Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) Support Group
Find support with others who have gone through a traumatic experience. Whether you have chronic or acute PTSD, we are here for you.
Please, no advice. Even if you can lead me to the video of my life, complete with a team of experts ready, willing and able to guide and prescribe, it will still only distract me from juggling the live demands on my plate today. Gots to keep my eye on the prize. For now. . . Might have time to juggle videos and experts later.
The sharing of strictly personal experience welcome. I desperately needs the strength of empathy. I feel so alone and inadequate. My misery craves company.
This week finds me writhing in stress aches while I attempt to seize the break in middle-aged-child drama to catch up on my own life. The plumbing upgrade in "The Sandbox" seems to have gone well enough while I was at the grandkids' house, hiding from the raging eldest son while mama had her emergency surgery. The plumbing was in the concrete slab foundation. The upgrade called for holes in the concrete. Toxic blowout of the literal kind all over the homestead. . .
I have been trying to focus on the sheet rock repairs around the new plumbing fixture in between texts and phone calls from the Family Drama crews. DIL is healing reasonably well, but. . . The Significant Other who is the target of raging son's current cycle is physically safe, but. . . Hubs is reasonably available to be a full partner in all this, but. . .
Am I but-whelmed?
The good (?) news is that my guit-chi has been helping. The guitar's sound box resonating on my spasming colon while I breathe to its rhythm reaches knots no proctologist can reach.
It be allot to sort. . . Most of it not mine to sort. . . Gentle support needed.
The sharing of strictly personal experience welcome. I desperately needs the strength of empathy. I feel so alone and inadequate. My misery craves company.
This week finds me writhing in stress aches while I attempt to seize the break in middle-aged-child drama to catch up on my own life. The plumbing upgrade in "The Sandbox" seems to have gone well enough while I was at the grandkids' house, hiding from the raging eldest son while mama had her emergency surgery. The plumbing was in the concrete slab foundation. The upgrade called for holes in the concrete. Toxic blowout of the literal kind all over the homestead. . .
I have been trying to focus on the sheet rock repairs around the new plumbing fixture in between texts and phone calls from the Family Drama crews. DIL is healing reasonably well, but. . . The Significant Other who is the target of raging son's current cycle is physically safe, but. . . Hubs is reasonably available to be a full partner in all this, but. . .
Am I but-whelmed?
The good (?) news is that my guit-chi has been helping. The guitar's sound box resonating on my spasming colon while I breathe to its rhythm reaches knots no proctologist can reach.
It be allot to sort. . . Most of it not mine to sort. . . Gentle support needed.
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I did the dumbest thing today. I charged my earbuds, unplugged the block and put the block in my little bag instead of the earbuds. I wasn't happy about that when I got to the gym. What a dummy!
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Ever since I stopped doing therapy because of insurance, I've been feeling that old tense and irritable sense of anxiety and stress. I hate that. I was making so many strides and changes during therapy, my therapist would acknowledge all of my progress and accomplishments, and I miss that reassurance. Today I thought about it, and I made those changes! She would always tell me that I chose to...
Many many supports to you and much empathy.
I might be ready to sell the Urban Homestead at the boom town prices that are available to me right now and set up house in the Toxic People Landfill. Feels like the non-toxic people logics are killing me here in "Music City." Tofu burger and kale chips, anyone?
Sigh. . .
The good news is that the Sand Box is cleaning up nicely. I am almost ready to re-set the grow lights.
The only time my innards go bonkers is traveling...whether it be enough flatulence to keep the plane flying in case of emergency? Or something a bit more substantial...
Along with pain and cramps, usually,
Imodium just shuts that hole thing down for long enough to get me on and off the conveyances.
That and crystallized ginger helps me, but I know my problems are almost certainly quite mild in comparison to yours?
My wild-ass guess is that enzyme tablets and peppermint oil caps might be helpful...or at least almost certainly not harmful and not terribly expensive.
Hugs
Yesterday turned into a fairly productive day. The walls around the new plumbing fixtures are looking like they belong there, once again. The air in the house is one layer of toxic dust cleaner. 50 year old concrete dust from the hole jackhammered into the slab gets my vote as the number one health threat currently living here. The only thing funner than routine dusting is dusting toxic dust. Household dander (dust) is my allergy bad girl, so I am, by necessity, a bit fanatical on the subject. The sooner begun, the sooner done.
This morning's personal inventory is calling for the "Chill" drawer of my therapy tool box. My inner slave driver is in charge this morning and. . . There IS such a thing as trying too hard. . .
Chill still, my dilly dill
Appreciate the fullness of time
Don't forget to smile in the trying miles
Of chasing your own tail
May you have a gentle day.
Hugs