Ptsd - Blog Posts
The Moonlight, the stars, the willow outside the window.. stuffed lamb on the floor
Deep inside this memory filled dream
Locked behind this door
Holding my secrets
My cries, my screams
Childhood dreams
Memories of ruby drenched sheets
The only ones
Who have seen the unseen
S. S.
Everyone gets everything he wants. I wanted a mission, and for my sins, they gave me one. Brought it up to me like room service. It was a real choice mission, and when it was over, I never wanted another.
Captain Benjamin L. Willard
Lost her way, scream
The screams are ringing
Under the echo's calling
She pled my fifth element
To come in and disrupt
I wish her a hoarse throat
To shallow the deep volume
She paid a crunch of freedom
That had fought out restraint
Trap her core to padded walls
To punish her beast
Defeat the demonic yells
As we watch the sanity
No longer remain obtained
She has lost her way
No fighting a devil
So her battlecry must be
An overwhelming
Uniformed plea
Understand psycho
Too default a dismay
By: John Tyler Mounce
The Derivative Chapter 4: Talk
Chapter 1 <- Chapter 3
“In twenty years of teaching. I’ve never received evaluation comments like these.” Larry complained as we followed my uncle on an afternoon hike. “Boring. Me? Intellectually inaccessible.”
“I thought we came up on this hike to get your mind off of this ridiculous thing.” Charlie pointed out.
“I mean, one student even said I’m out of touch with cutting-edge thinking in multidimensional theory. That one alone kept me up at night” Larry explained as we scaled a small incline.
“The first two seem plausible but the third” I shrugged “don’t let it get under your skin”
“Thank you young enigma for the jaded advice” Larry murmured.
“Anytime” I replied with a smirk.
“Everybody gets bad evaluations now and then. Come on!” Uncle C hurried us along.
“Yeah, yeah says the professor who never received anything less than a rave” Larry replied sarcastically.
I chuckled “rave? Really?”
“Indeed student body favorite practically” Larry informed me.
“As with any large group, there are responses that cover the entire spectrum. I once had a girl in my combinatorics seminar tell me that I was disorganized and I talked too fast.” Charlie explained as Larry leaned on a branch to catch his breath and I took a sip of my water bottle, wondering how I managed to get dragged out here with these two.
“Well, that’s an accurate observation actually.” Larry admitted. Charlie gave a mildly bewildered look directed at me and I nodded my agreement “but, generally speaking, I mean, your students love you, whereas mine say my classes put them to sleep.”
“You’re an exceptional professor.” Charlie reassured his friend. “I should know I took classes from you.”
“Yeah but you were an exceptional young mind” Larry pointed out as a couple other hikers passed us “perhaps I’ve lost my ability to reach the more typical student”
“Hey Professor Fleinhardt,” one of the passing boys nodded to Larry.
“Hey” the physicist greeted happily “How’s it… how’s it… how you… how…” Each attempt made to continue conversation failed on the man’s part as the boys continued to walk either not registering or ignoring the professor's attempts. “See we’re not even in class,and still my students run away from me.”
“Hiking away technically” I corrected casually.
There was then the sound of a police siren in the distance “I don’t think that’s it” Charlie muttered from his higher vantage. He began to hurry off in the direction the students had gone. Me and Larry followed. “Right down this way. Hurry!”
What greeted us was a full scale crime scene. With a coroner's truck, police officers, and others gathered masses of observation. As we got around the corner of a police car I felt my feet freeze to the ground. There was a body laying a couple yards away below the bridge overhead.
I felt the ghost of rain drops on my skin and felt the family spiking headache rocket through my brain. They were in a red hoodie. It was a boy. But each time I blinked as I began to do so furiously I was switching between this reality and the one of the girl with bright red hair. The rain was picking up, the headache was pulsing. I couldn’t breathe anymore.
“Abby” I snapped my head around as a hand laid on my shoulder. Charlie was looking at me with concern evident in his features. “Are you alright?”
I bounced my eyes around the scene. It wasn’t raining, it wasn’t at night, and we weren’t out on that street. I took a couple calming breaths before finally replying “yeah yeah fine” I muttered.
“You sure?” Charlie asked again.
“Fine” I reiterated. I caught Larry eyeing me worriedly as well. “Guys seriously I just- I didn’t expect that” I gestured vaguely in the direction of the body I did not need, or want, to look at again.
“Me neither” Charlie murmured in agreement, taking his hand off my shoulder and his features turning to one of contemplation as he looked at the bridge.
“Very well, you were just exhibiting the common signs of what one might call a panic attack” Larry voiced.
“I’m fine, really just rattled” I tried to sound convincing. From the look on Larry’s face he wasn’t convinced but he dropped the issue and for that I was glad.
_________________
3rd POV.
Don sighed as he got out of his car and headed into the FBI building. His phone beeped as he made his way through the lobby and he looked to see it was Abby. “hey kid what’s up?” he answered trying to sound like he had some energy.
“Am I going to the apartment or Grandpa’s house after school today?” she asked, sounding about as tired as he felt.
Don thought about it for a minute “go on to your Grandpa’s alright I’ll call the school clear it up”
“So you are looking into the guy who jumped off the bridge?” Abby asked as Don clicked the elevator button.
“Just a little for Charlie’s sake” Don muttered then a thought occurred to him. “Wait how do you know about this? Charlie talk to you?”
“Uh… I was there when Larry and Charlie came upon the scene” Abby admitted.
Don let off a breath. “You alright? I mean that can be some scary stuff.” he couldn’t help thinking about his first jumper case.
“Yeah I’m fine I just wish people would stop asking” Abby grumbled snappily that did not reassure Don at all of her being fine.
“Abby, it's okay if some of this got to you” Don reassured as the elevator opened and he got on.
He heard her sigh on the other line “I know it’s just… it’s not what people think it’s about and it’s hard to talk about” Don was confused at the answer but before he could probe more she was continuing “I have to get to class now. See you later”
“Yeah okay, bye” Don muttered before she hung up. He let off a breath pocketing his phone. He was going to have to deal with that later, or maybe it would be better to let her work through it on her own? He was still contemplating these thoughts when the elevator opened and he was walking out. “Dad? What are you doing here?” he questioned seeing the man.
“I called you; you hadn’t called me back” Alan explained.
“Well, I would’ve eventually” Don assured “is everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Alan muttered in reply “I need you to come to dinner at the house on Wednesday. Um, I have a date”
“Oh yeah? A date” Don tried to sound encouraging. “Hey, well, that’s good. With who?”
“Oh, someone Art knows from yoga” Alan explained. “Yeah, her name’s Jill. he says she’s smart, she’s funny, and, uh, quite flexible” Alan spoke the last compliment to the woman with a hinting look and slight chuckle “So I.. we’re having dinner at the house and I would like you to be there.”
“Wow, hey, no.” Don began to quickly try and work his way out of the perceivably awkward dinner. “Just take her somewhere low-key. You’ll be fine” he suggested leading his dad back to the elevator.
“Look, it’s my first date in over 35 years.” Alan grumbled “I would like ‘memorable’ instead of ‘low-key’”
“‘Low-key’ and ‘memorable’ aren’t mutually exclusive.” Don objected “you know what my favorite date ever was? Pepperoni pizza in a laundromat.”
“Yes, which explains the conspicuous absence of grandchildren.” Alan muttered then thought “well I guess planned grandchildren.” Don sighed and gave his father a look “So, Wednesday, 7:30. Bring a date?”
Don shook his head “I can’t. Dad, I’m busy, and I don’t anticipate meeting anyone between now and then either. By the way your unplanned grandchild is heading to your house after school in” he glanced at his watch “40ish minutes so you should get going.”
“Of course she is” Alan sighed “No, but anyway I just want to make it a couples thing, you know? Look like, seeming like…”
“Well I don’t think-” Don cut off as the elevator opened with a ding revealing Terry standing there.
