Somedays all you need is a good cry. I just want to let you know that it's okay. I had one today myself. Living with PTSD and Anxiety isn't easy. Things pile up, I start to feel overwhelmed and then it just all pours from my eyes. But then it feels so good, it feels so very good to release all those pent up emotions. After a good cry I always find myself motivated, motivated to figure a way out. I do have moments of guilt, but I try to work from that. What I mean by that is, for example, I don't work out of the home, I can't at this time due to my ptsd and anxiety. That has weighed me down with guilt. I feel useless that I can't help provide. I do what I can when I can but it never feels like enough. I use to be the "bread" winner not that the title ever really mattered to me but it felt good to provide. I know some say I provide in a different way now since I am at home raising Bee, but for someone with a mental illness, it's not that easy.
I get hard on myself for not being able to go back to the way I was before Ty and Jacob died. Why can't I just apply to job after job, feel the excited anticipation at a call for an interview and when you get the offer, being elated. Now, just pulling up my resume on my computer causes me to gag with anxiety. I get so nauseous thinking about the task ahead. Everything starts to feel daunting, I begin to shut down because I can''t function. So where does that leave me? Brainstorming, brainstorming all the ways I can contribute and feel helpful instead of useless. I use that guilt to motivate me to think of new ways I can contribute. New ways I can sort everything out. I seem to get a motivation high after a good cry but it does dwindle and somedays it dwindles quickly. Somedays it turns into a depressive state. That's how my mind and body work now. I'm not, nor will I ever be or function the way I use too. That is very hard for me to accept. It goes against everything I use to believe pre-trauma.
Little things that I would brush off before become insurmountable. Every little thing that comes up, every way someone says something to me affects me. A tone of voice can send me sideways. Words spoken can feel like a knife going through my heart. I become sensitive, I start to feel like I am losing control and then the tears come. It piles and piles until I am standing in the Rona parking lot having bought a closet door that will not fit into my car and all I can do is cry. I know the way out, but still, I've been defeated. I've been defeated by a closet door, it was my breaking point.
I took the long way home, I needed to. I couldn't head home, I couldn't face that defeat again. I needed some time to drive and think. I needed to think of a way out of the current situation and when I couldn't find a solution on how I could contribute, the answer was more tears.
My mind doesn't work like it use to nor does my body. Tears come more often and sometimes they come in a parking lot, at Rona, with a closet sticking out of my too tiny car. It happens.