• 💖 [Donate To Keep MyPTSD Online] 💖 Every contribution, no matter how small, fuels our mission and helps us continue to provide peer-to-peer services. Your generosity keeps us ad-free, independent, and available freely to the world.

Colorful and hopefully optimistic but maybe hateful occasionally

Hm, no, I'm angry. I have no safe, clean room to hang out in. I have nowhere to store anything that's mine and the result is constantly have to throw MY shit away to accommodate my mom's trash. She won't use coping skills or any kind to stop overfilling the fridge with so much food that it CAN NOT be consumed, resulting in over 50 dirty Tupperwares that all have to just sit in the sink because we're both too f*cking disabled to wash them. Literally every time I clean this stupid fridge lately, Scottie has to do a big portion of the work because it turns out I have critically bad asthma and extremely dangerous allergies to mold. She'll do anything to accommodate anyone else, but literally she sees me as someone who is both absolutely burdened by her and someone who is supposed to be there to help with literally anything she wants about 30 seconds before she needs it.

Like yesterday, when my sister was drunk and wandering the streets AGAIN while her son was over here at this house, she told me to go get her. No. I feel terrible she's triggering you and you can't drive, yeah, but dude, literally you'd be able to drive right now if you had taken your health seriously like EVERYONE asked you to (especially me, because I as a 14yo on was tired of being her doctor), and also I'm not REQUIRED to do things every time you're freaking out. Your emotions and your ease at being offended at everything I say HAS to stop. f*cking stupid and ridiculous

I'm dealing with brain damage from multiple head injuries, a dozen plus. I can BARELY form a complete thought when in utter silence. But she won't stop talking to me, even when she is asked by MULTIPLE people to stop. The result being hundreds of half finished tasks and me forgetting literally every part of my routine I had crafted with the help of Bestie for over a year. I didn't even successfully take my medication today because she just wouldn't leave me alone. I genuinely get to a point where I'm sobbing because I NEED to be left alone to form even just a SINGLE coherent thought.

Not to mention she constantly is undoing my work and I'm tired of the unfairness of it. It's bizarre and stupid and genuinely causing family issues outside of the two of us because of how much I'm having to go out of my way to "protect" her from my dad's parents. f*cking ridiculous
 
I don't want comments on that, I just need to get something out so I can stop being overwhelmed enough to finally finish my day and go to bed. It's almost 7am and I haven't been able to go to bed because so many hours were wasted just trying to get something to eat (which I didn't get to do, all day, barely got any water)
 
Are you saying that you don't think you have a right to complain about any of the specific bad experiences you've faced in your life? Or are you saying that you don't think you have a right to complain that you've had a bad life? The reason I ask is because I don't think 'the bad' necessarily has the context of 'the good' in the moments when you're going through the bad. I think the bad only gets the context of the good when we reflect backwards on the totality of our lives to-date. Moreover, the context of the good doesn't change the actual, literal experience of the bad, it only affects how we look at, make sense of, and evaluate our experiences and lives thus far.

I've been playing with this idea of colors on a painting. Each of our experiences adds a different color to the canvas of our life because each experience is different. When we do this thing where we get frustrated with ourselves for having feelings about the bad because we've also had so many wonderful experiences and feelings—and we think by giving attention to the bad we're not being grateful enough for the good—I think all we're really doing is blending all the colors together under the false belief that the end result should match the colors associated with good experiences, when in reality we actually just get brown.

TL;DR, a broken bone doesn't care whether you had your favorite ice cream 6 hours earlier. You're allowed to have feelings about your bad experiences, and that is a separate but perhaps related process to how you feel about, make sense of, and evaluate your life as a whole.

💜
Don't mind me quoting you, I have a slow brain and this is a new concept for me and I'd like to know it, though brain is slow lol

Don't ignore broken leg because you need to be thankful about the ice cream
 
🤔 I die in a car crash, so life is meaningless. Did I enjoy the ice cream I ate this morning, or does that invalidate it?

The answer is that they aren't related
 
My mom? Is one tragedy away from hoarding.

We’ve all known this, for years.

I spent 4 years in her… 3 story, MIL apartment attached, multiple wing home… with “my” space as a broken couch at the end of a kitchen (there are 3 in the house). Or under the piano (if there are guests). After 2 years I got a drawer in 1 of 5 bathrooms. I cannot even have a backpack or piece of luggage without her unpacking it and “distributing” it across umpteen closets/rooms/places that are not mine.

I wish… the both of us… SPACE. that is our own. I had more space when I was locked in a concrete box too small to stand up in.

Love.

It performs more gymnastics than olympians in zero grav.
 
Back
Top