“Hi” she greeted Don “hey Mr. Eppes” she also greeted Alan with a mild curiosity to his presence evident on her face. Her and Alan switched spots as she exited the elevator and he entered. “Good to see you”
“You too” Alan agreed as she walked away then he turned to his son “you’ll think of something” he made a suggestive nod after Don’s partner. The FBI agent sighed as the doors slid shut and he walked away.
________________
Abby POV.
I headed into my grandfather’s house tiredly. I hadn’t slept last night after seeing that boy the other day. Images of him and another memory from months ago swapping places and intermingling in my mind. It was like my brain was caught in a cyclone.
“Abby? You here?” Gramps called from his chair as I came in the door.
“Yeah” I called back.
He looked over at me, glasses perched on his nose. “You alright you look beat”
“Just tired,” I admitted taking a seat next to him. Tossing my bag on the floor.
“Rough day at school?” he quizzed.
I shook my head “trouble sleeping. Charlie didn’t tell you? A CalSci student committed suicide yesterday. Larry, Uncle C, and I stumbled upon the crime scene while going for a hike” I explained.
“Oh my word” Alan sighed “that’s horrible I mean I saw the news. That poor boy’s parents but you seeing that. I’m sorry”
I shook my head “no I’m fine it’s not-” I swallowed my words.
“Not what?” Alan prompted my abrupt stop. “Abby, listen if this is making it hard for you to sleep I don’t think it’s nothing. If you try talking about it maybe it’ll help”
“It’s just- it’s hard to explain sometimes.” I voiced carefully.
Alan put down the paper he was reading and removed his glasses shifting in his seat to face me. “It can’t hurt to try and explain it Abby”
I bit my lip but let off a sigh collecting my thoughts for a moment “because of my AEM, my memory thing, I- I get these- these attacks. It’s my memory but it’s things I don’t want to remember don’t choose to remember. And- and these intrusive memories they just- sometimes in the moment I can’t keep them straight from reality it’s it’s-”
“It's scary,” Alan finished my sentence, reaching out to give my hand a squeeze. I nodded “and these attacks they’re like panic attacks? Triggered by something?”
“Yeah they’re a lot like that” I replied feeling oddly better now that someone knew about it. “My blinders and music help calm me down” I told him, finding it easier to continue now that I’d started. Alan nodded taking in the information easily.
“So seeing that scene, this boy, it caused one of these attacks?” he deduced. I nodded “your mother?”
“No” I objected quickly, opening my mouth to say more but feeling it cut off by visions of red hair and pools of water on the ground under street lights. I swallowed.
“It’s okay if you can’t talk about it yet” Alan reassured me and I looked up at him again “just know when you do I’m here for you so is Charlie and your father. Now you might get tired of me saying this but uh.. Abby you’re not alone and- and if these intrusive memories are a struggle for you you should tell Don about them”
“I know” I smiled lightly “It’s just-”
“Hard” Alan finished my thought again “some of the most important parts of life are”
I sighed knowing he was right “thanks for listening”
“Of course” he nodded and picked his glasses and paper, back up again. “Oh, uh by the way. You’re going to be hanging out with your Uncle Charlie Wednesday night or otherwise at Don’s”
“Why?” I asked in confusion.
“I have a, uh, a date and I’ve asked your father to be there hopefully with his own date.” Alan explained awkwardly.
I scoffed “Don on a date?”
“Yes, that’s not a problem for you is it?” the man asked.
“No” I objected but the slight curling in my stomach was telling me internally the opposite. “I’m going to go work on my homework upstairs,” I told Alan, grabbing my bag.
“Alright” Alan nodded, perching his glasses back on his nose. I sighed getting to my feet and heading from the room.
____________________
“Let’s see how it does in high winds.” Charlie stated, beginning to type the information into the computer.
Larry made a humming noise and looked over at me “and what are you reading over there?”
“Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix” I replied.
“Fascinating” Larry nodded “I have to say I wouldn’t have pegged you as one who read young adult fiction despite your age. I was informed you read quite a leap beyond your level”
“I do” I answered easily “doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a good story and relatable characters”
“Fair enough” Larry agreed then made another humming noise of thought “you know young adult literature much like it’s intended audience tends to be underestimated in the long run by people. Such as the young man whose work we are interpreting was ignored by his elders in his warnings”
I scoffed turning the page of my book “preaching to choir here”
“School still won’t let you in advanced classes?” Charlie asked.
“No” I mumbled “I mean they do realize it’s not my fault I missed so much school”
“Yes, well if you ask me the greatest failing for one who wants to be an educator is to grow up and forget what it means to be young” Larry mused.
“How profound” Charlie muttered sarcastically “now can we focus please?”
“Why of course” Larry agreed, shooting me a look before I turned back to my story.
__________________
“Hey Chuck what’d you find?” Don asked, coming into the office alongside Terry.
“The problem is wind” Charlie explained, shuffling over to where Larry sat and I stood behind the computer.
“Wouldn’t they have already tested for stability in winds?” Don questioned, dubious.
“Engineers test structural response to gusts along two axis north to south and east to west.” Larry informed
“And, in those cases, a single side supported by two corners bears the brunt of the wind load” Charlie carried on the explanation.
“Think of a straight-on wind as two cars colliding” Charlie posed the analogy “in contrast-- excuse me--” he shuffled Larry out of his seat to take control of the computer “quartering winds hit a building at an angle, exerting pressure on two sides anchored by a single corner.”
“It’s like one target, two bracing going to two targets one bracing” I voiced with a shrug. The non-mathematically inclined people still looked mildly confused.
“Imagine a car getting hit from the back and the side simultaneously.” Charlie continued with the car analogy.
“Can those winds cause structural issues?” Terry inquired.
“Our tests showed that the Cole Center is sound for head-on winds of up to 90 miles an hour” Charlie showed them the simulation “but here’s what happens with quartering winds as low as 60 miles per hour” he plugged it into the simulation and began to narrate what we were showing them “first the steel frame bends beyond its limits and stays bent. Then this strained steel hardens and becomes brittle. Under continuing stress this steel will fracture, causing complete structural collapse.” the computer beeps rapidly as the simulation reached its third stage “Finn Montgomery found the problem in the building’s deflection. He suspected the effects would be serious.” Charlie stated as the digital building collapsed “he was right and he may have paid with his life”
“Alright we’ll bring it up to Cole, get people out of the building to start then start looking to see who’s responsible” Don assured.
“Thanks Don” Charlie nodded.
“Yeah well we still gotta see what Cole says, alright” Don told his brother.
“Sounds like an early day tomorrow” Terry voiced “I better get home then”
“Yeah, thanks for coming tonight” He told her. Shuffling away from those of us still testing the math on the simulation by the computer.
“You’re welcome and it was for the most part enjoyable” Terry told him. “See you tomorrow. Have a good night you three” she called to us with a wave.
We called back fair wells in response as she headed from the office. “Alright kid we should get back too. Got school in the morning”
I heaved a sigh “right coming. Night Uncle C, bye Larry”
“Night,” Charlie called, not looking up from his computer and Larry offered a wave.
I grabbed my bag and books and followed Don out of the office. “So you and Terry had fun?”
“Uh yeah more than dad anyway. Bit of a train wreck for the poor guy” Don explained. I made a humming noise of acknowledgement wondering what had gone so wrong to qualify as a train wreck. “Listen, I know you said you were fine with this whole thing but- uh you know I’ve seen enough to be able to tell when someone’s not fine and it’s okay if you need space to deal with it or whatever but uh, I just I guess if you have to talk about it.” he kinda trailed off with gesturing hands as words failed him.
“We really suck at this communications thing” I determined.
Don scoffed as we exited the building “yeah well at least we’re trying”
“True,” I murmured and took a deep breath. “there is something I need to tell you. There’s this thing I have. Gramps correlated it with panic attacks but it’s part of my memory they call it-”
“Intrusive memory right?” Don interjected.
