Brain Not Shutting Off

Real therapy work is dark. It can be enlightening, frightening and yucky. It can bring up forgotten trauma. Part of being serious about therapy and healing is being honest with yourself. Being raw and real and unafraid to express feelings. A lot of what I say may hurt others, may worry others, or may help others. But it’s real, and it’s honest, which of course, can be a problem for some people. If you can’t be honest during therapy, it’s not going to work. 

Sometimes it takes several days or weeks to write one post, so some content is months behind. When my brain is acting up, I’m lucky to write one fully functional paragraph for days, so it’s extremely frustrating when I need to express myself and have nowhere to do with my feelings.

This was my attempt at writing between September through December last year:  

I have a lot in my head. Too much. Probably why I keep waking and not getting back to sleep again. Waking to pee, my body is heavy and achy, my eyes sleepy. But when I lie back down, a part of my brain in the center back of my head, just above my neck, feels like a giant light bulb came on and won’t turn off. 

I’m dreaming again, but I’m not remembering. On the cusp of remembering, like a faint hint here and there, but nothing definitive. If I hadn’t awoken, I may have recalled. 

I notice I write “I” too many times, and make myself find ways to rewrite. I force myself to examine everything I do, every move I make. 

I am pissed off about a lot of things, mainly because I have little control over my life. It’s the worst feeling in the world, because there is nothing else I can do. I have so much anxiety, and all I want to do is write and make sense. And I want to organize my writing and republish some things, but my mind can’t focus. It’s been difficult to write anything at all the past few months. 

There is so much noise around me, I feel like I’m getting jolted like a game of Operation. Some days are really, really bad. Imagine feeling like you’re getting zapped all day long. All. Day. Long. They put me on another medication to numb that. 

While on prescription meds, these were the random thoughts I started having nearly every day, throughout the day: 

If I owned a gun, I would not be here to write this right now.

I wish I wouldn’t wake up. I would be better off dead. There is no point to life, especially mine. My quality of life is so poor, what is the point of living? 

I wasn’t even aware I had PTSD as badly as I do, and I’ve probably had it most of my life. I wasn’t aware some of my behavior and reactions are PTSD related. On most days, I don’t feel safe leaving my house for long, and it makes me exhausted. 

I have so much on my mind. What is wrong with me? Are they ever going to figure it out? Are they blaming me or trying to insinuate my physical issues are mental health related? How am I going to support myself? How long is the help I’m getting to keep a roof over my head going to last? How much more can I take, before I decide it’s too much and get really serious about finding a way out? 

How the fuck have I even kept it together for this long? It used to be hope. That fucking fake-ass fairy tale we’ve been sold – that something good happens to people that do good things, that things always work out in the end (for whom???), or that something will magically come along if I pray/meditate/manifest/cast a spell/wish for it really, really hard. It’s all utter bullshit. You get what you get in life, whether or not you work for it or deserve it. 

I’ve come to the realization that I’ve spent my entire life searching for and reaching out for something that I will never have. Many things that I will never have. Some goals, some emotional well-being.

The past few months have been utter chaos, and my patience with certain people and things has hit a limit that it’s never hit before. Now that I sit back and look at things from a different perspective, through much of my own self-therapy, I cannot fathom the behavior of people that have been in my life for years (or all of it). I cannot fathom their audacity to kick me while I’m down – Every. Single. Time. 

What kind of a person talks down to or insults a person going through physical health issues, including depression and PTSD? What kind of a person yells at someone for being sick? A fucking asshole, that’s what kind. 

I told someone off again and blocked him for being a Crybaby douchebag. I have zero use for anyone without boundaries or feign their nicety. 

Nothing much has changed physically, except I’m having bouts of vomiting, usually with intense migraine. It tends to begin with a “tickle” in my stomach, followed by nausea. It seems like it happens every time I begin to get an appetite and begin to enjoy food again. I think I’m feeling better, then suddenly, I get nauseous and all of it leads to vomiting. 

Sometimes it happens first thing in the morning. Typically, I will try to drink water, but I vomit it right back up. And so it begins for the next 24-48 hours. I have to treat it like a hangover, eating crackers and soup and jello. It feels exactly like the hangovers I used to get when I drank alcohol. 

I have also realized my allergies aren’t nearly as bad as I had thought for most of my life. I’ve had acid reflux without knowing it, and now it’s damaged my esophagus. This, along with a hiatal hernia, makes eating challenging, to say the least. This makes plans with friends difficult, as well, because everything is so unpredictable.

I got sick again this week, puking for two days in a row. Couldn’t take meds, so I haven’t taken for 4 days now, and I’ve been dreaming and sleeping a lot. Most dreams contain water – puddles, rain, ocean, etc. Two dreams came after watching movies prior to sleep, but the actors were in the dreams. The dreams seemed to be good until the (actors) abandoned or ghosted me. Woke up feeling like total shit emotionally. There is always something in my dream beyond my control. 

This morning I woke up around 4am and decided to bake cookies, since I was too tired the night before. Even when I’m trying to keep my mind occupied, all I do is think. If I do not have something to distract me, such as a tv show or music with lyrics, I think about all of the ways I may have to defend myself. If I can’t defend myself, I don’t feel safe.