I didn't get to sleep before five and when I did it was all mare of night. Because I cannot have good dreams; they were stolen from me.It's fucked, that's all there is to it. I couldn't sleep because of rage at a life I did not get and the one I got in its place. Every aspect of my life has been affected by my odd appearance with reduced capability and weird personality---the first I didn't choose, the latter afflicted by the former. Perhaps I am not a man because I never was.
Articles from Harrangue Man
I woke once or twice for the toilet but each time I returned to it. I can't recall it but I woke with the dreads and jitters, with the horrid feeling I fucked up and let people down. I know it involved my working life and family and me being bullied. I woke with a start at the end, the aftermath cloaked over as the substance of the dream evaporated but left a sludge behind.That's life with a workplace mental health injury; sleep is no escape.
I'm watching a MURDER! investigation TV series where the victim's name is Mikey. That is the first nickname I ever truely loved---I've had it the longest---but it's not everyday type name to hear.I keep wincing as the show progresses; no one likes hearing they've been murdered.
Solo man style bureaucracy kayaking has resulted in one ping back. It may be nothing but it's something---and it happened because of effort. You don't get a ping back unless you send one out.Office inner space WFTW.
I had a chance for more windmill fixing and I heard the windmill company had a suggestion box bolted to the door. Having already tried for several years to get fixes done I went up to the box and stuffed some in.I got confirmation they were recieved and will be added to the pile of possible positive solutions.That's never really happened before; for someone to say "thanks" and they'll take ideas on board.
I'm running theboy through a solo D&D 3.5 game, he has an NPC ally, but because he's new to it and because he was a dwarven wizard and we had a fig of one with a flaming club I started him off with a club that could cast scorching ray three times a day.
It doesn't matter how you got PTSD---mine was via my white collar workplace---it impacts on your every day. For many it's the fine tremble to the hands and inability to hold on to something that is a key fucking annoyance. Some lose their fine motor control, others have hands that open for no reason. Also, if your anxiety is up the trembles get worse which heightens your distress causing a feedback loop. I have all of that and more; yay!Newspapers, the hard copy kind, have thin psper.
Because of my womb warped skeleton I can't put on socks like a normal person; I have to brace in a door way.Only I ripped strips of skin from the soles of my very flat feet and being heavy that's too much mass on a very sore area.I also had to put on two pairs, the second to help cushion the walking on self-sliced feet.I ended up rolling to and fro on the big bed with getting a sock into position then having to pull it up.
It was going to happen, all the stress of all everything was going to land. And it did, I ended foetal in a ball and inconsolable. I took a V and a half and pushed my mind to read something until I was sleepy then I slept. It was a nasty turn, and I knew my lizard brain was in charge even as I could speak with some logic.
I surrendered to the urge to pick my feet and picked them to the point of stinging pain when stepped on. I've put on two pairs of socks for buffering against pain and picking. Hilariously, before I started, my super flat feet had each bare footedly stood on a rock upthrust from the ground or path, which for a heavyset person meant lots of physics and lots of pain.