I snapped my head up to look at him “you know about it?”
The man nodded “yeah it was in your medical records. Social worker warned me about it. I am your legal guardian if you recall”
“Oh” I murmured realizing I probably should have realized he knew about this sooner “so why didn’t you say anything about it?”
“Well, I figured you’d talk to me about it when you were ready or at least not until you had an attack or something” Don explained awkwardly.
A small smile came to my face “thanks”
“Hey you’re my kid. As new as I am to this parent thing I can stand to get a couple things right” he told me.
I laughed lightly “okay”
“Okay” Don nodded “now let's get out of here it’s late” he pulled me into a small side hug arm around my shoulder as we headed toward the car and I couldn’t help but keep smiling.
________________
“Yo!” Don called coming in through the back door.
“We’re in here.” Alan called in reply.
A moment later Don came in with a box setting it on the dining room table “Hey, All right, FBI accountants went over all of Nevelson’s financials, and these are all the documents that relate to the foundation. Our people could find nothing.”
“So why didn’t you have Charlie look at the records in the first place?” Alan inquired as I continued to eat quietly. Saving my ‘I could help’ pleas for later.
“The FBI has a team of excellent forensic accountants.” Charlie objected.
“I know.” the elderly man clarified “but it wouldn’t be the first time you find something that they missed.”
“You know, a lot of mathematicians do have eidetic numerical memory” Charlie explained “similar to Abby’s ability to remember everything she encounters visually only specifically geared toward numbers that are repeated and in patterns”
“So my memories better” I commented with a smirk.
“Your visual memory yes” Charlie gave me a look as he got up and began looking through the papers.
“So I could be able to help,” I pointed out.
“Yes you-” Charlie cut off looking back at his brother “but you probably shouldn’t”
“Yeah and I’m saying you’re not going to,” Don declared as Charlie took the box and headed into the foyer.
I groaned rolling my eyes “you know once I turn eighteen I’m going to get my clearance and then you won’t be able to stop me”
“Yeah well right now you’re going to help me with dishes while he works on that” Don decided collecting plates “come on” he chided and I gathered my plate and cup as well as Alan’s.
“No here I got it uh…” Grandpa objected and glanced at my dad’s back who was walking into the kitchen as he stood up. “I want to talk to Don for a second alright?”
“Alright but if I happen to stay out here and see Charlie’s stuff for the case..” I trailed with a pointed look.
“Fine I’ll cover for you. Deal?” He replied.
“Best grandpa ever” I smiled and he hummed with an amused smile on his face as I turned and headed after my uncle.
_______________
3rd POV.
Don looked over his shoulder as he entered the kitchen and was surprised to see his father following him rather than his daughter. “What happened to Abby?”
“She had homework I made her go work on it” Alan replied “you know she’s stubborn about that stuff puts it off” Don let off a humming noise his instincts of suspicion kicking in “mainly cuz I wanted to ask you about something.”
“What?” Don gave his father a look as he put the dishes in the sink. This made more sense.
“You’re best date ever was with your partner?” Alan inquired and immediately Don realized why Alan had pestered Abby away before asking.
“Dad, please”
“No, it’s just a simple observation.” Alan defended as they put away the food. “I mean if it was so great why did you split up?”
“It was an academy thing” Don explained “we got posted to different places. We had our careers to concentrate on.”
“So now you’re in the same city, same careers”
“Same office” Don cut his father off “which, in our case, can be a dangerous thing.”
“Your mother and I met at work.” Alan posed.
“In the lunch line.” Don pointed out “Look, Dad, Terry and I have to see each other every day. You know? We have to look out for each other.”
“So that means any trust issues are already behind you.” the father suggested. “Plus Abby seems to like her”
“Look, just because you’re eager to start dating again-”
“Eager? Are you kidding me?” Alan cut his son off exasperatedly “you saw me last night. I know, I know, I know I got to get back into it. Your mother said I should meet new people after she was gone.”
“Well, that’s right. That sounds like her” Don agreed.
“I know she made me promise.” Alan sighed “I mean, she knew that, without a push, that I might not do it. So she pushed” Don nodded considering his father’s words. “And remember Donnie you’ve got more to think about than just yourself now”
Don sighed “yeah I know” he looked out the kitchen door toward the space in the house his daughter was somewhere.
“Being a parent is never easy and it’s twice as hard to be a single parent doing the work for two” Alan voiced. Don let out a breath and the two men were silent for a moment. “Just consider this your push”
A moment later Abby popped her head into the kitchen. “Me and Charlie found something in the records.” she announced.
“You and Charlie?” Don questioned giving her a stern look. “What happened to homework?” The teen grimaced slightly and shot a look to her Grandfather who held his hands up in surrender. Don sighed “show me what you found”
Abby led him out to the table in the foyer where Charlie had the records spread out under a light. “You’re never going to believe this,” Abby murmured.
“Believe what?” Don asked, confused.
“Fake people” Abby stated as if that were clearer.
Don looked to his brother “Now, here is a list of workers employed in building the foundation”
“And?” Don questioned.
“And a lot of them don’t exist.” Charlie stated “yeah. There’s a preponderance of fours and sevens in the union ID numbers, which could be due to accounting codes, except they show up in the overtime hours like, 14s and 17s everywhere here, here, and here” Charlie showed Don the various documentation. “These numbers, they can’t be explained by random occurrence. Somebody made them up. They’ve been fabricated by someone who likes these numbers who left behind a pretty obvious pattern.”
“Fake people” Abby reiterated.
“Well obvious to you” Don grumbled looking the paper over.
“People like us” Abby clarified “honestly your forensic accountants should have picked up on it”
“Here’s a very interesting thing also.” Charlie hurried over to the other side of the table as Don shot his daughter a warning look at her disrespectful tone. “All the, ah, all the workers we’ve identified as fake are listed as welders. Except there aren’t any other welders on the payroll backup.”
“Well you can’t build a foundation without welders” Alan piped in from the tv room “sounds like Nevelson was using a shadow crew.”
“So how would that work, Dad?” Don asked as Alan walked over.
“Non-union laborers, usually illegal aliens. They pay them under the table.” the former city planner explained “see, the contractors would use them at night to avoid the unions.”
“So what? Like lower pay, no overtime, medical benefits?” Don questioned.
“That’s right,” Alan nodded heading back to the kitchen.
“But people still get hurt,” Don voiced thoughtfully. “And there’ll be hospital records”
________________
Abby POV.
“So I am getting right back on that horse” Alan declared as the four of us sat at a restaurant eating. “Not that this lady is anything like a horse.” he added “she’s really quite attractive.”
“So it’s not a blind date?” Don clarified.
“No, it’s the butcher that sold me the duck.” Alan explained.
“No” Don chuckled.
“Yes” Alan insisted “yeah, she’s very nice and she really knows her waterfowl.”
“Right” Don scoffed.
“Good luck Gramps” I encouraged.
“Why thank you Abby” Alan smiled then turned to his younger son “Charlie. Charlie” When the mathematician was only somewhat responsive the elderly man turned back to me and Don “this is not the brilliant thought brood. This is the other brood.” he informed.
“You alright Charlie?” Don asked.
“You knew it was a suicide.” Charlie stated
“No look,” Don objected, shaking his head. “I said from the get-go I didn’t know, but I did suspect.”
“Despite all the variables and the inconclusive autopsy, and the layers of crime that were uncovered?” Charlie pressed.
“The fact that the kid exhibited suicidal behavior and then he did it.” Don explained. “It’s Occam's Razor, you know? I mean, the simplest answer is usually the right one.”
“Occam’s Razor?” Alan questioned.
“What?” Don gave us looks as we all began to chuckle slightly “I read a book every now and then. I mean I did help in the creation of the biggest book worm I know.” he ruffled my hair slightly.
“Occam was a philosopher, he wasn’t a mathematician” Charlie pointed out “and what he actually said was that you shouldn’t make more assumptions than needed. It’s the basis of methodological reductionism. So, any given data set,...”
