Can You Find the Man?

Knitted

Baby blanket. Must. Get. Knitted.

Must. Get. Done.

Bloggy Hiatus - The Why

In case anybody that still reads this is going to hold me up to my previous post, I'm going to get this outta the way.

In my pre-blog history, I was diagnosed with PTSD, severe depression with suicidal tendencies, and panic attacks. Therapy didn't help. It made me feel even more like a victim.

During my six months of therapy, the therapist told me that talking about my flashbacks was "working through" my problems. But, the more I "worked through" my problems, the more flashbacks I had. At 16, coping is hard anyway. Add in flashbacks and it is a recipe for disaster.

Look at how much kids change in a year. To an adult a year doesn't seem like much, sometimes even ten years doesn't seem like much of a difference. But, to a sixteen year old, ten years is two-thirds of their lives. My earliest memories are of abuse. So, I spent the six months that I was in therapy reliving the worst experiences of my life. Sometimes, I'd have a flashback from when I was 3 or 4. An hour later, I'd have a flashback from when I was about ten.

I couldn't go to school. Foster homes that were non-abusive couldn't handle my diseases. I still ran away from homes that were abusive. I was consistently getting put in worse homes because the good ones wouldn't take me. At one point I was getting put on a three day hold for attempting suicide about once a week, sometimes two.

Eventually, I figured out that the less I talked about things, the fewer flashbacks I had. So, I stopped blathering on and on about what happened, emotions, reactions, etc. I started to only have a flashback when I saw certain people or things. I went from having two or more a day to having maybe one a month. Suicide seemed less necessary. I moved. I stabilized.

By the time I was 18, I took myself off my antidepressant meds. I wrote stories when I used to try to kill myself. (That started my love with writing) I was excelling at school. I had found a foster home that I thought actually gave a shit (that one's a whole other story). I got a scholarship for college and a steady job. Things were going really well.

Then, my life went to hell about August of last year. I felt out of control. Hell, I was out of control of my life. The details of what happened aren't necessary, but my girlfriend, our kids, and I all found out how true Murphy's Law is. Everytime something good happened, two or more bad things happened.

All that stress led to my flashbacks returning. I started having panic attacks a lot. I contemplated suicide. I almost checked myself into a psych ward. The more my mental health went down the tube, the harder it was to care if the rest of my life kept going to hell. I didn't care about anything. I was a horrible mother and girlfriend. I didn't care who I hurt in my self-destruction.

One day, I started talking to Stacie. I mean really talking to her. I didn't hold back. She still doesn't know everything but I feel comfortable talking about what happens in my head now. She knows that sometimes all I need is just to be comforted.

I still don't think that therapy is the right choice for me. Meds aren't either. But, I finally figured out that ignoring the problem doesn't help. Whether it's a therapist and meds, or just the person you love, you have to have an outlet. One that talks back instead of making it easier to believe it happened to someone else.

PBW's Tag

PBW did a meme! I thought I would use this excuse to come out of the funk that I have been in. Without further ado...

The Meme PBW Tagged Everyone With

Da Rulez:

Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.

People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.

At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.

Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

1. I was diagnosed with PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) when I was in my middle teens. Shortly after, I stopped therapy, stopped taking my antidepressant meds, and came out of the closet. A decade or so later, I realized only one of my responses to the diagnosis was a good thing. I've got another post in draft about the long-term hazards of not letting the pros do their job.
2. I'm quite domestic. I love to bake, knit, crochet, sew, and so on. Did I mention that I love to knit?
   
3. If you ever come to my house and see me cleaning cabinets or doing other "deep" cleaning, run. I clean when I am beyond mad.
4. I recently got my first dykemobile, a Jeep Cherokee Laredo. I wanted this, the Lara Croft Jeep Wrangler Rubicon. My girlfriend wants it, too. I see a second car in our future.
   
5. I love writing, but I am not very good at it. Yet. Plot threads are my downfall.
6. My favorite quote-

   "Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in one pretty and well preserved piece, but to skid across the line broadside, thoroughly used up, worn out, leaking oil, shouting GERONIMOoooo!!!!!" - Author Unknown

7. I love useless information and trivia. Uncle John's Bathroom Reader series is one of my favorite books series along that line.
8. Going to garage sales is fun. You might have to see a lot of junk, but sometimes you find a treasure.

In the spirit of laziness and because I was late, I'm not tagging anyone. Tag yourself if you wanna, but I'm not gonna. ;)