PTSD Barbie II

Was it the late 70's or early 80's when civillian therapists began channeling me toward "Incest Survivor's Support Groups?" The facts are probably available somewhere in my therapy journal from that era, but I be far from convinced that facts are very helpful in dealing with the Psychotic Puppet Shows in my head. facts and psychosis are about as compatible as bleach and ammonia. Good luck containing the resulting gasses.

In the current sorting of what I have dubbed, "The PTSD Barbie Puppet Show" I am currently suspecting that PTSD Barbie followed me from the Incest Survivor's Support Groups. Those intensely femininist groups didnae work well for me. The unforgiving chump-dumping intensity of their commisseration felt like someone was throwing gas on my internal fires. I kept leaving their company in full combat mode, ready to do battle on whatever penile life support system crossed my warpath. Male children included. They would grow up to be Abusive Men sooner or later. Get your enemy while they are still vulnerable.

I havenae ever been a great admirer of commiseration. My personal favorite place to find sympathy is in the dictionary between "Shit" and "Syphillis." We all have problems and commiseration seems to dig pits of despair beneath the problems withnae so much as a thought to solutions for those problems. I seldom tell my trauma tales to commisurators. I *go there* in search of solutions. Save the commiseration for your private pity parties. I willnae be attending, thank you kindly. I like solutions over wallowing.

The good news is that the PTSD Barbie Puppet Show is far quieter this morning as I wallow gratefully in the peaceful calm of the morning. Yesterday morning started with a drive to retrieve the last of the goodies in the old house which we need for up here. Big Bro needed the game jersey that got lost in the move. We found it behind the craft table. Big Sis needed ointment for a bothersome itch in her private parts. Skin ointments and creams were still in the old bathroom. The sisters were thoroughly enchanted by the nostalgic wanders through the old house. Big Bro, not so much. His six year old memory is more developed than his sisters. More to sort. Be patient with the process, Little Man. He wasnae much help in the hunt for the game jersey, but he was thrilled to hear we had found it.

Interesting stuff seems to be happening in the newly reclaimed Chick Room. The recycled Lego collection sent by a tech co-worker who seems to be evolving into Hubby's bee products sales manager is spread across the clean, empty floor. While Big Bro and Big Sis work out their protocols for entering each other's private sanctuaries, they are meeting up in the Lego room for some truly spectacular sharing. Go guys. Am I imagining Tony Brown's mellow NPR commentary floating across the room with his "Team America" series? So or no, his hopeful commentary sure beats the screechy hysterics of PTSD Barbie. Poor booby. So sorry your painted predator hunts keep landing you with men I wouldn't wipe my feet on. Hope you get your fixed income entitlement checks.