Okay, okay all ready! Yes, I am READY to move on with my life.
But, but I’m weighed down by previous work obligations and all the stuff. I’d get a dumpster and have a “pitch it” party, but you might as well make a big target on my back , point and say,
“PTSD — HIT HER HERE!!!”
This is what it feels like to be trapped in an Isben play, I guess.
I got here.
I don’t hurt.
I didn’t flashback with a major revelation.
I’ve waited for those two things to occur together for 58 or so years. And I’m bogged down with all the strings, ties, stuff: emotional and physical trash that I accumulated to deal with the undiagnosed PTSD and abuse issues for most of a 1/2 century.
The mechanisms and stuff helped. It kept me safe. Now I’m not afraid to see what it could be like to live in a neat house, but I’m afraid of going too fast — because that’s always brought the issues up before, and I don’t know if it still will — but it always has, for 50+ years.
Will someone please just find the F’n switch for this stupid ratwheel I’m on and shut the stupid thing OFF already???
Bet: it won’t happen that way. I have to clean up my own mess. I have to keep fighting. I have to push on and on and on. Which, considering that I stayed alive at birth, as a preemie, when they expected me to die, means if you’re me, I’ve been fighting since my first breath. They expected me to die at the first suicide attempt, when I was 16, didn’t. I almost did the 2nd time I tried at 19, but I didn’t. Had the motorcycle accident which could have left me brain dead or just dead, didn’t. On and on.
I’m alive. I don’t hurt. That took 58-9 years. Now what?
Well, “now what ” is that I have to deal with more backwash, more stuff, more things and mechanisms I had created so I could cope.
Part of me wants to PARTY! CELEBRATE!!! Find a new direction and go thataway!
But I have several 1,000 books to get rid of, first. I have a new way to live to learn, first. I have to learn new skills because the new me is more aware of my shortcomings than my old self (I was too busy hurting.)
SLOG-SLOG-SLOG-SLOG-SLOG- ad nauseum.
And yes, I’m sick of this. I’m running out of energy and I can’t do anything but deal with the vestiges of my past, even though I’ve spent all this time/energy learning to cope with it.
This pity party stops here.
How I ‘ll fix this I have no idea, but I’ll find a way. I have to believe that or I will go mad. I’m just tired.