It's been a hard go lately and as it always seems, my husband writes...
Sometimes I try to step back and take a look at myself. Even though I'm oblivious most of the time, I see that my symptoms ebb and flow like the tide. In retrospect, I start to see patterns but they are everything but predictable.
How freakin' awesome would it be if these waves were predictable? I'd just plan to go "hermit it up" in the woods with a shotgun, living in a house made from an old school bus until it subsided and I was once again somewhat normal. Eating only what I hunted and would fully utilize and get out of my system this urge to kill in a way that wouldn't find me rotting in a state (maximum security) hospital.
Since I can't predict it, I'll just lock myself up here, take my meds like a good little vet and disassociate myself from society. I only do this for their protection, not mine.
I spent my life obeying the law in order to avoid winding up in prison, only to create my very own and sentence myself to a life term. Granted, the house is much nicer than an old school bus or prison cell, but when you stand in the driveway and look down the block at the edge of and where your universe ends, it can be very isolating to say the least.
I'm having a rough go at it right now. I can't fucking sleep and when I do, I can't wake up. My internal clock has a spring hanging out of it and a cracked face. Right now, I can not go a day without medicating and hiding. I'm angry, I sad, I'm jumpy and tense. I'm damned near chain smoking and want a drink so fuckin' bad I can taste it. Oh, and by the way, Im taking a stomach med that gives me crushing headaches when I drink alcohol, which sucks because right now nothing and I mean NOTHING is helping.
There have been VERY few times, namely none, that I've ever actually wanted to check into the psych ward at the VA. Well, I feel like I should. I feel my grip slipping. Something new is happening. I can live with the people I see in my periphery that aren't there. I can live with the nightmares. Hell, I've even found a way to somewhat deal with the sounds that aren't really there. But now I'm losing my short term memory.
I can't remember anything anymore. I walk into a room and wonder what the hell I came in there for. That is, except for the bathroom. Thank God that hasn't started to fail me yet. But, I digress.
I get easily confused now. I'm having trouble concentrating. I can't remember what I had for dinner sometimes. I can't remember if I took my medication. I can't remember what I was doing halfway though doing it and have found myself, wrench in hand, looking dazed at a pile of parts. I'll light a fresh cigarette only to find one burning, setting in the ashtray.
It came on all at once. Granted, the stomach med label says it can cause some of these symptoms but, I was feeling this way before I was taking it. I just don't feel right. I feel lost. I feel behind.
As if I'm not anxious enough already, what if I forget something important and burn down the house or kill someone?
Case in point; I was working in the shop today and found out that I had apparently left the valve open on a small torch I use once in a while. All the gas in the cylinder had escaped. Now, I have a gas fired water heater right here in the garage which means a constantly lit pilot light. I could have blown up or at the very least burned down the garage and the house.
Today, for the second time in my entire life, I locked my keys in my truck. Not only that, I left the ignition on. Luckily, I put the damned thing in park and thankfully, I wasn't locked out long enough to drain the battery but damn... What the fuck is happening to me?
I find myself losing large quantities of time. Huge blocks of my day are missing. I'll look up at the clock and have lost three hours. I'm also having more frequent dissociative episodes. My wife came home from town and caught me in one of these lockouts and was able to snap me out of it. And, I again found myself missing hours.
These are just a few of the more drastic examples of the dozen or so issues I have every day. It's not easy for a man to admit when he's scared. Right now, I'm scared. I would rather have live rounds whizzing over my head than this.
And, on top of all of this, right now I'm feeling very "hair trigger" psychotic. I want to break things and hurt people. I'm itching for a scrap and get that "I'm invincible, split second, red visioned rage". And deep down it's not a question as to "if" I'm gonna go off and hurt someone, it's "when".
More often than not in the past, I held my life with less than high regard and wanted it to end. I even tried making it happen once. Then, I found the woman who would become my wife. She saved me from the brink and gave me a reason to live.
Granted, I gave up hope of ever getting better from this but with my new wife at my side, caring for me, giving me a purpose and a reason to live, I lost the urge to end my life.
I found it easier to deal with because of her support. I kind of settled into the understanding that I was fucked up, and there for a while, I was coming to terms with that. With real purpose to my life and the want and need to live I am frightened and beginning to feel an almost certain impending doom. Now that I want to live, how long do i have? I know from experience that once a patient with advancing illnesses develop dementia, it's only a matter of time...
Now, instead of worrying about "living" with PTSD, I'm afraid that it's the thing that is going to end up killing me.
