PTSD & me.

So, counselling has come to a end. A decision I made. After 26 sessions, I’d had enough. All talked out. Even though there’s so much I could talk about. I’m done. I’m all talked out. It’s exhausting.

Still the reoccurring nightmares, the flashbacks of that final night are still there, but fading. The last night, spent with my mum before she died in the most cruelest, horrific scene, like something out of a horror film. The last nightshift I ever worked as a nurse, years before, that kick to the head, that I can still feel, plays on my mind like a broken record. And yet, I tell no one. Maybe two people know about my PTSD. Because it’s not something that’s easy to discuss.

So fast forward a year and 5 months. It’s taken time but here I am. Still healing, still struggling in my own silent way, but hoping I’ll get back on track.

We all struggle with something. Whether we want to admit it or not. Sometimes admitting to yourself you’re not coping is the hardest part. Hiding from the world, pushing it to the back of your mind because you don’t want to admit you’re failing or not coping.

We’re all human. We make mistakes, we fail, over and over again. I fuck up. I fuck up all the time and now, I’m paying the price. And fuck does it hurt. I’m a fucked up human. But I’m trying.

PTSD doesn’t help. Makes you paranoid, gives you delusions of doom and makes you see disaster on the horizon. Because that’s all you know, that’s what you’ve seen.

It takes time. It takes patience. But most of all, it takes energy to keep going and I don’t have that much anymore. All I can do is try.

@specsygurl

Ashes.

So much plays on my mind right now. I never thought I’d feel so insecure but yet here I am. Wondering when I’ll ever feel good enough. Good enough about myself. Sometimes, I just need reassurance that I’m not slipping away from someone. Someone I adore. That self doubt is painful when no one tells you and you dread to ask because you fear the worst. The end of something good.

It’s not just that, there are things on my mind that not even I knew were there.

It’s been over a year now since mum left. I still haven’t scattered her ashes. How do you do these things? How do you know where the final resting place should be? Thinking back, I feel sick that I’ve left it this long. I feel sick thinking that I’ve forgotten her, left what remains of her in an urn, in a cupboard in a room next to others, awaiting their final resting place.

The truth is, I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to just throw them anywhere like they’re rubbish to be discarded. Mum was worth more than that. She deserves better than to be holed up in some dark cupboard somewhere.

But I don’t want to deal with it on my own. My dad can’t, my brother can’t. So that leaves me.

I wish I’d told my counsellor. 26 weeks of intensive counselling, and the one subject I never brought up. And now I’m done. Dealing with the after effects of a violent death and all the horrors it brings back. This is the one thing I pushed to the very back of my mind and now, like a catapult, it hits me.

How can I do this? How can I give my mum the send off she deserves? She never got the peaceful end she should’ve had so I can’t fuck this up. Because I’ve fucked up enough the last 2 years. The last 2 months. The last 2 days. I’m always fucking things up, especially with the one that means the most.

I don’t know. I wish I knew how. Wish I knew how to say goodbye to my mum. Ultimately, I’ll probably have to say goodbye to him too. Pain all over again. Watch my heart turn to ashes too.

@specsygurl