[fueled by a combination of pretty high anxiety and caffeine ... we bring you ... a rant :-)]

Like some others, I haven't been posting very much lately. I've been struggling ... scratching around at the very bottom of existence ... just keeping on -- as I always say -- one minute at a time, one hour at a time, one day at a time.

Which works, but it SURE isn't pretty.

The cause of my C-PTSD is still something I'm bound by law not to talk about, publicly.

But it wasn't my first exposure to traumas; it was my last.

Early on -- in elementary school -- I was molested on numerous occasions by my narcissistic, and -- then -- very screwed up by drugs -- eldest brother.

30 years later, as disability and lack of diagnosis caused me to run out of money, I ended up living in the yard of that brother and his wife, in my motorhome. That went on for nearly 1.5yrs -- years during which their treatment of me could only be described as heartless ... sadistic ... torture. I was living there so that I could seek medical help for my long-standing eye issues. I wanted to be made able again, so I could return to work and living independently.

They viewed me as a parasite (more she than he). She was constantly trying to figure out how she could get value, or work, out of me. While they were going to Martinique, for vacation, she demanded that I paint their (2,400sf) house, inside and out. I couldn't.

Then, I should remove and replace every single one of their plugs, light switches, cable and phone jacks, and their covers ... so they would match the new paint. I couldn't.

Then I should take over maintenance of the 5+ acres of field on which their house sat. I couldn't. I was disabled, and trying to find my medical way back.

Their treatment of me caused me to recall the childhood molestation. I hadn't really suppressed it. I simply never gave it any thought. But now I saw the narcissism that defined my brother and his choice of life partners. It triggered the memories of those childhood events.

When I got 'able' again, and rebuilt my life, I stayed away from that brother and his wife.

I made ONE effort to say ... we should meet ... we should talk ... we should have a therapist present. The things you've done ... the things you DID ... I cannot make peace with. If you want a relationship, we should get help.

Nope. Never. Gonna. Happen.

So I stayed away from these two.

Flash forward nearly ten years. It's now.

I've been declared permanently disabled. The treatment that got me back to work, 14 years ago -- eye drops -- burned my eyes, over the years I was told to use them.

No more work. No more life.

And then the period between 2008 and 2012, where I lost everything, and gained C-PTSD -- the Time I May Not Speak Of.

Scratching and scraping at the bottom of an existence is no way to build your resistance and resilience. You all know that.

I'm living with my mother, trying -- yet again -- to use the doctors to see what can be done to rebuild my capacity, even if returning to work is simply not in the cards, for me. Fine. But I DO want a life ... some kind of life.

It involves painful appointments, physically and emotionally, as specialiist after specialist tells me how sorry they are, but that there's nothing that can be done for me.

So it's the Pain Clinic, and trial after trial of different medications, and ALL the side effects each one brings. Quite the roller coaster ride. As my body tries to adjust to each new med, I become -- one after the other -- each of the Seven Dwarfs, usually settling in as Dopey.

My mother, and most of the rest of my family -- whlie not denying the things my eldest brother did to me -- haven't let it affect THEIR relationship with this brother. Those go on, pretty much unaffected.

Some of you will understand THAT, too.

I simply skip nearly every family function where those two will be. They have a son -- my nephew. He's an innocent, and I love him, so I DO spend time with him, when I can. But only him. Not them.

But "they" were here, last evening ... at Mom's house. It's her house. I claim NO right to impose my issues on her rights. She may invite and entertain whomever she wants.

But they were here ... in my space. Ordinarily, I'd shut myself in my room, and stay there until they're gone. Last night, I chose to participate.

During dinner, I began to dissociate ... to get "the spins ..." to perspire ... to get nauseated ... to get exhausted. Her voice, to me, is crushingly shrill. When she speaks, I hear the anger, the hatred, and the sadism with which she treated me ... and others. Strangers. Waiters/waitresses. Service providers. Others.

"Somebody who's nice to you, but isn't nice to the waiter ... isn't nice."

This is her. She isn't nice. Neither is he.

At some point, I dropped my fork, and went to the balcony, where I smoked a cigarette, and began to meditate. Escape. Coping mechanism. Breathe. JUST ... breathe.

Twice, my nephew came out, and said they were opening Hannukah presents. I should come in. Twice, I promised I would ... soon.

But I never did. I waited on that porch, as it got cold, until Brother, Sister-in-Law, and nephew ... left.

And then ... quite early, though it was ... I simply went to bed. Didn't speak to my mother on my way.

Will have to blame it on the new meds, I guess. Mom doesn't need any more reality ... any more pain. So ... as I have for years and years ... I absorb it.

Triggers ??

They're a lot like allergies.

*It would be nice* if we could take an antihistamine, or have allergy shots .... that would reduce the reactivity to our triggers, whatever they are.

It would be nice.

But ... since there aren't, and since the only ways we have to work on them are slow, and far from sure, we may be best off avoiding them.

If you didn't have antihistamines, or couldn't get allergy shots, would you spend the day in a field of hay ? Breathing in ragweed ?? Having a Pollen Pillow Fight ??

Chomping on peanuts, if nuts are your allergy ??

No. Probably not. Not safe. Not particularly smart.

So, the triggers still trigger me. Imagine that. And I'm in a MUCH worse position to truly avoid them, since ... staying in my room is all I can do when MY triggers come-a-calling.

Mom wishes this all weren't so.

Mom wishes it would all just go away.

Mom wishes I'd just be better, and sing Kumbaya with my brother and sister-in-law. The Happy Family Image. You all know the one.

But -- as you all ALSO know -- it doesn't work that way.

One day at a time.
One hour at a time.
One minute at a time.

This was the first morning in quite a while, where I had to struggle to get out of bed. Don't get me wrong: I LIKE bed. I spend most of my day on top of the darned thing.

But under the covers ... felt safe. It took a lot of work to get myself to leave that comfort and safety.

When each of you struggles ... I hurt. I believe I understand. Our struggles are not identical, but .... they're close enough. It's why we 'get' each other.

When they give me The Magic Wand, I shall wave it here first. Over each of you. I promise.

Until then .... know that I'm here, too. I understand. I care. I'll listen/read ... to the best of my ability.

And I'll hope and pray that our lives get better, and that -- until they do -- we pull additional strength and resilience out of THIN AIR ... to help us ... keep on keeping on.

I wish you peace, health, and strength.