped texting me. Then vanished. Never came home. I freaked the crap out. Turns out she went to her mums house. I had to track her down. And her step dad was a bitch to me on the phone.
Then she told me everything was done, we were done, and she wasn’t coming back until, I was packed up and ready to go.
My. World. Died. And. Ended. In. That. Moment.
She took the last remnants of things I had left — and I had already lost the career I loved and the data migration project I was just about to start. And destroyed them. Just one random day. Just like that.
It was nearly 4 years ago, this November it will be.
It was utterly sheer hell. I didn’t know if or how I was ever going to survive. I was delirious with agony and pain, screaming and blacking out from it every day, my parents were yelling at me, screaming at me, doing other bad things at me. I had several meltdowns per day. Everyday. The worst ever kinds. I used to come round to disaster and injuries I had no idea about constantly. It was horrendous…
It went on for years… I tried to OD twice. Was in an ambulance for it. It was a waking nightmare of exceptional proportions.
I don’t know how or why I am still here… But I am. And, frankly, I’m proud of myself for that.
And I survived long enough to get a very special person back in my life. And it’s in a better way this time too …. 🤔
So… I get it. I truly undoubtedly do.
And, also, that is how I know that others can survive this. Because I have, I do. We do. Cos we’re strong and kick ass and have to take far more than anyone could ever frikkin imagine. All. Day. Every. Day.
Tag Archives: mobility
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… 🥺😞
Temp | 11°C
The Catheter just came out again…
It lasted only 6 Days, this time… 😳😔☹️
It’s so annoying, having to undo all the straps and sort through all the tubing, and whatnots, when disposing of a shoved-out Catheter.
Then there’s the Dragon of Disappointment, and all the other damn “emotions” and crushing, suffocating “feels” that go with it.
… Certainly makes me more determined to get a good meeting out of the Suprapubic Pre-Op Hospital Appt. next week…
I really feel… horrible… Betrayed, almost, by the damned thing. Strange, but true!I thought I could at least make it through another month, but apparently not. My stomach is all knotted… I feel something… crushing, twisting, fiery, scratchy, bitter… upset…😢
I am not in the right space for this to happen along with everything else… 😖😖😖
I was miserable enough without this…
It’s been spasming all day. No doubt due to all the stress I’ve been under. Or… maybe more like I put me under… 🤨🤔… 😒😒😒
Between fearing the arduous and overwhelmed task of flipping the mattress, and the issues I’m having, now I’m arguing with Boots about whether or not people in wheelchairs should be treated better than naughty puppies, I’ve been in a lot of depressive misery today.
Boots made me feel small, pointless, miserable, undignified, insulted, belittled… Vulnerable… I’ve been in scared and sorrowful misery all day.
But then I got some balls and got going with sorting out the mattress, because there was No Way I was sounding another night like I had been, in that much pain. I’d had enough painful nights and nightmares, and last night was the final straw.
But I guess it was too little, too late, and the stress of all of it was too much…?
Either way… The bastard thing is out again. 😒😒😒😒😒😒
#upset #frustration #fatigue #exhaustion #fibroplegia #dragondisappointment #irritated #sad #pain #dignity #suffocatingfeels #catheter #fibromyalgia #anxiety #aspie #healthcare #alexithymia #stressed #dismal #depression #resentment #helplessness #disabilityPowered by Journey Diary.
I went to physio. I wish I hadn’t. Even though it was technically a “good session” — productive, challenging, effective… It was not a good experience.
Mainly, I’m upset because after all my (emotional/ psychological/ mental) hard work, I’ve been thrown back to feeling inadequate, clunky, awkward. It was horrible, making me feel like physically vomiting; the nausea siting in the bottom of my throat like a boulder. I felt shame, resentment, disgust (with myself, and also the physio). And the worst thing—My chair no longer felt like an extension my myself, like it usually did now.
This was how I felt for years. When my legs were failing, and after they failed. When I had to learn to deal with spending my moving life with a wheelchair. Learning to realise, that — amazingly — I was not “confined” to a wheelchair at all, as people so often expressed. No—The exact opposite, in fact. I was freed by my chair!
The realisation was slow coming, but it was astounding. No longer was there suffering of pain through my hips and back, wobbling on my feet and afraid I would fall. Over time, I became stronger, and then when I also had Neuro-Physio with the previous physio specialist, who was amazing, I got even better. Even stronger. First with Musty (GTM Mustang) and then with Kushty (Küschall K-Series), I become better, more capable, more confident, more accepting. My lovely chairs helped be better, stronger. It becomes my new normal.
Then someone turns up and says… it’s not. Not normal. Not good enough. Not something to be confident about.
