Post 1765

Post 1765

I only got a few hours of sleep last night. PTSD symptoms were set off around 2300 and didn’t end till around 0230 when I finally fell asleep. I woke up just a couple of hours later and have been up since. I tried to get back to sleep and would have if my damn phone didn’t go off on me. I had successive text messages and they drove me from sleep. One of the psychologists I am friends with was replying to my blog via Twitter so I was getting his tweets. It was constructive and he gave me a name of someone at BWH. I will look him up and see what he can do for me. My friend didn’t say that he was a doc or a surgeon as he didn’t give me his credentials. But I trust my friend.

I was going to catch the 0950 bus but I was too lazy to get out of bed. I wanted some writing time at Starbucks but was denied, least at the one at the Square. I went to South station and tried to find a spot for my therapy session. Soon as I found a place outside, it started to drizzle. I knew there was a Starbucks across the street so I went there and found a quiet corner. I did some writing while waiting for time to pass. My therapist called at the appointed time and we began talking about guess who? I told her I had PTSD symptoms last night brought on inadvertently by just deleting my father’s contact information from my speed dial. I didn’t delete him from my phone, just the speed dial. It triggered memories to come flooding back, something I wasn’t expecting. I wrote a short blog about it on Tumblr and sent it to her. I am still paranoid my sisters are reading my blog so I am careful on what I post now.

We talked about the symptoms and how triggered I was. I told her I tried distraction and other forms of grounding but I might as well have been blowing bubbles in the air for all the good it did me. I was tempted to call my psychiatrist but it was after 0100 and I was not really in the mood to talk. I had been anxious all evening because my meds got messed up due to the computer system and I didn’t want to bring it up or make her think I was calling that late just to see if she called the pharmacy. I wouldn’t do that. I just needed reassurance I wasn’t going out of my tree. The memories were so real and so was the guilt that I felt. Maybe if I stayed with my father a little more after I gave him his medication he would have died with someone in the room. I know my sister said that he wanted it that way, for us to be eating and for him to die at peace in his bed, which he did. There was no struggle. He just let go. And I just am kicking myself because I didn’t see it coming. Yes, I knew he was going to die that day. And I am grateful it didn’t take all night for him to die. But I just feel like there should have been more for me to do for him and I can’t figure out for the life of me what that was or what it should be.

If my therapist and I talked about anything else, I don’t really remember it. I told her the fiasco with the computer system and how my psych has to now call the damn pharmacy because it’s a stupid piece of shit. She did everything right (as far as I know). The shit computer just didn’t accept the changes she made. What a retarded system. Now I know why she is so aggravated with it.

I think we briefly talked about seeing a grief counselor but I really don’t want to be double talking. I don’t want to talk about grief with my therapist and the counselor at the same time because then I am just wasting my breath twice. I still haven’t called the counselor. I think I might email her. I am good with that. But I think I can handle things with my therapist. I don’t want to be in a sticky situation with the counselor because I feel suicidal at times or because I have PTSD.

This afternoon, I went south of Boston to visit friends and to see my friend’s daughter in a concert. The noise was unreal from the kids, not from the concert. The concert was pretty good for a bunch of 6th graders. They weren’t as off key as I thought they would be, though they killed one of my favorite songs that the Money Pit plays. I forget the name of the concerto but the kids butchered it. I am going to have to find that piece of music or see Money Pit again to hear it played correctly. I love Money Pit. It always makes me laugh even though I’ve seen it a million times and know it word for word. I did have a good time even though I wasn’t feeling good. I kept thinking about my father. I guess I was feeling guilty about having fun while I am still supposed to be in “mourning”.

Tomorrow marks one month that my father has passed. I have groceries coming in the morning that should make me tired enough to go back to sleep. I set my alarm clock for 0645 as the delivery is between 0730 and 0930. I hope they come around first thing. I then have therapy, again. After that it’s burger time!

About G. Collerone

suicide attempt survivor writing about the hopelessness that accompanies depression that no one likes to talk about
This entry was posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, depression, mood disorders and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Post 1765

  1. manyofus1980 says:

    so sorry the ptsd symptoms were so bad. thinking of you today. xoxo

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