(sniff)...back to square one
Dear DS diary,
An e-mail friend of mine who lives in Canada ought to be nominated for sainthood for her impeccable patience in trying to help me deal with retriggers. I'm leaving her unnamed here, she knows who she is.
Dealing with single retriggers had gotten better. I say had because my defenses, my motivation, everything went bye-bye in the blink of an eye this week.
It was without question my worst single 24 hours since the Boston Marathon bombings, and the argument exists that it was worse.
I was already having a confidence crisis about weight maintenance because I haven't been able to figure out what's causing me to be inconsistent with my exercise routine when the first thing I hear on the radio news Tuesday was the bombings in Brussels, Belgium. Having the radio news on with my parents over meals is non-negotiable, I can't do anything about it. I'm already feeling bad so this is bad timing and a bad omen. Retrigger number one.
I'm still thinking I might be able to fight it off and just have one of my more reserved days than usual (I tend to be that way anyway) when one of the pharmacists at work shared a story about how someone she knows -- an electrician by trade -- managed to get injured in such a fashion at a hospital over the weekend to require surgery. That happens...but she gave TMI. I had to tell her to shut up, although not in those words. She did begrudgingly, but the damage was done. Retrigger number two.
That's because the two of these put together brought back the horrific images of the Boston Marathon bombings, and surprise, said race is less than a month away now. Retrigger number three. My defenses have already taken a terrible hit and now my appetite for lunch is gone.
Then, over dinner, a simulcast of the CBS Evening News is on. My appetite has somehow come back, and I wish it hadn't. There was no news. It was all about the Brussels bombings for the entire half hour. Retrigger number four. Now, on top of my defenses being wrecked beyond comprehension, I've got fuel to trigger nightmares for weeks.
Finally, the next morning, I'm the one who retrieves the newspaper...and there was no way to avoid glancing at the headline. I think you can figure out what it was about, and it was in VERY large typeface. Retrigger number five. The ensuing workday yesterday was a disaster because I don't know I'm going to emotionally get back on my feet from this one. Mother knew something was wrong but also correctly figured out that there was nothing she could say that would help. She kept her mouth shut.
All the work my friend had done to help me handle single retriggers, gone. I don't know how to explain to her that I'm basically going to have to start all over again.
I don't know what else to say. The job search -- what there was of it -- ground to a halt because there's no courage to meet new people again now. Falling asleep has been hard, even with my newfound chill time, because the mental images won't leave my head; they came back stronger than before as they always do when these things happen. And I'm so disillusioned with professional help that it isn't even a consideration now.
I might as well throw up my hands and jump off the Tobin Bridge.
An e-mail friend of mine who lives in Canada ought to be nominated for sainthood for her impeccable patience in trying to help me deal with retriggers. I'm leaving her unnamed here, she knows who she is.
Dealing with single retriggers had gotten better. I say had because my defenses, my motivation, everything went bye-bye in the blink of an eye this week.
It was without question my worst single 24 hours since the Boston Marathon bombings, and the argument exists that it was worse.
I was already having a confidence crisis about weight maintenance because I haven't been able to figure out what's causing me to be inconsistent with my exercise routine when the first thing I hear on the radio news Tuesday was the bombings in Brussels, Belgium. Having the radio news on with my parents over meals is non-negotiable, I can't do anything about it. I'm already feeling bad so this is bad timing and a bad omen. Retrigger number one.
I'm still thinking I might be able to fight it off and just have one of my more reserved days than usual (I tend to be that way anyway) when one of the pharmacists at work shared a story about how someone she knows -- an electrician by trade -- managed to get injured in such a fashion at a hospital over the weekend to require surgery. That happens...but she gave TMI. I had to tell her to shut up, although not in those words. She did begrudgingly, but the damage was done. Retrigger number two.
That's because the two of these put together brought back the horrific images of the Boston Marathon bombings, and surprise, said race is less than a month away now. Retrigger number three. My defenses have already taken a terrible hit and now my appetite for lunch is gone.
Then, over dinner, a simulcast of the CBS Evening News is on. My appetite has somehow come back, and I wish it hadn't. There was no news. It was all about the Brussels bombings for the entire half hour. Retrigger number four. Now, on top of my defenses being wrecked beyond comprehension, I've got fuel to trigger nightmares for weeks.
Finally, the next morning, I'm the one who retrieves the newspaper...and there was no way to avoid glancing at the headline. I think you can figure out what it was about, and it was in VERY large typeface. Retrigger number five. The ensuing workday yesterday was a disaster because I don't know I'm going to emotionally get back on my feet from this one. Mother knew something was wrong but also correctly figured out that there was nothing she could say that would help. She kept her mouth shut.
All the work my friend had done to help me handle single retriggers, gone. I don't know how to explain to her that I'm basically going to have to start all over again.
I don't know what else to say. The job search -- what there was of it -- ground to a halt because there's no courage to meet new people again now. Falling asleep has been hard, even with my newfound chill time, because the mental images won't leave my head; they came back stronger than before as they always do when these things happen. And I'm so disillusioned with professional help that it isn't even a consideration now.
I might as well throw up my hands and jump off the Tobin Bridge.
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