As good as physio might be, the new person is not. She’s not like the last one. She hurts my insides, my Feels. Today, she kept going on about using my legs, “waking them up” and maybe walking. “Ooooohhhhhh, you never knowwww…” etc, etc, hollow, disingenuous, delusional idiotic bullcrap, over and over and over again. Seriously, she must have said exactly that five or six times. At least.
It felt like the obvious underlying statement was, only that was good enough—having legs. That I should blindly hold out all and any fragments of hope, and everything short of that was insinuated to be —gods-damned presumed to be! — nothing but a pathetic and miserable existence.
This ridiculous notion is what they call “Hope” — but what it really is, is Magical Thinking. And it just makes my heart and soul dissolve and freeze into dark black ice, caught between utter hopelessness and fuming anger and insult, at such horrendous ignorance.
What I prefer is realistic expectations, not stupid “oh, you never know…” utter bullcrap. I could say the same thing about walking on the moon, for gods-and-spirits’ sake! “You never know…!” Gah! It’s moronic, babyish, and, frankly, pathetic.
Oh, and believe me when I say I couldn’t care less if it’s “coming from a good place“, or they mean something nice. If you mean something nice, say something… y’know…Nice..?! Intention means nothing if the result is nothing but harm.
I will never understand the NTs’ obsessive insistence of clinging to blind, delusional “optimism” (aka: Magical Thinking). What’s wrong with Truth? What’s wrong with Reality? What is wrong with being less than Fairy-Tale Perfect…?? 🤬😡😤
I understand “Never say Never” about Unknown Quantity or Unknown Outcomes, especially with people. I fully accept there could be some connective electrical activity re-triggered and re-awakened after the (stress-induced) traumas I have endured over and over again. Unlikely as it is. But there are many, many better ways of communicating this, including offering great support (this is what her predecessor did). Pity is never an answer.
No scientist or mathematician got anywhere by basing their answer (or presumption) on nothing but a premise or hypothesis — Yes, almost anything is technically possible. But then, there’s also Magical Thinking, which involves utter Unicorns-and-Rainbows levels of nothing but fantasy.
Scientists allow for anomalies and possibilities, and yet they also don’t expect the moon to fall down to just 33,000ft above sea-level so we can all have it easy and just fly there on a 747 widebody, or for a black hole to morph into a sandwich, because “it’d be cool”. 🤨🤨🤨
In other words, we can’t just manifest crap because we prefer it.
If that was the case, I’d be using my own 3 wishes to make my natural hair to that of Disney’s The Little Mermaid, for my legs to be her tail, and for the ability to read people’s minds. I would not be wasting one on whether I could walk again…! 😒🤨😤
I cannot even begin to explain how these sweeping statements put my teeth on edge. Disingenuous. Despicable. Fantastical. Delusional. Weak. All things I am not, and refuse to be..
Maybe it’s the ASD. Maybe it’s just (or/and) Alexithymia. But all of that delusional stuff just… Sends me into a tailspin. I’m here, I’m *Me*, and *I. Can’t. Walk*. I have a pretty chair with cool wheels to make up for it, and the physical strength to help me function and manage it. There’s nothing wrong with that. Is there…?
What I *do not* have is Mental Strength, and I’m Traumatised and Fragile. I cannot bear being told that basically I should do nothing but “hope” I can walk “one day”, because nothing else is good enough, and anything else is entirely… Pitiable.
So… What, then? I genuinely do not understand… Why is it so not OK to be like this, like me, that I’m being pitied and told to invest in false hope by a physiotherapist? One who dismissed what small (or huge, to me…) progress I had made, in favour of sweeping statements of disingenuous pity and false hope?
Am I supposed to twiddle my thumbs in the Lobby of Life, waiting for the 0.000000000001% chance I *may* feel or move my legs again? I have a better chance of winning the lottery… and I never play it. Am I now just some-thing… That I’m not worthy to do anything else, I I have no use of my legs? Am I just to sit around and be Pitied? Is that supposed to be it, now? That “walking should be the bee-all-and-end-all of life and everything” is… life-limiting. Debilitating. Disabling.
To me, it’s a rediculous notion for anyone to have… And for it to be utterly despicable in a damned physiotherapist.
I’ve spent a long time trying to build up to having confidence in being in a chair. This made it all come crashing down. Swept away, destroyed, what little confidence I had started to develop in myself as an active wheelchair user. I cried — and I do not cry easily, if ever. I’d worked so hard to feel some self-worth in being a wheelchair user and physically incapable. Now, it was gone.
I do not wish to sit in Limbo, waiting for some fantasy “Maybe” (which isn’t real at all). I’m not putting things on hold anymore — I’ve been pushing myself to go ahead and be Me, which includes having Wheels and getting on with things. Even if its small things.
I don’t know if I have the… verbal sophistication?… to fully explain what I mean. Why it hurts, damages, so much. Nothing I’ve written here, or could write, could convey, that is accurate to how much this affects me and hurts me. Harms me.
