reread this post
I’m dismayed to realize how much of this still isn’t done, sigh. It’s Saturday morning. I need to go get something done on the “TO DO” list!
The piece of the PTSD that seems to affect me the most these days is the “exposure” thing. People with PTSD feel as if they have a painted target on them and so want rather desperately to be below the radar, any radar.
Cleaning the house, working on the cleaning plan, working on the memoir, ummm, and writing this blog all lean on this. So did the 10,000+ items out annually. Sometimes I can overcome it; sometimes I can’t.
It just is.
The only way I know to deal with this is to just bull ahead, as much as I’m able. I’m doing way better than I used to. In the bad old days the idea of living in a uncluttered, clean house would throw me into a panic attack. These days, I can clean just fine, losing the clutter is going to be the bugaboo, and we think we have a plan for that too.
But still. . . I do things like I’ve done 3 times now . . . and “lose” the manuscript for the memoir. Yesterday I finally found the printout, but then lost my reading glasses. I just smiled and did what I could without the glasses. And when I found them again read the two or three things I hadn’t been able to before. But it’s that sort of thing. My brain fights me.
I’ve been having nightmares for the past two weeks or so, I expect this will continue for some time. It’s apparently a bleed valve I need, so be it. I don’t remember them, but it does disrupt my sleep. So instead of getting up at 6:30, this morning it was 8:30 before I finally rolled out of bed and I felt as if I needed another 2 hours, or more.
The unconscious things my brain does are the main reason that I can’t “just ignore” the PTSD. I’m not where I need multiple anxiety meds, a dog, etc. but I have the same disorder. It shows up in weird and interesting ways: these days in nightmares and “losing” things.
The book got sent off to be edited last October, almost a year ago. I got it back, then spent two weeks coming up with a new outline, then more weeks adding and culling and moving around.
Then it was sent to the editor again, this time for a copy edit. It’s back.
I’ve been putting off making the changes. Nothing major, I was going to move 4 sections around. I need to send pieces of it to my siblings so they can say if they hate what I say about them. I don’t expect they will, but, I’d rather ask than get sued or make someone mad.
I need to send it off to people to read I’ve promised the chance.
I have a marketing idea brewing.
After I get it back from the beta readers, then I’ll make those changes, and it goes out to be formatted for epub and POD,and will available to buy on this blog.
Why? Because the book is titled
Teacup of Water:
An Emotional Testimony of
PTSD with SF on the side
so the sales link should be here. My editor, rightly so, got all over me about the SF reference, as most people would say “sci-fi,” except you see that isn’t true in the science fiction world; that’s what people say whose business isn’t science fiction.
Anyway, that’s where I am with the book.
The house is getting (and staying!) clean too.
Yeah, I’m doing both at once. The fallout from that is that I’m having nightmares, for weeks now. I have multiples most nights. I don’t remember them and they don’t normally actually wake me all the way up, just enough so that I know that I’ve done it again. There was one bad one, or one I woke all the way from about my ex-husband that was just weird, as we’ve been divorced for decades! Another night whatever was going on in my head caused me to stiffen my right leg so much it went into spasm –that woke me up! But aside from those two incidents, I haven’t a clue wtf the nightmares are about, just that they occur, nightly. I figure it’s a bleed valve and that’s just fine, obviously I need it.
I was in California for a funeral last month, remembered/was reminded how really messed up some of the people I knew were, and it’s so crowded I doubt I could ever live there again. Made me sort of sorry I’d come from there a bit.
Today I got home and DH said, “Your box is in the kitchen.”
“What box?” I asked.
He said, “You got a box in the mail.”
There was a card and a gift of candied orange peel from one of my oldest friends for no real reason at all, except she loves the stuff, remembered that I did too and bought me some. She is one of the people I didn’t get to see when I was in SoCal, as she only lived there for the short while we lived together, lo many, many years ago.
I was feeling exhausted and worn down when I parked the car. It seemed to be a nonproductive day, but it took an upswing. I got out of the car on the beautiful piece of land where we live, found an affectionate cat, an intelligent and caring man, and a box from someone who knows me well enough to know that I like my sweet and tart mixed — and always have.
