I looked at the clock – 5:27 a.m. I’ve lost nearly 90 minutes in this flashback. The screaming woke me up again. My nausea alternated between a 7 and a 9. When it finally settled down to a 3, I started crying. I thought to myself, “I don’t feel well.” Then, a memory unlocked of a conversation I had many times with my mother when she came to wake me up for school.
Londo patiently waits for kitty treats.
Sometimes, I wonder if what I write here is worthwhile and if anyone cares. Other times, I think, “this is my blog. I’ll write whatever I want,” but there is always a nagging thought at the back of my head wondering if what I do matters.
On a recent day out exploring northwest Nebraska, my friend and I were chatting and he told me he was thankful for the writing I do here. He does not have PTSD or experience depression. He said he was once the type of person who would wonder why people who are depressed don’t just snap out of it and get on with things, but through my writings, he has come to learn it isn’t so easy.
On September 28, 2021, I had a flashback. I wrote about it the next morning, but didn’t really know what to do with it until last night.
Last October during a regularly scheduled checkup with my doctor, we had a discussion about taking medication for my PTSD-related nightmares and flashbacks. I hate taking medications, but she noticed a continued increase of nightmares and flashbacks. I wanted to think about it. I’ve said I wanted to think about it every three months during my checkups.
Today wasn’t a good day. It began somewhere around 3 a.m., but I honestly don’t know what time it was. The first time I was aware of the time, the clock read 3:15 a.m., Tuesday morning.
My day began with a flashback. It caught me unaware, arriving moments after opening my eyes. I had been fighting flashbacks on and off for about a week. Using my coping skills, I felt I had won this battle and headed off to work – tired, sleep-deprived, hopeful.
The memories are flames that lick the edges of my life, always anxious to burn me once again. They are always there and always exhausting. I want to cry. I’m angry. I’m tired. Some days, nothing makes them go away. A touch, a smell, anything that triggers the memories can ruin my day.
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