I feel Depression inside, with its special brand of Extreme Anxiety & Sad. They’re playing their part well, and strongly. Inflicting their “Bad Feels” upon me, and more than occasionally drowning me in them. Making all these things worse, communication and processing longer. Meaning this “incident” with the physio made everything 10,000 times worse.
It’s all become a bigger mess now. This has been added to my brain as yet ONE MORE TRAUMA to deal with. It shouldn’t be like this.
There really is only so much that a person can take… and I passed my limit a long time ago.
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…?
It’s New Year’s Eve. The end of 2017… And I’m definitely glad to see it go. This last year has been the year from Hell itself.
It started with agony that could not be compared. With my starting to lose the ability to walk at all. With my losing the ability to crawl up the stairs. With my losing the last few threads of what was left of me.
2017 was the year I stopped being able to walk. To use my legs. It was the year I had to get a stair lift. The year I had to get a “real” and “proper” active wheelchair – something that caused a lot of pain, difficulty, complications, and tears. The year I found out I had been suffering an elusive condition for the last 19 years and it had impacted greatly upon my Fibromyalgia – something no one had ever heard of, called Hemiplegic Migraine… and I found that out on what should have been my late grandfather’s birthday.
This was the year my best friend left for South America, and was no longer here. This was the year I went completely numb and unable to feel anything touching my skin or pain from the outside. This was the year I could no longer stand for a shower or get into the bath. The year where gaming became more and more elusive because my hands and focus no longer worked properly. The year Fatigue came to over-run and ruin my life. The year PIP decided to decieve and scheme and refuse to even acknowledge the difficulties I have by outrightly lying about me in their reports. The year I was betrayed by my own therapist, just the third time we had met, and after waiting over a year on the waiting list to see her in the first place.
This was the year I learned you can lose your life without ever having to actually die.
I started 2017 with the ability to shuffle with walking aids and go for a shower… And I am ending it without the ability to walk or properly move my legs, wearing a catheter, permenently in a wheelchair, unable to go to the shower or get into the bath, barely able to leave my room, struggling to move and sometimes even breathe.
2017 was the year I think I truly died inside.
It started with hardship and loss. Went on to destroy what was left of me and my body. Ended with trauma and being near-bedridden.
On the bright side, I also ended up getting 2 graphic card upgrades and end the year with the GTX 1070 8GB OC. I was also introduced to several amazing games – in 4K High/Ultra, too – and got a Lenovo YogaBook – which is terribly fun to have.
And I got to see The Last Jedi… So at last one good thing happened.
~ Happy New Year ~
~ 2018 ~
Already yet another Fibro/Fatigue flare-up… and just before Yulemas (as in Yule / Christmas). And just when I want to see Star Wars: The Last Jedi, too…
More fever, more pain, more exhaustion: I’ve been up all night for days, I’ve barely slept in nearly a week. Needless to say it is not going well. It’s a good thing I have my new mattress and catheter… I know exactly how much worse it would have been if I didn’t have those.
The worst feeling is that I still cannot reconcile how much absolute control this/these condition(s) have over me, how it dictates my personality, how the pain and exhaustion prevent me from even leaving my room or sometimes even my bed. During a flare-up I can do virtually nothing, and it seems that no matter what precautions I attempt, they’ll turn up whether I like it or not.
So you might not be surprised to know I would rather Yulemas disappear and I couldn’t care less about it this year. I can barely muster the energy to even want to see The Last Jedi and I’ve been so excited about this for two years. My friend and I were supposed to go to Christmas thing at Lyme Park too, and after a whole load of flare-ups, one after another, after another, that now is too off the table, amongst many other things. It better not take Star Wars away from me…
There’s so much I had plans to do, now it’s Yulemas, nearly the end of 2017, and I’ve achieved precisely nothing from this year (unless you could finally finishing PC edition of Dragon Age II…). Instead of achievements, it’s been yet another year of loss. Even losing my best friend to a year or two travelling around South America (although, bless her, she still makes sure she’s there for me if I need her).
The weather has destroyed so much of my health (whatever flimsy amount of it there was), everything from severe storms and torrential rains, to terrifyingly low isobars and bloody snow. Plans have been destroyed. I lost the remainder of my mobility this year.
It’s been quite the Annus Horribilis.
And I doubt it’s going to get any better in its final week.
I have the headache from hell. It’s been here since Storm Irma hit landfall in Florida a few weeks ago. It’s not going away now though.
I went to London for 3 days – home again after two whole years. Four years since I’d been to where I used to live and the West End, because once I moved to Leyton and was ill, I never could go back. I only went to Stratford (and frankly that was pretty good enough, too – great area!). This was the first time I had been and the first time I’d used a proper wheelchair there… But the biggest shock wasn’t being back in London (that was just normal, like visiting the hometown you grew up in and love). No… The biggest shock was coming back.
