I wish someone had told me sooner . . .

. . . that there is of course a difference between when one is diagnosed officially with something, and when one starts suffering from it in the first place.

I was officially diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder in early 2004. We'd only begun to seriously start exploring what that all meant when I was forced to stop treatment and flee the state. In June of 2005 I finally, after a third nervous breakdown, landed back in therapy. It was as much a condition of getting out of the hospital, as it was my wish to find an alternative to the suffering I was doing. I spent the next four years in pretty much crisis mode, going from one to the next, fighting to stay alive and had precious little chance to dig and make more sense out of things. Plus the little bit of digging I was doing was hard enough, and that was all to stay alive.

I finally fled that part of my life for where I am now. It's giving me the opportunity, the energy, to look into and start sorting the wreckage of my life. I can't believe how much this all hurts sometimes, and I certainly wasn't prepared to have a friend point out that when I first started having major problems with PTSD isn't really when it first became a part of my life. We were talking about how I was responding to the pressure my late husband brought to bear on my life and I said simply:

"Well I kept trying to work harder, do more, and be better so that he'd remember me, and the love we had in the beginning. That he'd love me again."

She said something that at that moment caused me to realize just how long I'd been living with PTSD, and how much of an impact it's had on my entire life. She said:

"Yeah, that's the PTSD."

I think I did a really good job of not freaking out right then and there as it dawned on me that was a reality that defined my marriage from day one. I went into the marriage with PTSD. I'd had PTSD since I was five, and there and then I was back in that one horrible moment that has haunted me on and off my entire life. It's then I KNEW, that PTSD has been messing with my life since long before Earl showed up and made it worse.

Up until I was five, I had a great relationship with my parents, and thought my Dad was a pretty decent guy. It was one horrific day when I was five, and the conversation I tried to have with my folks destroyed my life before I even had a chance to get it started. Short story is my father flew into a rage, beat me badly without warning, expectation, or even reason. Violence and hatred so extreme that I remember hoping I would die right then and there. I felt betrayed, violated and couldn't even begin to understand what I'd done wrong. And there, in that moment my life was forever changed. My battle with Post Traumatic Stress began. One at five I was ill prepared to fight, one that would haunt me and alter the course my life would take. My worth as a human being became firmly entrenched in the minds of others, I was property, a slave to command and torture, a puppet whose invisible strings went only as far as the nearest puppet master who owned me. I became a slave to the false gods of other people's demands and expectations. Everything I did from that point on, was colored by violence, or the steps I took in advance to preempt violence. I'd become "strong" from living in a combat environment, living with a brilliant, but deranged person who didn't want me in the first place, and whom I could NEVER make happy.

What I wanted to do with my life changed constantly for no other reason than it didn't matter what it was, my "Father" instantly turned it to a weapon to use against me. I won't even bore you with the details because it really doesn't matter now. Be it enough said that over time, I've proven him wrong time and again, but my horribly scared heart and soul still don't quite buy it all.

It's actually amusing in some respects, people who know me well have marveled at how many dramatically different careers I've had over the years, made great amounts of money in each, and moved on to something else. How I've in effect lived many lifetimes in just this one alone, and become an expert in so many things, I could do anything I wanted anywhere I wanted simply because I wished to do so. In retrospect the horrible truth I can now see is that it was a life wasted, looking for the approval of a man that at this point in life I'm not certain I'm actually related to by blood. That too is a story for another day.

So now I turn my newly opened eyes back upon some of the other parts of my life I'd not heretofore given much thought, to learn lessons lost to me then.

A rebound life . . .

I read. Pretty much constantly. When I was a kid I read the entire contents of three school libraries, and two local town libraries before I found my way to the Inter Library Loan system. My local library used to take bets on how quickly I'd be back for more books. Not only do I read, but I read faster than many speed reading graduates. Mind I'm not bragging here, more complaining than anything. So I'm constantly on the lookout for new stuff to read, especially things I like. Given they go even faster than anything else, I have certain fan fiction categories on my phones speed dial.

As I've stated on my other blog, I'm a fan of Stargate SG-1, and given that it's been sort of cancelled, fanfic is more important than ever. This morning I came across 5 Things Sam did while separated from her teammates by rebeccavoy over there. Admittedly, Rebecca is one of my favorite authors on FanFiction.net, but this one, specifically, number five, stopped me in my tracks and kinda gave my day a less than ideal start.

She was using him, a rebound from an entire life, and it saddened her that under other circumstances – better circumstances, her guilty mind shot back at her – she never would have looked at him twice. And what’s more, she knew that if the call came, if she was summoned back to the gate, she would leave him in a heartbeat, and would never even think to look back. Full text here.