I wish I could write poetry! I’d write a poem about the granular, sugary sweet offset by the oily bite of the soft peel. I can’t, not my kind of writing I’m afraid. I wish I could though.
Today wasn’t all that great,but it ain’t over yet!
It is currently being edited. I can’t edit this one myself. It’s my memoir. Okay, so what will happen here is likely that I’ll erase almost all the previous entries, as the stuff is covered, or most of it is, in the book.
After it gets edited, it will be formatted for ereaders, reading online, and print on demand copies. I intend to print some out for various people. There’s a place locally I can take a file and end up with a finished piece at the end of the day. Not sure how much this is going to cost, but whatever, it’s certainly worthwhile.
My intention is to establish a link here and sell it from that.
is to produce/put away enough produce in the spring/summer/fall that we don’t have to buy any in the winter.
I have potatoes that were sprouting in the bin, planted out in the yard growing. I intend to grow the red seed potatoes I bought yesterday for winter. I also got storage onion starts. Celery was planted, it’s not doing well, but I planted it. I bought 2 celeric bulbs last week, haven’t been able to find the seed or starts. Figure I’ll plant those, either use the stalks, get seed, have it for next year OR the bulbs will grow enough that I can harvest 1 and grow the other.
I have summer squash, red cabbage, brussel sprouts, peas, & beans coming up, home grown broccoli seed sprouting, asparagus making wonderful ferns, etc. The garden is trying hard to produce food. The problem is that my garden sits atop the septic field, all sand. All the nutriends I feed the garden just seep away. I’ve added compost, leaf litter, worms, potting soil, you name it. And, as long as I keep it up, the plants do okay, but stop for one week? And they go back to producing enough to keep us in salads throughout the summer.
Raised beds help, but they don’t entirely change the situation. A giant sponge sits under my yard. The other side of the house is the north side, and is heavily wooded, so that won’t work.
Arg. I’ll manage. But I’ll never have a spectacular garden here, because I have a spectacular leach field, all nearly 1/2 acre of it!
As a person with a mental illness diagnosis (PTSD) I’d like to comment on the recent insanity in my home state. I was not a popular youngster, but I had friends. I think the difference is that these days we lead others to expect instant gratification.
I knew it might be college before I had a boyfriend. I cried myself to sleep many a night in jr high and high school thinking I’d never have a date. Didn’t happen like that at all, but I didn’t know that, any more than anyone does.
Also, there was a whole social climate that even if you had access to guns (and some of my friends did) that you’d never use them against those in your community. We’ve distanced ourselves from each other, stopped teaching civics, stopped telling kids that being a candy striper or equivalent is laudable, etc. We didn’t just believe in our ecology, political party, etc. we were part of a country. We were Americans.
I think the difference between my generation of misfits and the current crop of the socially maladroit were two things: 1) We expected things to get better socially and be okay financially. We would be able to find jobs, etc. 2) We were taught from a very early age that we, all of us, were part of something bigger than we were, we were all connected that way.
Not all people with a mental illness diagnosis are going to shoot up a room, but all of us, with a diagnosis or no, need to believe in our future and that we are all connected, a part of something bigger than we are.
I just don’t see that happening dammit! So I expect we’ll keep having tragedies like this, where someone feels disconnected from those around them, is hurting and lashes out in the only way they think they can take control and can matter, even tragically.
I told someone I’d bring a rug for them to see Monday. The only rug I have partly done isn’t mine; it’s for a friend, and I’m not going to drag it around the state to show others.
All the rugs I have here which I made are either 1)my original prototype, with all the errors and it’s dirty — it’s been in continual use for the past 8 months. Or, 2) the laundry room rug, which isn’t completely finished, and oh yeah, I spilled a small bit of bleach on it. The laundry room rug is also much bigger than the others, about 5′ wide so it’s heavy and awkward to carry.
I do have about 50 t shirt “crop tops” to make into either coasters or stair tread rugs. I could probably do that, or some of that?
Dunno what I’ll do — we’ll see!