“And I thought school was done for today” I muttered as Charlie began to scribble on a napkin. Don and Alan just scoffed and let the man go. He needed to talk right now.
Chapter 5 ->
Okay guys this is kinda important. GQ just came in the mail and for the first time in a long while it had a really important article…
I just sat here for like the last half hour reading this and I’m incredibly appalled at our justice system in regards to the military. The article interviews about 23 men who have all been sexually assaulted in some branch of the military. The PTSD from sexual assault in the military is more prevalent than PTSD from combat…
If you have a chance I suggest reading this article…and the title is a quote that one of the victims Doctor told him…
Life update: Mood swings and depression are at an all-time high. Very horrible. Im not myself lately. I'm mean, nasty, and lashing out at all my loved ones. Trying to convince them to hate me, because if they hate me they can't be sad when im dead. Im actively suicidal and always very close to doing something or hurting myself. Exhausting. I went to the doctors today. Wanted to tell her about my horrible depression, but my mother was there. Got cold feet. Doctor told me Neurology doesn’t do POTS testing at ucsf but Cardiology does, so I’m getting referred for possible table testing. And the Disease place replied back to her and is requesting testing for Lyme because of everything I told them about how sick I am/get , so I had blood work done today. If I come back negative then I don't have to worry at all about it, apparently. But they are running three different types of testing and splotches to make sure. Unfortunately nothing back from mental health though. Which I need badly. I break down crying at nothing Im just awful in every way...How can he say im getting better..?
I am in a lot of pain, and very emotionally unstable. Everything feels 20x harder on me today. I just want to be done with everything. Gonna smoke some and try to sleep, if the pain doesn't stop me.
What an odd unexpected morning...
Last night, after getting some flashbacks and remembering something that happened to me when I was 15 with a 21-year-old. We had a very toxic, manipulative, and abusive relationship. A lot of suicide guilt trips, and other unsavory things. I couldn’t exactly leave even when I tried, because he would threaten himself and me. I got into this weird dissociative fog after a massive panic attack, rereading old logs we had shared nearly 8 years ago. Something in me snapped and pressed that I needed to reach out. So I did. I didn't think I would ever get a reply back, but just the attempt felt enough. Surprisingly...He did, in fact, reply, hours later. I felt a little more than horrified, and of course, broke into another panic attack, my heart was racing and I was trembling. But.. we talked. For a short period of time. I told him why I had messaged him. What he did to me and how I felt and how I still felt. He told me he was sorry for what he did and had/has been in therapy since then and is a better person than he was nearly 10 years ago. He asked me if he could have my forgiveness and I told him I could forgive him as a person, but his actions would take longer. Overall things went ok, and a part of me feels better. He was only one of many who had hurt me, but probably one of the only ones I’d ever be able to get an apology from and know they felt guilt and remorse for what they did to me. So.. I’m glad I was able to do this for myself as scary as it was. In a way at this point in time that scary awful toxic abusive guy that I knew is gone, I don’t have to worry about his existence anymore, I have one less person to be afraid of. He can’t hurt me anymore ever again. I hope somewhere deep inside that this has healed at least a tiny part of me.
Haven’t been here for a long time, changed phones and App Store didn’t have tumblr for the Middle East store, I recently pulled some strings and got the app. No I don’t actively self harm anymore. Things aren’t the best but I’m trying xoxo
Having trauma sucks and all but what really blows is that I didn’t even get the kind of trauma that makes you mysterious and edgy and cool— I just have the stupid ass trauma that makes you talk about Warhammer too much
Alastor Moody
Alastor Moody is, of course, a difficult character to think back on because most of our experiences with him--weren’t actually him
Regardless, he was still an important character, one of the few characters who was in the Order of the Phoenix during both Wizarding Wars. A brave and skilled wizard he was also a good judge of character (Igor Karkaroff), giving (Tonks was his protégé) and he didn’t care too much about what others thought of him—only considering the opinion of those he deemed worthy.
What I think most about him, is he gives us a glimpse into some mental illness, disillusion and how Ron would be in his later years with PTSD. Even as a high-ranking Auror, people mostly avoided him as he had become a bit paranoid
Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you
after all his years serving as an Auror and all those he had put away. He had limited friends he felt he could trust and had shown to have many scars showing all he had been thru. In the brief moments with him, he showed to be sentimental and trying to form human connections where he could and appreciating them: giving Harry the original Order of the Phoenix photo and his relationship with Tonks
PS Very glad Harry worked to get his eye back
01:38 AM
I should be unconscious right now, but I can’t sleep. I put the distractions aside, and lay down, and close my eyes... That’s when my thoughts catch up with me. You would think that at a certain point, the human body would simply run out of tears to cry; but if there’s a limit, I haven’t hit it yet this evening.
There are almost certainly connections between the different ideas, images, and recollections currently vying for attention inside of my head. I’m not sure I’m in the right frame of mind however to go mining for insight. Perhaps later.
On Monday, I have my MRI. As tests go, it’s fairly mundane; the most prevalent complaint is that you are required to stay still for a long time inside of a loud, clunky machine.
The MRI is to be conducted both with and without contrast. This means they will need to insert an IV catheter at some point, and inject a special fluid that the scanner can detect.
I’ve had my blood drawn plenty of times. I had an IV last time I was in the ER. (It was certainly annoying; but no more painful than the aforementioned blood draws.) However, my mind continues to gravitate towards - and get stuck on - this step.
I think perhaps it’s because I’m coming to realize that what rattles me most is the perception that I am no longer in control of a medical situation. The more steps required in a given appointment, the more likely the providers will have an efficient operation going, the more likely they are to maintain a pace faster than I am comfortable with.
Last week I had my nerve conduction study / electromyograph performed.
The nerve conduction study was first. I had a very nice technician; a young man named William. He listened to me earnestly when I explained my anxiousness; and did exactly what I asked: took his time, explained everything, and was honest with me about any discomfort I might experience.
Prior to the test, I had been instructed to wear clothing that would leave my arms and legs easily accessible (e.g. t-shirt and shorts, weather permitting). I settled for a sleeveless shirt and skirt that could easily be hiked up as necessary.
Apparently I chose poorly, as William provided a blanket which which I could cover up and prevent my thighs from flashing immodestly. We actually had a really nice conversation about it; where he explained that this was de facto policy for female patients, and I noted that I wasn’t opposed, merely surprised... Because my experience to date had, of course, been so different.
The test primarily consisted of William applying electrical shocks in various places; and measuring the corresponding signals reaching the ends of my extremities. He described this process as “More annoying than painful”, and that’s an assessment that (barring a few full-power shocks) I agreed with.
(To his credit, William had himself been shocked many times as part of his training; and was both sympathetic and informative as a result.)
After an hour of this, William subbed out and the neurologist subbed in; tasked with performing the electromyograph.
At the end of my ER visit, I was referred to the Neurology department; and forewarned that they would most likely want to order this test and that they were sorry it was so uncomfortable. I had similar conversations with my own provider, and the nurse practitioner I saw at Neurology.
The entire time I was thinking to myself: “How bad could it be”? The information I could find online explained that the test was conducted by inserting a needle into various muscles; although not particularly fun, this was no worse than my usual intramuscular injection regimen. Likewise, I undergo electrolysis every two weeks - surely that was the high bar for outpatient-induced pain?
Ah, well.
The neurologist very kindly ensured that I was prepared and had forewarning, and then inserted the needle in the muscle between my thumb and forefinger. I determined later that the needle was conical in design; which made for a less traumatic wound, but also perhaps more discomfort on insertion. Regardless, it was bearable.
I was not prepared for the next step: the neurologist had to move the needle about; not unlike swinging a television antenna around the room in search of better reception. This had me gritting my teeth. On top of that, I then had to flex the very muscle the needle was in; to take more readings.
