This is a spontaneous blog post.
But I’m not doing the greatest lately. I’d say since my rabbit died. PTSD makes events like death, loss of other forms, and stress a whole heap harder. This hasn’t been my first grief and mourning. That’s probably what makes it hard. My sadness has been compounded.
And I am one of little faith. It’s hard for me to hear the phrases, “They’re in a better place now,” and feel comfort. I struggle to be a spiritual person, despite the fact that I know it helps me. Not religion–never religion. But spirituality… I need it. And I haven’t been able to practise it in any way.
I’m trying to find places to lay blame. Sources where I can say, “Yes, if I stop this, it’ll stop the flow of horrible lethargy.” But the thing is, there are no sources outside of my head. It’s all in my head. It’s all going on in the mush in my skull. My boyfriend is on anti-depressants and thinks they would benefit me.
I don’t think anti-depressants would help me.
The ball-and-chain isn’t just the lethargy. It’s a long metal linkage of trauma, paranoia, hallucinations, forgetfulness, depression, and lethargy.
I’d go back to therapy, but it was offered through my school. And I’m no longer in school. I don’t think I have the funds to seek out additional therapy–and let’s be real here, I don’t want to have to unpack two decades of crap again to someone who might not be helpful.
I’m trying to remember the things I learned from therapy. I’m trying to remember the things that helped me. I’m trying to remember that I have the tools to get better. I’m trying to remember. I’m trying to remember how it feels to be a person again. I’m trying to feel okay again.