Can We Get Ready And Not Even Realise It?

[Zipperhead]

Rough week so far. Looking around, and not really liking where I'm at. This post is a bit hard to come to grips with, so bear with me.

All along, ever since I've hit bottom, I have had the erge to just run away. For 2 years, I've been thinking about a box somewhere where I can just sit and watch the end. I've even contiplated what the obituary would look like. "Homeless dead guy identified as Retired Army Sgt". As if that would make the people rethink what they had thought as they passed me by. I even figured that I'd keep my Medals. My Sacrifice Medal has my name engraved on it. For some reason, I figured that would be the right way to let them identify me. "Oh, what's that in his pocket?" But I never thought of it as suicide. I just figured I'd give up and die homeless. No act of violence or anything. Just a final plee for help. Of course, homeless people plee all day, doesn't help them.

I'm looking around the house today. They say that if you start getting rid of your stuff, it's a sign that you're making your plan. So I looked. Nothing. Only the stuff that I want my son to remember me by. Certificates of acheivement, plaques from differant tours, even a letter from Royalty congratuating me on my efforts to over come my wounds and rejoin my men on tour. It's not like I've been giving stuff away. I just don't have anything. I haven't bought anything for me in years. How long have I been doing this? Even my underwear drawer is old stuff. I haven't bought new underwear in 2 years. Can we get ready, and not even realise it?

 

[Lionheart]

I think it is possible that you have been unconsciously planning to give up or that maybe, some part of you has given up already. Still, the fact that you are posting about it here tells me that you don't really want to carry through with the plan. Perhaps you need to let go of some things in your life to make room for some new things. I mean what would be the danger in buying something just for you? At any rate, at least you are recognizing the warning signs and have the opportunity to do something about it. Life is hard sometimes and PTSD is a B@^%*, but it isn't always so bad and I bet your son loves you very much!!!

Just trying to be helpful,
LH

 

[LoyalOne]

Zipper, I did much the same thing a few years ago. I ended up wandering around with dirty hair in old clothes and raggedy drawers. I wore the same 2 outfits to work every day. I started losing weight and getting forgetful. I never went out. I was an old woman at 31. My husband worked a day job and a night job, and I saw him so rarely, he barely noticed.

Depression and self-abuse take you out of the game.

The only way to get back into the game is to make the conscious effort to play again. No matter how useless and unfulfilling it feels. Don't think about it too much. Just let your body drive you to the store, and let your body buy you new underwear, some new pants, a new jacket. Practice a one in, one out rule. Get rid of your most tired things.

JS is talking about how her man is too distracted to pay his bills. My Sgt hasn't eaten since Sunday. When you are overwhelmed, those things just pass you by. Don't let them. Put your foot down. Find a connection and hold on to it. Don't let the game be a default loss.

 

[Lady of Longbourn]

((((((((((((((((Zipper))))))))))))))

 

[NutritionNerd]

I can see why you'd feel that way. There are times I lose faith in my ability to overcome or even survive PTSD. I remember times when I have prevailed when other said it was impossible and that keeps me trying.

A couple of years ago my husband's dog snapped at me and I lost 1/2 my lower lip (he was an Akita). It literally ripped open the whole right side of my face. The doctors were projecting 3 or 4 surgeries and a long term healing. Funny thing was after the initial emergency surgery I was really hating my lip and one of my spiritual friends sent me advice to instead send love to my lip and so I changed my attitude to the whole thing. My doctor was amazed because after losing tissue all the way below the lower lip line - at one point I had to wear dental pads to hold the drool, the lip started growing back on it's own. After a few months they did another surgery which healed so well I didn't need anymore. Now I have a little puff on my face where the surgeon mistitched but planned on fixing it later!

So I know that it doesn't pay to listen to negative experts and that many things are possible if you put your whole self into the effort. (That's how I got into nutrition as healing also).

 

[bluemoon]

Zipperhead.
Keep posting, it can't hurt.
I'm a new PTSD forum user.
It seems like a supportive crew.(not too much BS)
I think it's cool that you posted that:tup:
Good luck mate.

