The screaming woke me up. It took several moments for me to determine the screaming was coming from inside my head. It happens. It is part of my trauma. It is part of a flashback. It gets worse, like everything else in October.
Tag: mental health Page 1 of 12
I’d encourage you to watch the four-minute video on YouTube. Johnny Bananas does some good work and deserves the click on this one.
A drawing I recently made.
One of the most important things my grandmother taught me was “it never hurts to ask.”
Note: I wrote this on April 15, 2017. Other than my boss’s boss, no one has ever seen it. It feels pertinent to me today to share it, especially in light of those in power and when you consider how much we are told that bullies go away after high school. They don’t. We are constantly fighting against them. Talking to the bully and asking for help didn’t work for me, so I wrote this letter and gave it to the boss’s boss.
Little yellow bastard outside my front door.
There are days I have thoughts in my head I want to write about, but can’t flesh them out into anything more meaningful than a sentence or two. Sometimes it’s because of the PTSD. Sometimes I can’t find the right words to express myself. Sometimes someone else said it better. Sometimes there isn’t anything more to say.
Katie and Irene show off Gering and Scottsbluff from atop the Scotts Bluff National Monument. Photo by Katie Bradshaw.
I haven’t wanted to sit down and write anything since my mom passed away on April 2. Each time I get behind the keyboard, I get sad. Then, the words no longer come. Added to all this, my country has fallen into fascism. I am at a loss of what to do, where to go, and what direction I should be taking.
Throughout all of this, however, there has been the kindness of others who have reached out to me and I want to highlight that instead of the devastation that seems to be surrounding me.
I am a big doofus who always forgets to smile. I hate selfies, but my head is warm.
As I pushed the door open to exit Great Clips, a wave of cold bashed me upside the head. It felt like a giant ice cube had immediately enveloped my head. “Shit,” I said. “I forgot my damn hat.”
Mrs. Blustein, my fifth grade teacher, brought a lady in to speak with us about politics. It was an election year and she was running for a seat in the U.S. House of Representatives. She didn’t have to come and speak to a bunch of 11 year olds, but I was glad that she did because I found it fascinating. We were learning about how politics work and here was a lady willing to explain all to us and answer our most idiotic questions. It was 1982 and that visit set me on a path of becoming aware of what was going on in the world and how I might actually be able to help effect change.
A drawing of T-Rex by Wyatt and me. I drew the head and teeth. Wyatt didn’t like my horns and said they needed to be “more pointy.”
A notification popped up on my phone. It was from my friend, Jina. I rarely read emails on my phone, save for things that are emergencies, and this was no different. When I returned home a few hours later, I read my email, nodded my head and spoke to my monitor. Yeah, that’s right. Now you know why it takes me so long to reply to emails. I tend to talk right back at you and forget to actually type out the damned response.
I don’t think this is anything related to my trauma. It’s just how my brain works. It’s also why I have written about a dozen awesome posts in my head over the past month, but never actually typed them. Sometimes, I type them in dreams and forget to do it in the real world. Today, I’m going to start typing them out and share them here.