Category: PTSD

As I sit here in pain…

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, Chronic pain, chronic physical pain, depression, mood disorders, physical pain, PTSD

As I sit here in pain…

I have no idea what the fuck I did. I got really hot so decided to take my legs out from under the covers. Apparently taking my right leg out first was not the thing to do because my left ankle then exploded in fucking agonizing pain and I couldn’t breathe for a few minutes. It was so damn bad. I held my ankle as still as possible. Then it started to cramp up on me. Fuck. I let it hang off the bed for a few minutes and that caused more cramping. Double fuck. I took another Ativan and my pain meds. What else was I going to do?

I then got really angry. I sent off a couple of texts to my therapist telling her how I felt. I used more profanity than I have ever used for her. I usually don’t swear in my texts unless I am really upset. And this time I was. Not like she is going to read the damn texts. If she is, she isn’t going to fucking respond. She never responds. Pisses me off. I don’t know why I bother.

While I was angry, I kept looking at my laptop and things on my bed and wanted to fling all of it off my bed. I was mad at myself for “defacing” my laptop cover with stickers. They never bothered me before and I didn’t know why tonight it was bothering me. I knew I couldn’t fling my beloved laptop. That would be very bad and I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. So I put some Pearl Jam on. PJ always calms me down when I am agitated and angry. Least until the Ativan and pain meds make me dopey.

I am almost finished (thank god) with the Lincoln Boys. I just read how in the 1930s and 1940s how historians were rationalizing the Civil War. One idiot thought that more compromise was needed and that if only politicians and newspaper editors weren’t so vile, the war could have been avoided peacefully. Another moron thought slavery was basically a joke because how could “white” people be so cruel to African Americans. Um, wasn’t this the time when the KKK emerged and lynchings happened? Not to mention that black people were killed if they so much as “looked” at a white woman? Sickens me, it really does. I thought this was written by a black person but nope, it was a white person. Unfucking real. I hate this author for his take on things, most of which have NOTHING to do with Lincoln or his “boys”. Propaganda, yup. I should write that. Maybe it will sell and I will be a NYT bestseller.

I got copies of MY book today. I needed one for a friend as I am giving it to her as she wanted one. In exchange, I get my happy place gift card. I ordered five copies. What I am going to do with the other four, I don’t know yet. I usually give them away to potential reviewers but that hasn’t worked out. I must have given away at least 10 copies and zero reviews have been written. But I sold a Kindle version of my book yesterday so I am happy. I’ll get 99 cents royalties for it. HAHAHA.

Did I mention that I am in pain? My toes were hurting before, like elves were hammering on every bone in my foot. Now my ankle is flared up beyond mention and cramping or throbbing. I can’t tell and I don’t want to touch it to find out. My shuffle thing really sucks because this is the 3rd time I have heard the song Release in the last 10 minutes. I love the song, but really? There are 11 other songs I could be listening to. Or 10. I forget how many songs are on the album. It’s having a calming effect on me so I shouldn’t complain. I just hate the shuffle function on my app. So if anyone has a good music app for Android, please tell me about it!! Rocket player isn’t for me but works until I find another one.

I’m glad my mother is ok. I heard some banging and shit downstairs so immediately thought the worst. Then she came up the stairs so I knew she was okay. If my ankle wasn’t hurting I would have checked on her. But I doubt I could stand. As I still can’t move my fucking ankle a millimeter. Damn you CRPS or whatever pain syndrome I have.

I didn’t kill my therapist

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, chronic physical pain, depression, mood disorders, PTSD

I didn’t kill my therapist

I had told my therapist to text me after she eats my cake but never got a text. I thought I killed her sweet tooth for good. That was until my pain shot up and I had real thoughts of ending things so I texted her our code for her to get back to me ASAP. She was at a professional engagement so couldn’t call me but we texted for a few minutes. She wanted me to go to the ER, which I declined because what were they supposed to do that my doctors couldn’t? And what ER would I go to, the medical side or the psych side? Either would be hours of waiting and I just am not up for waiting. I told my therapist I would take my meds early and hope for the best. I was crying at this point because I am so damn frustrated.

I didn’t really do anything but go up the damn stairs after going to the bathroom. Soon as I felt the pain, I snapped. I started crying and wonder what it would be like to go to my spot right now and take the pills with me. Kind of play with fire and see if I get burned. I didn’t care. Before I did get dressed and try and figure out how to even walk to my destination, I called my therapist. I am laid up but tomorrow is another day. Unfortunately, I have to talk to my therapist so I can’t be running off to my spot to end my life. Not that I could run, but you get my point.

It sucks that I didn’t talk with my therapist. I really could have used hearing her voice one more time today. Now I have to wait till tomorrow to hear it. I hate that I am crying like a baby with being in pain. I don’t know how much of it is because of sadness and how much of it is because of the frustration that I can’t do anything to help myself. I did take a sugar pill to see if it does anything. You know, in case this pain is truly in my head and not in my ankle. So far there has been no change in pain levels. But then I have taken a full dose of pain meds and Neurontin. I haven’t broken out the strong pain pill yet.

I was thinking of writing how traumatizing it is to be in pain all the time, every single day and not have a rhyme or reason. How many people go upstairs every day and not experience what I experience? I say that it is traumatizing because it makes me think of my bigger illness, cauda equina syndrome. When I was first diagnosed, I lost feeling in my lower extremity and my left leg/foot was in pain. So I associate that pain with getting CES. And since that day, because I am vulnerable to PTSD (I already was diagnosed), I keep having mini flashbacks of that terrifying time. No matter how many times I try to talk myself out of the feedback loop that this is happening again, it doesn’t seem to work until I take some Ativan to calm myself down. Then I can think a little clearer and see that it’s not happening. That I am just having a pain flare up and things are going to be okay even though I am in agony. I just need to wait till my pain meds kick in. I sometimes wish I had IV drugs to make it happen quicker because waiting up to 45 minutes is torture.

I really hate talking about trauma stuff because I am in denial that things happened the way they did. I was twenty-five when this happened to me so I really was naïve to the situation. I just thought that I needed some pain meds and some physical therapy and I would be good as new again. I had no idea how serious my condition was and it wasn’t like the doctors were all that helpful. Hell the surgeon told me I would be up in three days. Three days later, I still couldn’t move my feet or toes. It wasn’t until a week later I could move my big toe. Things came back so damn slowly. Then when I thought I was doing better I got hit with a staph infection that really knocked me off my feet again. But that is another story for another day.

When I finally saw my therapist three months later in person, she had said that I was traumatized by the surgery and what my body did to me. I didn’t want to believe her. That was 15 years ago. Now I get it. And it’s this trauma I keep experiencing every single night that is driving me whacky. I am sure my hormone levels are off kilter in some way shape or form from going through this every night. No wonder I can’t fucking sleep. I am too stressed from being stressed. I might not understand it physiologically but I know that eventually this shit is going to kill me if it’s not dealt with.