This process took what felt like a couple of minutes; and once done, he proceeded to measure a muscle in my forearm, and then my bicep. After that it was the front of my shin, the calf muscle, and my upper thigh.
Again, he was very concerned with my well-being; but also rightly discerned that I was more interested in getting the test over than taking a break - so we powered through. Thankfully, as no issues were found on the left side, it was not necessary to proceed to the right.
I burst into tears as soon as I was outside. I can recall only one other time when a medical provider induced such pain that I was white-knuckling the surface of the exam table: after I inadvertently cut my finger open as a young teen; and the attending doctor had to examine the wound (and by extension, manipulate it while his assistants sprayed saline and whoever knows what else in there).
I didn’t think it affected me that badly; but I had to do my shot yesterday, and it was so hard. My hands were trembling, and on my first attempt, the needle barely even pierced the surface of the skin - I was that afraid of how much it could hurt.
Tomorrow I see my therapist. Our last appointment was, unfortunately, cancelled; so it’s been a while. We’ve been working on all the pent-up misery associated with my pre-immigration medical. That’s another subject swirling around in my head; and likely the root of a good portion of what I’m dealing with at present.
I was railroaded; moved through a medical assembly line like a non-person. Every time I feel as if there’s even a slight possibility that might be happening again, it all starts to come back - fear; the belief that I can no longer protect myself; that I am a target of contempt.
That brings me full circle; back to my upcoming MRI. There are several possible outcomes to this test: the best outcome, of course, would be that nothing of note is found. (This would suggest that the majority of my symptoms to date were caused by inflammation of my neural and nervous tissue; and as the inflammation naturally abides, so too will the symptoms.)
Another possibility is that I might have suffered a rare complication in which one’s own immune system attacks the nervous system. This is slightly more concerning, as one of the defining characteristics is permanent lesions of the white matter of the brain.
There is a third and final possibility: that the virus triggered a minor stroke. Such a thing would be unusual for a person of my age; as with so many other rare phenomena however, COVID has demonstrated exceptionally rare complications are surprisingly common once you are dealing with a virus that thinks little of the blood-brain barrier.
As you can imagine, two of the outcomes are terrifying in terms of their lifelong implications.
I’ll have my answer after Monday. For now, I’ll go back to ruing the godforsaken system of wealth transfer this country mockingly refers to as ‘health insurance’; knowing that I could have most likely had my results in hand much sooner if it wasn’t so absolutely vital to consult a third party on whether or not it was actually medically necessary to treat me.
02:35 AM.
Time to try again.
Absence
Apologies for not being particularly present of late; I’ve been dealing with some frustrating health issues.
As I noted previously, I was gifted a cold by a coworker in early December. The following week I contracted another respiratory virus. This was was rather more severe:
First, it induced acute bronchitis; the net effect of which is that I ended up in the ER with an oxygen saturation level of 85%. The blood tests, EKG, and chest X-ray all came back clear; so I was discharged with antibiotics and a course of steroids.
The day after, the virus began to affect me neurologically. My long-term memory, short-term memory, and focus all started to wane. I developed a sensation of weakness in my arms, palpitations, insomnia, severe anxiety, and an impending sense of doom.
The palpitations, anxiety, and sense of doom thankfully receded. Unfortunately, I also lost the ability to regulate my temperature and my blood pressure when changing position.
It looked like I was over the worst of it, until I spontaneously developed neuropathy in my lower limbs. That earned me another trip to the ER, where they ruled out - in their words - “Anything super-deadly”. (I also got my first ever IV catheter, which I found kind of annoying; and a lumbar puncture, which was pretty interesting!)
The neuropathic symptoms have also receded somewhat; but the weakness in my left arm has grown worse, and now there’s a tremor in my second and third fingers. I’m currently waiting on additional neurological tests to determine the cause (’waiting’ being the operative word; after all, heaven forbid I have an MRI without my health insurer getting to sign off on it first)!
I know where a lot of people’s minds are going to go given the timing, and I don’t blame them; but: it wasn’t COVID. Two antigen tests, three PCR tests, and a nucleocapsid antibody test all indicate that this was a routine respiratory virus that just got completely out of control.
Two fun sidebars though:
First: between the tests from last year’s check-up, and the tests from the ER, I discovered that my lymphocyte numbers are routinely low. As measures go, it’s not a one-to-one predictor of immune health; but it does suggest that there’s something not quite right with my immune system, and that this might explain why even minor illnesses cause me significant secondary issues.
Second: I’ve written at length about how COVID tests set off my PTSD. (It’s not a rational reaction; but one borne of my younger self confusing their invasive and required nature with past violations of my bodily autonomy.)
The second go-around at the ER, the nurse performing the test was extremely thorough and as a result, I experienced arguably the most discomfort of any test to date. However, I was able to manage the situation well; in large part, I now recognize, because that selfsame nurse had a warm and sympathetic bedside manner.
That leads me to think that it’s less the physical discomfort of these acts that I find triggering; and more that they are being performed without care or consideration for my person. I’m still trying to make sense of the ramifications of this insight; but it’s beginning to seem like the core of the problem is that I’ve been dehumanized in the past, and this is what I’m so afraid of happening again.
Two more tests
For the duration of my tenure with my current employer, there has been an IT Guy. He is older than me, and has twice as much practical experience.
Unfortunately, he is prone to failures of common sense. I know him as someone that chooses his tools based on his own personal level of interest (as opposed to their suitability), and frequently over-complicates each and every task in front of him.
It is not possible for him to be removed from the company; therefore he has instead been moved to a position in which his ability to disrupt IT proceedings has been minimized: that of company compliance officer.
For the most part he has left IT alone, except for occasionally requiring that we demonstrate our systems have various redundancies and backups in place. (This was spurred, in part, to mitigate against the possibility of a production system resource group being inadvertently deleted... after he did just that.)
A few weeks ago I walked into the kitchen to find him wearing a mask (uncharacteristic) and blowing his nose loudly. “Don’t worry!” he said, “It’s not COVID”! (Truly, confidence-inspiring.)
Well, wouldn’t you know it but a few days later both I and a fellow IT employee get hit with The Cold From Hell. So... I had to go get another test done. (Thankfully, no insane pipe-cleaner swab this time.) Fortuitously, it was negative.
All the same, my long weekend was ruined by the misery of illness. I return to the office, and have a talk with my boss about how our compliance officer - the man chiefly responsible for ensuring business continuity (i.e. that everything keeps working in the event of a crisis) - brought a transmissible illness into our work environment during a pandemic.
A week, nearly two goes by; and I suddenly develop a sore throat (welp) as Omicron numbers soar. My spouse - who contracted the cold from me - is likewise experiencing chest symptoms. So off we go, again, to get tested.
The chief reason I keep returning to the same testing location is because they do not require appointments, they are quick, and turnaround on results is usually within the hour. Thus, imagine my surprise when I see that the parking lot is completely filled with cars, and learn that turnaround time is now closer to six hours.
This Omicron business is something else. Part of my would like to write in detail about how we’re (a) right back to square one in terms of required measures to prevent transmission (quarantine; mask mandates; public gathering limits) and how (b) absolutely none of these things are happening.
i will defer for present. I was so convinced this time around that COVID had caught up to us; because I have never experienced before a common cold that caused a sore throat weeks after initial sinus symptoms; and this revelation initiated a twenty hour-long panic attack. I am desperately trying to put such things out of mind at present.
Suffice to say: the tests were negative. I am in many respects glad; but also concerned (for the cold is doing a real number on my lungs, and I worry how that might compound an actual COVID infection). Such is life.
I’m not sure there’s any moral in this story; other than the general sense that we could have handled the pandemic far better, were it not for the widespread lack of common sense that my coworker typifies... And that I am very much fed up of having my bodily integrity violated with sample collection swabs.
Another Test
It came to my attention this afternoon that a colleague had left the office on Friday, feeling unwell; and come Saturday had tested positive for COVID. This individual is someone that works two offices down for mine and is often in close proximity.