 

[Tinyflame]

Dear Zipper, in July 2008 I stumbled (literally) on a book just 'sitting there, outside', that was called "How I Stayed Alive While My Brain was Trying to Kill Me". I opened it- read the intro - how depths of sorrow eventually determine depths of joy, and that people blame and kill themselves often over internalizing bad things others have done, or have happened, and I 'knew' somehow that I was at the point of "If the next thing -one last attempt to try to 'get over this' and how I felt, failed, then I would kill myself". Yet, it never even occurred to me- the word 'suicidal', nor did I realize I was at that 'stage'. Until then. (More like, "I guess so- guess that's obvious if I'm going to").

Thankfully- because there was an imminent thunderstorm I took the book, because it would have got ruined, anyway (and I certainly knew that was 'me' as they described, and I wanted to read it), and shortly after found this forum.

Yes, I've given much of everything away, sometimes for the right reasons, sometimes wrong (usually thrown that stuff out), I find it hard to eat, have destroyed photos of myself, and arranged 'paperwork'.

But there is another way- and if you have a son, he needs you.
You are needed here too, and you 'exist' so you should be here, even if it feels you don't know 'why' it doesn't mean you shouldn't be here.
xox

P.S- there was a 'candle', on the book- that was the only reason I saw it.
But the 'light' made me feel better (at home), oddly enough- I was amazed that something so small could light up an entire room.

Even if you feel 'non-existent', maybe you have a much bigger impact, than you know. -I would say so, just from here alone.

 

[Jet]

Zipperhead,

Lately I have been doing a lot of thinking and something that occurred to me is that feeling like crap has become something of a habit for me. Don't get me wrong...I have PTSD due to complex trauma and the simple truth is that it is not going to go away and there will always be bad days when symptoms flair up and things are more difficult. But this is a little different... every day I woke up resentful and angry that I was still alive. Almost every minute of every day, consciously and unconsciously I told myself how miserable I was, how much I hated myself and how much I hated life. If my PTSD had magically disappeared overnight it would not have mattered because I had allowed myself to be sucked up inside my trauma and then curled up inside the festering wound...Neither my abuser(s) nor the PTSD they left behind broke me...I did that myself when I gave up and refused to fight.

I know you are hurting and tired...and that often it must feel as if the load that has been placed on your shoulders is too much to bare. Yet when I read your posts I see your strength, dignity, courage, humor and kindness.

You said that all you have are the things you want your boy to remember you by (medals, plaques, certificates, etc...). I understand the value of those things and that they tell part of the story of you. But (unless I am completely off my mark) they are not your whole story and they are not what your son wants to remember you by. When your son is an old man he will be take pride in your service and sacrifice...but those won't be what he holds close to his heart...his treasured memories will be fishing trips, playing ball in the back yard, learning to ride a bike with your hand on the seat, learning to drive with you in the passenger seat, your worry/anger when he breaks his curfew, your pride when he graduates, the joy on your face when the minister says "you may kiss the bride" and the tears in your eyes when you hold your grandchild for the first time. Those will be the memories he holds dear, those will be the things that tell him the story of you.

Look into his face and see the love he has for you. Look inside yourself and see the beautiful creature that is you.

And go buy yourself some new undies...

Blessings,
Jackie

 

[Jacquie]

I had the big clean out. And I mean BIG clean out. Stuff I didnt want other people seeing or reading or even throwing out. I left only those practical things I needed and which wouldnt matter a damn.

I hadnt been diagnosed with PTSD at that point and I honestly thought I was just finding something to keep me busy while I couldnt work (and couldnt move furniture or do most other things either). I went through my filing cabinet, threw out old study notes (and results) and shredded so much stuff I actually killed the shredder. lol And when that broke I piled things into the fire and burned them.

But I also cut myself off from people/friends. Got rid of over 800 people on facebook. At first a little at a time then realising it didnt hurt I just held down the delete button. Still it seemed there was junk in my life I didnt want or need, so every email that came I found UNSUBSCRIBE and hit it. And then STILL I found more things to get rid of. Going through drawers and finding those little drawings your kids do when they're little and threw some out and packed others into an envelope for them. And STILL I kept finding things I should have given or got rid of years before.

My god my whole life story was in the cupboards and boxes. Photos were next.

It was like an invasion of my privacy somehow. I felt so WATCHED and so invaded.

Weird huh?

And it was related to 'when I'm gone' and yet I had no suicidal thoughts or tendencies. It was more like feeling just having NO PRIVACY and being crowded out.

