Weemie
MyPTSD Pro
Because that's a fun subject, right? Snorf. And on the merry-go-round we go.
I've been slowly plonking away all this PTSD shtuff, and I've gotten pretty good at it over the years! I have some emotional responses now. They're genuine. I feel some actual feelings and it's totally bananas because I'm 31 and I just didn't have these experiences before now. So neurogenesis is a very real thing. I cheat-coded my own brain and fell flat on my face into trauma lama ding dong. 5g of powdered PE psilocybin mushrooms'll do that to ya. 36g over 4 months, well. All my neurons are growing little potato branches, maybe.
So it's better. But it's also harder. I cry more now. I'm more reactive now. I get triggered now. I did in the past as well in this fractured dissociated way that I can assess based on reading even my own past replies here which are not coherently structured. The dissociation? Off the charts. But my recollection of my own general life is that for the most part I did not have emotional sensations that were similar to what I'm currently experiencing now.
A lot of my trauma and PTSD symptoms were based on neurophysiological responses to stressors that were very apparent to anyone who bothers to speak to me for longer than 20 seconds. It's like this guy I met on the street he said he walked here from New Brunswick and offered me the shoes off his own feet, said he came here out of Liberia (what is it with these Liberian dudes and the f*cking shoes???) told me about his time in the army, he poked me right in the chest and went "you're good, brotha." And then just walked the f*ck away. Wut. You cannot f*ckin' make this shit up! Damon was with me. That really happened.
One time a guy parked at the library ushered me to his van and like the stupid little idiot I am I merrily went over and got in his van and he said "let me get you some tea, let me tell you about the Syrian civil war." Sure, buddy. You tell me about the Syrian civil war, I got you. The schizophrenic at Alderney always sits by me and talks to me because I gave her $10 and a Tim Hortons coffee one time. The very next day she asked for more but I didn't have it 'cuz I'm broke, too. But all this shit to say, and it's a lot of blah that is tweedling around going nowhere, sometimes I feel like people can just tell that I'm f*cked up.
Sometimes I feel so, so, so. Out of place. Disconnected. Alienated. Othered. Isolated. Alone. You are alone. Yo, you remember that Star Trek episode where the Borg Queen was berating Seven of Nine on Voyager? It goes like this:
Silly, goofy shit, but sometimes that's how it goes. Very often I feel like I'm in a culture of one. None the other people around me get it, not really. Most people I encounter in my life they don't get it but the ones who do on the streets here they always pick me out because you know I'm the guy that stops and talks to them. We had a guy come up on us today, Alex his name was? and he was talking about the old gangs, and I said we have to leave. That's our ride *vaguely gestures to some stranger's car*. Because I couldn't say please shut the f*ck up about shit you do not know what you are talking about.
Anyway, f*ck's sake, I keep burying and burying this lede. Dehumanization. The definition of dehumanization is whatever, let me define it how I want to talk about it. Dehumanization being an action that you took or that was done to you or forced upon you in some way, circumstances that you encountered that created a feeling that you were not an actual sentient, cognitive, special, individual human person. Whatever spirit you got, whatever that life force inside of us is and cognizance and consciousness and abilities and personalities, that stuff is gone. You're nothing-but.
This is the one trigger that will trip me up and wreck my day out the gate every f*cking day. I don't know how to get over it and how to move past it, y'know? And I am just blah-ing my own shit all over this spaghettified diary-lite entry but I really do mean to open this up as a very broad conversation amongst those of us in "The Club" (if you know, you know.) who get it. Dehumanization. What do you do you're at the gas station you want some f*ckin' Pall Malls but the kid at the register's lookin' sleepy and he's just a baby, really. Remember the time you played dead amongst the corpses? Remember the time they cut that motherf*cker's head off?
And you're like. How. How do you interact with other people. Because some days I just don't got it, I just don't. I drop the ball. I get it wrong. I am cold and callous and unprofessional and messy and weird and inappropriate and I don't want to be. I'm a fleshy weird puking walking grievance and I don't want to be. I feel like all these trauma homies come at me because they just see it rising up off me in invisible waves. How do you be? What is it that helps you to gain a surer foothold in the struggle for consideration of your spirit? Your soul? Identity? Whatever. I'm religious but I get it, not everyone is. Your, sense. Your self. Mind, thoughts.
Even the most mundane things will trip me up. I can watch people talking and if they only knew. BAM! And on and on it goes.