This meant, of course, that it would be wise of me to go get tested again. The last time I was tested, it triggered a lengthy flashback.
(As always, I stress: my response to these kinds of medical scenarios is a result of my PTSD, and not an indictment of medicine. Get tested, get vaccinated, protect yourselves and others!)
Anyhow: I wasn't super thrilled about this turn of events, and let my boss know that I was heading out and most likely would not be back for the day. He did very kindly point out that we had some test kits in-office (allegedly; nobody seemed to know where); to which I countered that the last thing my coworkers needed to see was me in tears.
Fast forward: the system for registering an appointment at the test site worked well this time; and apart from a small hiccup (they had moved a mile down the road to a new location), everything was pretty much the same. The technician asked me to sit in the car and came back with a swab and sample vial.
Now, here's where things differed slightly: when my spouse was initially tested (all the way back at the start of the pandemic), the swap took the form of an elongated Q-Tip. Having this pushed all the way to the back of the sinuses was unpleasant; but I understand the discomfort subsided quickly as soon as the test was completed.
When I was tested for the first time, the swap had clearly been updated with comfort in mind: there was a thin, flexible plastic stem with a small, soft, sponge on the tip. It wasn't inserted fully into the sinus, and frankly, there was no pain or discomfort to speak of.
This is what I was expecting to see again; so imagine my unpleasant surprise when the technician withdrew from its sterile wrapping what I can only describe as a fiercely-bristled pipe cleaner.
The technician proceeded to tell me to hold my breath for five seconds, which was also a new and highly discouraging change in procedure.
I warned her that I might be somewhat unresponsive after the test was administered and not to take that personally; and she understood. Then came the part where I tilted my head back, closed my eyes, and felt this monstrosity enter my left nostril. The technician counted to five while sawing this thing back and forth along every side of my sinus cavity.
To be clear: I am no stranger to unpleasant sensations (which I will note shortly). This, however, was absolutely misery-inducing. I broke down crying the moment the technician turned away from me.
Six hours later, and my sinuses still hurt. They itch, constantly; and my nose has been running all evening. I cannot possibly fathom which person thought it was a good idea to take what was already an invasive, annoying test - and make it infinitely worse.
Dose three?
It is currently being reported that the federal government will shortly recommend that all two-shot vaccine recipients receive a third booster shot, approximately eight months after their second dose.
(Recommendations on boosting the single-shot vaccines are still being formulated.)
On the one hand: I'll do whatever it is I have to do to ensure the safety of my friends, family, and others; if that means getting a third dose of COVID vaccine, then so be it.
On the other hand: I've detailed previously how the first two doses each triggered a week of vicious flashbacks. (I still don't know why - I'm literally typing this right now with an arm sore from my second round of Gardasil; no major mental upsets.)
So... chances are sometime around the end of the year, the spouse, daughter and I will go round three on shots... And I will have to set aside time for another nervous breakdown.
(There's also a conversation to be had about the wisdom of Americans consuming three doses of vaccine each at a time when much of the world is struggling for adequate supply; although I am currently thinking of this as more an exercise in half of America taking the vaccine doses of the other half to protect themselves from the aforementioned other half that won't take their damn vaccine doses!)
Test
Last week I was at Minneapolis' very own CONvergence convention. A fantastic time was had! Obviously, attending a large public event in the current viral climate is not without risk; but I felt considerably more secure in matters given that (a) the organizers had capped attendance at 3,500 (half the size of the previous year), (b) required all attendees show proof of vaccination and (c) instituted a mask mandate.
Unfortunately, post-event, it was determined that an attendee has tested positive for COVID and had informed the organizers as such. They in turn notified all other event-goers, and provided information on the afflicted individual's path through the convention for contract-tracing purposes.
Unfortunately, it transpired that the two of us had attended a panel together; and despite the extremely unlikely possibility of having contracted COVID from this person, the sensible course of action was to go get tested myself.
This did not fill me with joy. As I have previously documented, there is a facet of my younger self - splintered by trauma - that bristles at certain medical interventions... And I knew this would be one of them.
At the start of the pandemic, my spouse required a routine medical procedure; and in advance of that, was required to get a COVID test. I drove them to the in-car test site, and my spouse rolled down the passenger-side window to talk to a fully geared-up nurse.
As many are no doubt aware, those first COVID tests required collecting a sample from the very, very furthest reaches of the sinuses; using what is essentially an extremely long Q-Tip. While not necessarily a painful experience, it can be irritating at best and deeply unpleasant at worst.
Both my spouse and I were a little taken aback when the nurse instructed them to tilt their head back and place their hands firmly on their knees because, and I quote, "Trust me, you will try to stop me".
The nurse swabbed my spouse's sinuses, and it was fine, and other than my spouse feeling like they had been somehow poked in the back of the eyeball, all was good. I, however, was a nervous wreck; because this act had in my mind overstepped the threshold of acceptable bodily integrity violation.
(How does that work? I can't say, as it isn't rational. I am pro-science, pro-safety, pro-vaccine; but the damaged part of me responds viscerally and insensibly to certain medical procedures - evidently of which, this was one.)
Later, my spouse experienced a terrible cold; and their general practitioner recommended another COVID test to be safe. This was at a walk-in clinic, and even though I remained in the car, I still ended up shaking at the thought that my beloved was being harmed in some way.
I have spent far too much time since then conceiving of how I might be required to submit to a COVID test myself some day, and how that would effect me. Fast-forward to that day.
There was a no-appointment clinic near our house. They have a rather slick online registration system; there were some issues completing the process, but a person met me at the parking lot and helped finalize matters. Then they went to retrieve their test apparatus.
Now, to the credit of the test manufacturers: they had clearly taken steps to improve the (deservedly-maligned) collection kit. The swab was a little shorter; no longer needed to reach the very back of the sinuses; featured a very slim, flexible stem (particularly helpful for deviated septum-sufferers); and the cotton tip had been replaced by a small, gentle sponge.
The technician was very nice and explained that they would gently hold the swab in place for the count of five, and in turn I explained that I'm sure everything would be fine and painless - but there was a possibility that I might become upset afterwards and that it was absolutely not their fault.
Then I scrunched up my eyes and held my hedgehog friend very tightly and the technician inserted the swab in my nose and ran it about inside my head and true to her word, the experience was not in the slightest bit unpleasant.
I then proceeded to thank her, albeit stutteringly, because as predicted this invasion of my bodily space had still had a triggering effect. I received my results less than an hour later and they were, of course, negative. Three hours after that, I stopped crying.
It's so strange - yesterday I had laser hair removal; and per my request, the technician turned the power up quite high. There were some moments when it really stung; but... nothing. Not a trigger. Likewise, in a few days I have to get my second HPV immunization; and despite knowing that it will sting (the manufacturer attests this to the "Virus-like particles" it contains), that should be fine too.
Why am I freaked out by some medical procedures, and not others? I really don't know. Probably there's a logic to it; but if there's a pattern, I've yet to discern it...
Yet another night terror
The fever dreams continue; alas, taking a turn for the worse. Last night's dream featured my spouse and I perambulating through a cave filled with snow; I kicked ideally at a pile of snowflakes, only for some kind of hag to burst out from underneath and tackle me into what I knew to be a very, fatally deep pit.
Then came the screaming; and waking, heart racing.
I don't know what's going on right now - I keep ascribing these sorts of negative impacts to work stress and ill health - but the effects feel disproportionate to the stressors. Hopefully either I can get to the bottom of things soon, or else they ease up; because this is exhausting.
