Writings

Tag: PTSD Page 3 of 5

I’m not crying, it’s just raining on my face

On any given day, I carry one of several backpacks with me. Inside is a copy of a letter a friend sent to me last year. It’s a list of reasons why she looks up to me and, on many days, it is a foundation which helps me keep moving forward.

Looking ahead as I continue to confront the past

Many people are celebrating the end of 2020 by posting positive things that happened to them during an overall terrible year. As I’ve said before, my new year usually starts in November, but the second half of 2020 hit me a little harder than usual and I’m only now getting around to my thoughts.

Scars 2

My hair went that way on its own

I carefully used the point of my trowel to flick away a piece of dirt from the artifact. After I had scraped enough large pieces of dirt with the trowel, I reached over to my kit and grabbed my brush. It wasn’t yet clear what the artifact was, so I gently moved the brush back and forth, clearing away the dirt to get a better sense of what I had found.

The precipice of October

Tomorrow is October 1, and I’m terrified.

Saying yes to drugs

Last October during a regularly scheduled checkup with my doctor, we had a discussion about taking medication for my PTSD-related nightmares and flashbacks. I hate taking medications, but she noticed a continued increase of nightmares and flashbacks. I wanted to think about it. I’ve said I wanted to think about it every three months during my checkups.

COVID-19 ignored blue flags and refused to move over

Everyone thought the Australian Grand Prix was going to happen. It didn’t. Then, everything changed.

Burnout

It just doesn’t work for me

The left side of the desk is my side. The right side is Paul’s side. I do my online therapy from here and there are many distractions.

I walked into my therapist’s office for my usual Tuesday appointment and sat down in my usual spot. We exchanged the normal pleasantries before she said, “Irene. We need to talk.”

My brain screamed the loudest, “Fuck,” I ever heard rattle through my skull. I knew what was coming.

TK-421 would like to be relieved from post

Page 3 of 5

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