When I was there, staying in Angel [Islington], it was far from perfect. But things were easier. I wasn’t as ill. Wasn’t in as much pain. I was stressed to hell and kingdoms come, but I wasn’t as ill. I was able to get up 1-2 hours earlier than [here] in north Wales, and with far more ease. But since I’ve returned to north Wales, the difference (whatever the difference is) has hit me with a sledghammer and then some. It’s, quite frankly, utterly shocking and horrible.
It’s bad enough this Aspie Girl had to leave her home (London) in the first place. Now, after going back like nothing had happened (except with more pain and a new wheelchair), the difference in… whatever… is striking. And maybe because I’m not used to it now, I can’t cope with it. With whatever it is here [Wales] that does make my condition that little bit worse. I don’t know if it’s a psychological thing affecting the Firbo, or a Fibro thing affecting the Psychologial. But whatever it is, it’s there and it’s real. And shocking. So to be so brutally tasked with trying to “Cope” with it, is boslutely horrible and really hard.
No, I did not expect this at all. If anything I thought I’d get a few days of respite, but not to this extent. Wishing now I’d stayed a damned week instead…
It was lucky I went with my new chair – GTM Mustang, from Cyclone. [Mine’s black and silver and so comofortable]. It made all the difference there. I managed to go around everywhere I wanted with absolute minimum assistance, which was amazing. Thus I question, how is it now, from the time I’ve come back, am I passing out with pain again? Did being back home make me stronger? Is there a radical difference being up north? Is the weather? Is it about living so high up [compared to London]? What is it about being here that makes it go from 9¾ was a maximum pain there, to being a minimum one here?
Even when I was very stressed there (just try taking the train from Euston station when you’re in a wheelchair!), it still didn’t get too bad… well, until I’d been on that damn train about two hours, and it was already 7pm! And yet, all I’ve done since is, well, nothing, because I can barely move.
Is it psychologically-induced? There’s no denying the immense depression and fear I have living here, and not back in London. I’ve never liked it here, and I am horribly resentful and fearful of life here. I feel restricted because I’m forced to be more reliant on others here – you have to drive or be driven here, there’s no public transport available (certainly not adaquate enough for indipendent wheelchair use, like London has). There’s a lot of depression and fear involved to being here. I am just a completely different person there – I’m home, safe, and I know and like how the world works there. Here… Nothing of the kind, and I’m terrified and agoraphobic when here. That can’t help.
It’s always cold and raining, so wet, damp, painful… meaning that it has an immense knock-on effect on my physical well-being, and thusly has a knock-on effect on my psychology. Clearly, the answer is that it’s everything together doing this. It’s a messy, tangled ball of knotted string…
The fact there’s no help or support in any real way, means I’m left floundering. I’ve had to ask to be re-referred to neurology because this is getting worse. Physiotherapy has dumped me (there’s no NHS money for long-term help, and she was a wet blanket and a half anyway…). I’ve been waiting about a year for psychological help, and I’m still waiting, desperately trying to tread water in the meantime. The pain clinic waiting list is a joke – they took 4 months to get back to me, only to tell me that from then (July) they notified me it was going to be yet another 9 months of waiting list to go. And nothing else has been offered, or is available, because I live where I live.
I had a nightmare of coming off the road on a corner of a steep mountain road and falling down hundreds of feet into a deep canyon. I turned around in my car seat, squeezed my eyes shut, and said goodbye as we fell and fell and fell. Just in the moment before hitting the bottom, I came round. Before then though, I didn’t realise I was dreaming… I really thought I was going to die. From disbelief in the first instance, I turned and accepted my fate. It was so horribly surreal to face death like that… and perhaps miraculous to find out it was just a dream.
It’s how I feel in life – it was a very Jungyan dream. I feel like I’ve gone off the edge of a cliff, and I’m just falling and falling… but there doesn’t seem to be any way to be woken up from this nightmare that I’m living in. And I just keep feeling like I’m falling the whole time, because there doesn’t seem to be any kind of end or stability in sight at all. I’m closing in on the 4th anniversary of the start of this [next month]… and I’m just not even close to getting this sorted out. I don’t even have psychological support. I’m just on a useless waiting list, and it’s not like those call centres where the phone queue tells you where your place is… They just make you wait in Limbo until you finally get that letter to say it’s “your turn”.
I don’t like being back. I wish I didn’t have to live somewhere that’s not interested in being good to me, and in fact, only makes things worse. There’s no long-term support of any kind, and I have no emotional support from the professionals. I’m a lost Aspie, falling and floundering… And I still can’t understand why they can’t help me to level out and fly…