Well woman
A few week’s ago I had an annual check-up; the first in two decades. (Hooray for America’s dysfunctional healthcare system!) I wasn’t particularly concerned ahead of time; but then I received an automated reminder from my provider that had the appointment listed as a “Well Woman Exam”. This lead me down a bit of a rabbit hole as to exactly what that entailed; and then I proceeded to freak the fuck out. Even now, I’m not entirely sure what the problem was - there was definitely some anxiety centered on the more intimate aspects of this kind of exam; but having spent a significant amount in analogous settings (e.g. laser hair removal), I didn’t think this was the issue. (There’s also the matter of my PTSD cranking up in some medical settings; but again, there doesn’t seem to be a particular rhyme or reason as to why and when that fires off... or doesn’t.) A friend suggested that perhaps the issue stemmed from having to speak to my provider, openly and honestly, about my transgender status. My provider is a very nice fellow, and has a fantastic bedside manner (something of a rarity in the US); but even so, transitioning is in many respects a form of magic, and pulling back the curtain on how the trick is performed is not fun. When the actual day rolled around, my heart was racing; and I had to apologize repeatedly to the nurse practitioner for my ridiculous pulse. Thankfully everybody was very understanding; and my provider made the necessary conversations about as straightforward and easy as they could be. (It actually turned out that between various changes in recommended screening guidelines and where I am in my transition, that there’s basically nothing to screen for for the next five years or so; so no poking or prodding there.) I did elect to get caught up on some immunizations while I was there; including getting the HPV vaccine (which is now recommended for everyone, up to the age of forty-five). The administering nurse was perfectly nice; but her technique was slow and methodical (not what you want when getting needled); and the HPV vaccine in particular stung something fierce (which I guess is a known issue with whatever they put in it). In the end, everything worked out okay; but I worry that there will be more of this sort of thing in the near future - I’m out, and as far as the majority of big ticket items are concerned, transitioned; but I feel far from confident in my newfound place in the world as a woman or my ability to pass, and it’s going to be quite some time until that changes.
Dose two: addendum
I feel like I might have spoken too soon on my COVID vaccine side effects dying down; I’m now four days post-hoc and it feels like I still have some issues (muscle aches and swollen glands on the injection side; feverishness if I overexert myself).
It’s physically irritating, mentally debilitating, and it only fuels my anger more towards the sum group of people inflamed this situation for their own selfish reasons.
(I will also add: a couple of years ago, the spouse and I caught a very strange, persistent cold virus; the lymph nodes in my upper torso and neck flared up like nobody’s business and remained that way for almost eight to ten weeks.
It scared the hell out of me, as that kind of persistent swelling is generally associated with far worse ailments; and I was still in my passive ideation phase at the time and was pretty convinced that This Was It. Thankfully it went away on its own; but in retrospect, I’m realizing that this episode might be another unprocessed issue I now have to unpack and deal with.)
Dueling thoughts
Alas, though a known quantity, the spouse, daughter and I are all experiencing side effects from our second COVID vaccine dose. It’s the usual suspects - chills, fever, muscle aches, injection site soreness. It’s on par with getting hit with a really bad cold - much worse than one normally would expect from a vaccination; but manageable.
Mentally, it’s not been great. Every sting, every twinge reminds me that this is happening; and that gives the very irrational and truculent part of my psyche - the part where my wounded, child self lives - reason to fire up.
I came back last night from an errand; and having arrive home, just sat in the car and sobbed. In that moment, I was able to watch the two halves of my - child and adult - argue in real time:
“Why did they put this in me?” “Because it’s good for us. It will protect us, and others.” “Please, please take it out. Please.”
Adult me knows that this is undeniably the right course of action; for myself, for my family, for others, and ultimately for the entire human population. This is the only humane way we have out of this crisis.
Child me does not care; this suffering was forced upon her (even if only be necessity), and she rejects it wholeheartedly. It’s probably going to be at least a good week before she quells down; and in the meantime, I can expect plenty more crying fits and other associated behaviors.
More generally - this far from unique to myself; but I have so much anger for the people that mishandled the pandemic, irresponsibly exacerbated matters, damn near killed my best friend and most certainly killed millions of others. Lives were stolen; for the rest of us, precious time. I don’t know if it will come, but there most assuredly needs to be a reckoning when all of this is said and done.
Dose two
Well; three weeks later, and we got our second COVID vaccine doses.
Although I wish this was not the case, I went from zero to full-on flashback in bout twenty minutes; and expect to remain in some variation of that mindset for the next few days.
I would like to stress for the new reader: this is not a side effect of the vaccine, and I strongly recommend that (where medically possible) everyone get it. This is purely my past history interacting with current events.
On the bright side, in a little over two weeks I will start treatment with a new EMDR therapist. I am very much hoping that goes a long way towards bringing these sorts of undesirable episodes under control.
Dose one
Yesterday the wife, daughter and I got our first COVID vaccine doses. We go back in three weeks for the second dose. There haven’t been any real side effects barring the usual sore arm and some very minor feverishness / muscle aches.
(I have been lead to understand that the second dose may result in stronger side effects, which makes sense. An older fellow at the clinic told me in passing conversation that thanks to his second dose, he had experienced hot flashes and was now highly sympathetic to the plight of menopausal women.
This got a giggle from me; when I started HRT, my estradiol injections were spaced too far apart and as a result I would effectively experience menopausal symptoms. I replied with “I know how that goes!” and left it at that...)
Mentally however, I am struggling a bit. I will preface this with two items:
I am pro-science and pro-vaccine. I understand that no vaccine can be 100% safe; however, the odds of something going terribly wrong are far, far lower than if you contract COVID.
I had a very, very bad flashback the other night; one that practically set a new bar in terms of intensity; and I’m still feeling some of the effects from that days later.
So: I get very upset when I perceive my bodily integrity (or that of people I care about) being violated. The key factor is my consent. For instance:
At the end of my visa medical, I received two vaccinations. I took offense at (a) not being informed beforehand that this would happen, (b) the administering provider’s refusal to explain what they were for, and (c) the generally dehumanizing treatment I had been exposed to that day. (I have no problem with receiving vaccines as a prerequisite of entry to the US; it was how the process unfolded that was the issue.)
I have never had chickenpox, and elected to receive the varicella vaccine. Everything went smoothly, and I’m glad I made that choice.
To bring us full-circle:
I want to do my part to get us out of this pandemic; and that means being vaccinated. However, I cannot shake the feeling that this is being forced upon me - not by the nebulous puppet-masters that anti-vaxxer conspiracists like to point to, but by the various government institutions that prioritized partisan politics over protecting people, and the self-same people that prioritized their right to endanger others else instead of covering their stupid fleshy talk circles with a bit of cloth and knocking off the partying for a while.
It doesn’t sit well.
Alas, there’s not a whole lot I can do about this as the requirement to be vaccinated still stands; but it does rather mean that I have yet another reason (and I already had plenty to begin with) to intensely dislike the swathe of selfish misanthropes revealed during the course of this crisis.
Sleeping arrangements: addendum 2
I have been reliably informed that my previous illustration of the idiosyncrasies of flashback-driven sleeping positions did not sufficiently emphasize my spouse's ample biceps; I have therefore attempted to rectify this issue as follows:
Sleeping arrangements: addendum 1
This has obviously been on my mind, but it was only very recently that I was able to connect all the pieces.
I believe that I was subjected to some kind of trauma during my early childhood. I have no memory of these events; but evidently they left some kind of impression on me because I experience flashbacks.
Some factors that trigger these episodes include high levels of general stress; moments of emotionally-charged interpersonal conflict; and nighttime. (Also: certain bedroom activities that are probably best skipped here.)
Well: I have a lot of undischarged stress at present; so come nighttime, things get... flashbacky. Generally what happens is that the spouse and I end up falling asleep like this:
Now, I really want to stress that my spouse is awesome; they always makes sure to communicate that I'm safe, and if I want to be closer that's okay, and if not, that's okay too. There's nothing they’re doing in this scenario that's an issue.
For me though... Well, as the diagram indicates, there is a Zone Of Safety at the corner of the bed and moving outside of it induces anxiety.
