Category Archives: PTSD

The Last of it, or a Big Chunk Anyway!

I just made tentative arrangements with a bookstore to take a van load of my old stock.


I think this will take about 1/2 (?) of the remaining books & stuff in the storage unit? I have 2 boxes + I’m giving to a local bookstore, tomorrow. But the storage still has boxes loaded 10 high I think…

On one hand, I’m thinking —

“YAY!!! I can finally move on!” And on the other? I just want to have a really good, long weep.

Books were my salvation, my only reliable sanctuary. They didn’t change, and almost everything else did or wasn’t trustworthy, because my Abuser had removed that certainty: family, friends, God, the neighbors, my schools, even where I lived.

I was in a weird situation: eating prime beef in a ritzy neighborhood, thinking I was damned and going to be thrown out at any time. Being beaten in some ways would have been easier. Broken bones show and heal — a broken spirit not so much.

But books? The books were always the same. The good guys were always good; the bad guys were always bad. And the sort of stories I read? The good guys always won, because I desperately needed to believe that I could win. (Doesn’t everyone see themselves as a good guy?)

So. A milestone. It will get done. But I may cry myself to sleep or cry in my sleep for a while yet too.


What to Do?

I was going swimmingly along and then all of a sudden, I’m not. Why? Well, it’s the usual for me: I noticed/wrote about what was going on.

That was for decades the most frustrating thing about the way my head is wired between the abuse and PTSD: when I start to overcome the issues, if I acknowledge it, it stops. For a long time, the acknowledgement would trigger a panic attack: full blown. These days, I just stop making progress.

The maintenance jobs are getting done, not as quickly or consistently, but they are. I keep expecting, naively, apparently, that I will just move into a space where I can simply do things. That isn’t so. My body still has PTSD and my intellect isn’t the boss of me.

What isn’t getting done is progress on the culling and house clearing. Yes, I’m overwhelmed. Yes, it’s a huge task. Yes, I’ve been doing this for years decades. I have a few things goading me on.

  1. I don’t want to be remembered for being a hoarder. An ex-hoarder? That I can handle.
  2. If I/we get COVID, the stuff will make caretaking harder.
  3. If or when we have to move, the stuff will have to be dealt with then, and it’s harder every year to move the stuff around.
  4. I want out of this prison that the PTSD/abuse created for me, decades ago, to keep me safe. I have a friend who calls the house my fortress. It was. The funny thing about a locked room — it can keep you safe, but it also can be a jail!
  5. I’d like to find out what life is like otherwise. I’d like to see what I can accomplish when I don’t spend a huge amount of each day caretaking/dealing with stuff, and without the stuff in the way.

So, I went looking for inspiration/motivation, something. I started looking at my get organized books and found a piece which said that when all of a day’s jobs areĀ  maintenance, you need to add an achievement task, because you need both.

Maintenance jobs are getting done. Achievement job? Hm. What could I do which won’t make more mess and can be completed . . .

  • Sweep the front walk.
  • Make up a gallon of sanitizer. (1/3C bleach to 1 gallon of water)
  • Get the rags/kitchen towels put away.

All of those are maintenance, again. Achievement goal?

If a maintenance goal is characterized by being continually repeated and an achievement goal being a one-shot . . ,

  • Finish the 2017 tracking for the farm which was started last week.
  • Work on the “house book.”
  • Work on the long-term planning.
  • Finish the touch-up on the entry baseboards.


I don’t remember where I got the image. But it illustrates a lot of my present mental state!