Which is when it hit me. Am I having a rebound life? Not even just because of what I lived through with Earl, but the patterns of reasonating violence and abuse that have haunted me for the last roughly seventy years. Yes, I know, I don't LOOK 70, but I'm accounting for my last life here in the total. One that I remember all too clearly, especially given that up until six years ago, it was functionally identical to the last one.

So am I going throught the motions of a life, marking time, waiting for my real life to call me back? Am I, as that Carter, from that broken time line, just keeping my head down staying out of the way because what I had is over? Is this, effectively my third lifetime in the last 71 years, a rebound lifetime? Am I settling, just existing because I'm tired and feel cheated? Feel lost in ways?

Maybe.

There, I said it. I admitted it might be possible. I don't believe so, but I will admit that some of the old zest I had, the fire in my belly so to speak, has been quelled by combat fatigue, and the overwhelming feeling that I've been screwed. Really. So I can relate to Sam's feelings in this piece. Time and space conspired to land me here, and I'm just not playing anymore. For the first time in more than a century, I'm focusing on myself. Devoting the passion and energy I once lavished on anyone and everyone (except me) to me for a change. Admittedly I'm still healing, I'm still bitter some, still angry some, and still lost some.

But it's changing, I'm changing, and I'm watching as the world is changing. Waiting for the day when I again feel strong enough to go for more. I remain conscious however of the passage of time, the maelstrom of linearity bearing down on me. Ironically, one of my favorite meditations, if you could call it that, takes place on a completely different world, not even in the same part of the Galaxy as Earth. I run there, I retreat there, when I'm faced with more than I feel like dealing with here. Why? Because the pace of life there is more sedate, the environment as different as you can get on another planet that supports human life. Because it is completely safe. And after what I've been through, SAFE is one of the most important words in my vocabulary. Which in and of itself is a bit scary. For the better part of the earlier life in this lifetime, LOVE was the most important word, and the driving force in my existence. Now I'm all about being safe.

I can't believe how much this hurts.

Honestly this only just struck me. From LOVE to SAFE, oh dear God, what have I become. I know God hasn't abandoned me, that much is clear, but I'm a shallow reflection of the amazing creature I used to pretend to be. I know, deep down, all of me is still there, and that caricature of a person I used to play is a ghost of who I am when I'm whole, but how can I be sure, not having been whole in more than a century. When does playing to the room become settling into a "B" movie supporting role?

How do I get back to being the leading lady of my own existence? How do I get back to being that person I once was, long, long, before the last cycle of lives started 116 years ago? Yes, I'm 116 that I'll admit too. Realistically it's the count of linear temporal years since last I was ascended. That however is a story for another day I'd say. And no, I'm not crazy, I just remember more say than most folks do between incarnations.

And right now I'm tired.

However it's now more than "good enough" to be going as fast as I can go. And for all the tears today and tonight, it wasn't a complete waste. But I'll talk about that over on the other side.

Not enough sleep and the resultant crappy day.

In the last 48 hours I've had maybe six solid hours of sleep? It's been like combat trying to get some sleep. As a result, my mood has tanked somewhat significantly and I'm having a crappy day. A really crappy day. I just want to go to sleep for a while and wake up feeling like I got some sleep. Is that really too much to ask for? Physically I'm otherwise pretty healthy, no cold, flu or anything else, but at around midnight I'm going to take some NYQUIL because I know that will put me down for a nights sleep. Cause if I don't sleep tonight, I'm going to have to check myself into the hospital to keep myself from doing something rash.

So my entire day was shot two days before I even started it. Oh joy. I'm not even sure why I'm putting this here, cause to be honest, it seems pointless and lame. To much me being a whiny, cranky bitch and not enough sunshine and joy. Well this blog is the darker side of things, the more personal impact of having "survived" Earl and his folks.

Frankly, it's times like these that make me wonder if "surviving" was such a good idea. The lasting mental and emotional health issues that plague my so called life are just staggering.

Side note: As I write this, a lovely female cardinal landed on the branch right outside my window and is just nibbling away on berries. That has brightened my mood some. I just sat here for a few moments watching her and beaming her some Reiki.

So, as I was saying. Survival? Yeah, I've managed to escape abuse, and have "lived" to tell the tale so to speak. But at what cost? I'm not nearly the same person I used to be. Not even close. I'm living with chronic health issues as a result of years of violence. I have "trust" issues with 99% of the world, can't stand noise, crowding, moving too fast, not feeling safe, and so much more. I have Post Traumatic Stress, Anxiety, and Depression topping the list, and of course the way those three things react with each other is just such a joy . . . {Yes, that was dripping with sarcasm}

So like I say, crappy day . . .