When the flashback reaches peak criticality, I'll move off the bed entirely and on to the floor. (It used to be that I would relocate to our walk-in closet, but apparently the space between the bed and the wall is now sufficiently protective per my brain.)
So here's the last piece of the puzzle: when trying to explain this situation to a friend last night, it occurred to me that I had things the wrong way around. The problem is not that I have to be on the floor; the problem is that I can't be in bed with another person.
It's not safe.
...And that brings us full circle. As I stated: I don't know what the nature of the initial trauma was that began things. Based on this latest clue however, the implications are clear... and I can't say I like them.
Sleeping arrangements
Appleseed - Book 2: Prometheus Unbound by Masamune Shirow
Bruises
Last night I got hit with the flashback stick, and spent most of what should have ostensibly been time in bed as time sleeping on the floor instead.
As a double whammy, I feel like both of my thighs are now bruised on the outside. This does not please me; not least of which because retreating to the floor has been a more common occurrence of late and that's bad enough without adding extra layers of physical discomfort on top of it...
Unexpected HRT side-effect #6
I’m not really up to speed on Tumblr etiquette yet, but I believe the polite thing to do when dealing with heavy material is to provide a content preface. To that end: this is a kinda heavy. There’s abuse and stuff.
Sooo... PTSD. This is an actual, unexpected side effect of HRT. Let me explain.
I’ve previously touched on the idea that I have a female-structured brain; that certain parts of it require estrogen to function correctly; and that during the pre-HRT portion of my life, these parts operated poorly (or not at all).
A large - and rather nuanced - group of these malfunctions come under the umbrella heading of ‘emotional processing’ (or lack thereof); including the inability to:
Fully feel my emotions,
Understand them,
Connect them to my thoughts,
Communicate them to others;
...And perhaps most importantly, make sense of (and move past) the various negative events that life likes to throw at us.
Once HRT kicked in and supplied the estrogen my brain so desperately craved, all of this changed! I cannot stress what an incredible experience it was to go from zero to full emotional processing capacity virtually overnight.
The next thing I discovered, however - much to my chagrin - was that far from passing through the troughs of life with a stiff upper lip, rather I had simply deferred my response to those events. Now the bill was due.
I relived a lot of grief and anger: at the loss of loved ones; at lines crossed; at years in the wrong body.
One day, I had a disagreement; the matter was settled amicably, but afterwards I felt ill at ease. Without even understanding why, I gathered up my three animal friends and retreated into our walk-in closet; turned out the lights, and just... sobbed. Great, unrelenting torrent of tears. I didn’t understand what was happening; only that I was terrified, and hurting.
After what felt like hours, my wife coaxed me back into the light and to normalcy.
As night approached the following evening, it happened again. And again. And again. Every night, for months on end.
During these episodes, I would experience repetitive, intrusive thoughts for which I had no context. “Please don’t hurt me!”; “Please stop hurting me!”; “Let me go!”; “Why did he hurt me?”
In retrospect, what I have been able to piece together is as follows:
These events were flashbacks. They relate to a trauma that I have no memory of; perhaps because it happened very early on in my life. Based on the intrusive thoughts - and other indicators, such as an intense phobia of forcible restraint and what I believe may have been unconscious efforts on my part to relive the original acts - I believe the trauma was sexual in nature.
HRT kick-started my brain; and the first item on the agenda was - completely unbeknownst to me - processing this forgotten trauma.
For the curious - I’m much better now; my wife and I are no strangers to PTSD symptoms and well-versed when it comes to handling them. Still; I cannot say that when I undertook that first estradiol shot, that I ever imagined it would unearth this particular landmine in my psyche.
Permanent Damage
If you look long enough into the void, the void begins to look back through you.
Draco Malfoy will never be able to hold anything for long. Constant crucios over 3 years has damaged his nerves.Voldemort was most displeased with his inability to finish his task, the Carrow’s annoyed with his refusal to torture students for their detentions. His hands shake and shiver, nerves constantly shaking with invisible, imaginary pain that stopped years ago. He yells in frustration as his shaking body repeatedly clinks his teacup loudly against its saucer, another futile attempt to keep his hands steady, and smashes it against the floor, a thousand white shards glittering against the black tile.
Harry Potter breaks down every time he gets a headache. Hand clapping to his forehead as the pain sets on, muttering to himself that ‘hes not back.’ ‘I killed him.’ ‘Its over’ as he scans the room; flinching at too pale skin, hand twitching towards his wand as brown eyes reflect red in the flickering, fluorescent light. The cold tile beneath his fingers grounds him as he tries to convince himself that he’s okay. The feeling that some part of him died that day in the forest, surrendering before Voldemort’s wand never leaves, the hollow feeling leaving an aching, painful hole in its wake.
Ron Weasley finds himself scanning rooms over and over again. Planning exit strategies and ways to take out everyone in the room in order to escape. He imagines everyone as an enemy in disguise, subconsciously moving people like chess pieces and picking his small flat, not because it was cheap or because the neighborhood was good (its dismal really) but because it had the best strategic advantage in regards to the city and places around him, in order to hide in case of attacks. He once again comes to his senses after a nightmare and sighs as he realizes that in his delirium he once again had filled pages upon pages of his notebook with battle tactics and the floor plans of places hes been and fought (Hogwarts, the Ministry, the Burrow...). He rips them out and adds them to a growing folder before making a cup of tea.
Hermione Granger finds herself hording food, slipping apples into pockets and bread into her purse. She comes home to find herself with pockets of tarts and a bag of crackers, handfuls of berries slipped between pages of paperwork and cereal bars snuck into file folders. The months of hiding and foraging have made her paranoid and hyper aware of how much food she’ll need to get through the day. She’ll find herself counting calories and balancing proteins, carbs and fats before she can stop herself and measuring how much she eats, intuitively leaving some over for Harry and Ron, forgetting that they are no longer on the run, having to ration food.
Luna is no longer as carefree and dreamy as she was. Her creatures turn from whimsical and delicate to horrifying. Claws and teeth grow to protect and attack. She won’t leave the house for days, wandering around inside with closed eyes to avoid Blibbering Humdingers who now have poisonous spines and Nargles with razor teeth, her mind having twisted them from cures for loneliness to share with her father, to weapons of destruction to protect her from the outside world. They are real enough to her that she convinces herself they’ve locked her inside her house and won’t let her leave, she thinks they’ve kidnapped and hurt her friends because ‘It’s to protect you’ ‘They are spies’ ‘It’s not real Luna’ ‘They only want to hurt you’. The whispers follow everywhere and consume her, dragging her into the void. It’s when she locks Hermione in her basement under the influence of her broken mind, twisted by false images and under the guise of Hermione being someone else using polyjuice, that she gets a room in the Janus Thickney ward of St Mungos. She has moments of clarity but they are few and far between. her mind crumbled, her spirit broken, a twisted shadow of the young, bright girl who hummed happily as she waltzed barefoot through the halls.
Dennis Creevey perpetually has a broken, cracked, dirty camera on a shelf in his bedroom, never to be touched.
George Weasley has smashed every mirror in his flat and refuses to repair them
Percy Weasley takes to straight vodka and tequila out of the bottle because his guilt over Fred.
Kreacher forever wears a cracked and blood stained locket till the day he dies.
Teddy Lupin spends hours staring at pictures of his parents, shifting into one or the other or trying for the perfect mixture of both, never getting it quite right.
Minerva McGonnagal finds a dusty box under Severus Snape’s bed filled with cracked records; a flaky leather jacket; old Polaroids of a girl with a head of flames and eyes of shattered emerald, smiling, arms wrapped tight around a boy with inky hair and sharp, onyx eyes; a fractured glass figurine of a lily lying carefully on top of the pile; folded within an old letter. She sobs over a life spent hating and being hated as she pats the scratched lacquer on a string-less bass guitar
There will always be an empty seat at many tables all over the country as people mourn lives lost unfairly.
You can take people out of the war, but can you take the war out of people?