Ok so now I told them to sod off and leave me alone, and now I can 'breathe' at last, IT WAS THEM! It was them crowding and invading and being intrusive, but me getting rid of seemingly non-related stuff because of it.

But I wasnt suicidal.

 

[bluemoon]

Zipperhead,

Lately I have been doing a lot of thinking and something that occurred to me is that feeling like crap has become something of a habit for me. Don't get me wrong...I have PTSD due to complex trauma and the simple truth is that it is not going to go away and there will always be bad days when symptoms flair up and things are more difficult. But this is a little different... every day I woke up resentful and angry that I was still alive. Almost every minute of every day, consciously and unconsciously I told myself how miserable I was, how much I hated myself and how much I hated life. If my PTSD had magically disappeared overnight it would not have mattered because I had allowed myself to be sucked up inside my trauma and then curled up inside the festering wound...Neither my abuser(s) nor the PTSD they left behind broke me...I did that myself when I gave up and refused to fight.

I know you are hurting and tired...and that often it must feel as if the load that has been placed on your shoulders is too much to bare. Yet when I read your posts I see your strength, dignity, courage, humor and kindness.

You said that all you have are the things you want your boy to remember you by (medals, plaques, certificates, etc...). I understand the value of those things and that they tell part of the story of you. But (unless I am completely off my mark) they are not your whole story and they are not what your son wants to remember you by. When your son is an old man he will be take pride in your service and sacrifice...but those won't be what he holds close to his heart...his treasured memories will be fishing trips, playing ball in the back yard, learning to ride a bike with your hand on the seat, learning to drive with you in the passenger seat, your worry/anger when he breaks his curfew, your pride when he graduates, the joy on your face when the minister says "you may kiss the bride" and the tears in your eyes when you hold your grandchild for the first time. Those will be the memories he holds dear, those will be the things that tell him the story of you.

Look into his face and see the love he has for you. Look inside yourself and see the beautiful creature that is you.

And go buy yourself some new undies...

Blessings,
Jackie

 

[Zipperhead]

"But I wasn't suicidal" you're right there Jacquie, I wasn't either. I filled out a questionaire at the therapists office and I was being honest. Have you X,Y,Z. No, No, No. Running away wasn't committing suicide. I would be fine in a gutter. Only crazy people think about that stuff, and I'm not crazy (every 40 year old man has a secret plan to run away)

I am begining to understand where I am now. I'm looking around, and I'm examing my life. Our family went on a holiday last March. We have hundreds of pictures. My wife and son at, my wife and son at, my wife and son at. At the time, I said "well, I'm the one carrying the camera, of course there aren't any pictures of me!" There aren't. I wasn't there. My son can remember that vacation with a smile when he looks at the pictures. No reminders of that guy that ran away. It wasn't concious. I didn't do it thinking "I don't want them to remember," and yet, the pictures tell the storey. I haven't really been here for a long time. I have distanced my self, so that when it happens, no one will care. I don't want my son to be scarred for the rest of his life. So I'm pushing him away. "Don't depend on me Kid, you'll only get hurt." Is that all I have left to offer? My hurt?

"Every day I woke up resentful and angry that I was still alive," is that what my box is for, Jet? A place where I can punish me for waking up? A place where each day I'd be more likely to not have to be angry? To not be? It's not suicide. Sure, it will probably kill me, but it will be society's fault. They were the ones that sent me there, and then had the gaul to question whether I was doing the right thing. And now they have left me in this box, and ignored me. Just like any other homeless guy that society has thrown away. When their hurt got to big to easily fix. To much effort to save them, they're not worth it.

Do you still have that book, Junebug? My book was a pamplet it a doctors office. I was in there, page 4, 5, 6, it was about me. Scary when you see yourself in a book isn't it? The epiphany, the point where you can't say "I'm normal" anymore. I still have that book. No one showed it to me, or suggested I needed it. It found me. For those of you who don't beleive in God, I'm sorry for you. Candles don't just appear on side walks.

Funny thing Lion, I didn't give up till January. Yet I have been shedding all the extra's for 4 years now, and not buying for me for 2. And the last 4 Christmas's I've felt "why are people giving me this junk." And yet, they beat me in January. I was still fighting back best I could till then. But the molt had already begun. I didn't even notice it.

 

[bluemoon]

Ty Zip