So, yah. That's my spiel. Weemie out.
I've been slowly plonking away all this PTSD shtuff, and I've gotten pretty good at it over the years! I have some emotional responses now. They're genuine. I feel some actual feelings and it's totally bananas because I'm 31 and I just didn't have these experiences before now. So neurogenesis is a very real thing. I cheat-coded my own brain and fell flat on my face into trauma lama ding dong. 5g of powdered PE psilocybin mushrooms'll do that to ya. 36g over 4 months, well. All my neurons are growing little potato branches, maybe.
So it's better. But it's also harder. I cry more now. I'm more reactive now. I get triggered now. I did in the past as well in this fractured dissociated way that I can assess based on reading even my own past replies here which are not coherently structured. The dissociation? Off the charts. But my recollection of my own general life is that for the most part I did not have emotional sensations that were similar to what I'm currently experiencing now.
A lot of my trauma and PTSD symptoms were based on neurophysiological responses to stressors that were very apparent to anyone who bothers to speak to me for longer than 20 seconds. It's like this guy I met on the street he said he walked here from New Brunswick and offered me the shoes off his own feet, said he came here out of Liberia (what is it with these Liberian dudes and the f*cking shoes???) told me about his time in the army, he poked me right in the chest and went "you're good, brotha." And then just walked the f*ck away. Wut. You cannot f*ckin' make this shit up! Damon was with me. That really happened.
One time a guy parked at the library ushered me to his van and like the stupid little idiot I am I merrily went over and got in his van and he said "let me get you some tea, let me tell you about the Syrian civil war." Sure, buddy. You tell me about the Syrian civil war, I got you. The schizophrenic at Alderney always sits by me and talks to me because I gave her $10 and a Tim Hortons coffee one time. The very next day she asked for more but I didn't have it 'cuz I'm broke, too. But all this shit to say, and it's a lot of blah that is tweedling around going nowhere, sometimes I feel like people can just tell that I'm f*cked up.
Sometimes I feel so, so, so. Out of place. Disconnected. Alienated. Othered. Isolated. Alone. You are alone. Yo, you remember that Star Trek episode where the Borg Queen was berating Seven of Nine on Voyager? It goes like this:
Borg Drone: Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix 01. You have left the Collective. It was a foolish decision. Now you are alone. You have lost the many. You are only one. You've become human, weak, pathetic. Humans do not have our strength. They are imperfect. Now you are imperfect as well.
Seven of Nine: No.
Borg Drone: You will not survive. You cannot survive without the Collective.
Seven of Nine: I will adapt.
Borg Drone: By becoming weaker, less perfect.
Seven of Nine: I will adapt as an individual.
Borg Drone: One. One alone. A Borg cannot be one.
Seven of Nine: I will become stronger.
Borg Drone: A Borg cannot be one. You will die as one.
Silly, goofy shit, but sometimes that's how it goes. Very often I feel like I'm in a culture of one. None the other people around me get it, not really. Most people I encounter in my life they don't get it but the ones who do on the streets here they always pick me out because you know I'm the guy that stops and talks to them. We had a guy come up on us today, Alex his name was? and he was talking about the old gangs, and I said we have to leave. That's our ride *vaguely gestures to some stranger's car*. Because I couldn't say please shut the f*ck up about shit you do not know what you are talking about.
Anyway, f*ck's sake, I keep burying and burying this lede. Dehumanization. The definition of dehumanization is whatever, let me define it how I want to talk about it. Dehumanization being an action that you took or that was done to you or forced upon you in some way, circumstances that you encountered that created a feeling that you were not an actual sentient, cognitive, special, individual human person. Whatever spirit you got, whatever that life force inside of us is and cognizance and consciousness and abilities and personalities, that stuff is gone. You're nothing-but.
This is the one trigger that will trip me up and wreck my day out the gate every f*cking day. I don't know how to get over it and how to move past it, y'know? And I am just blah-ing my own shit all over this spaghettified diary-lite entry but I really do mean to open this up as a very broad conversation amongst those of us in "The Club" (if you know, you know.) who get it. Dehumanization. What do you do you're at the gas station you want some f*ckin' Pall Malls but the kid at the register's lookin' sleepy and he's just a baby, really. Remember the time you played dead amongst the corpses? Remember the time they cut that motherf*cker's head off?
And you're like. How. How do you interact with other people. Because some days I just don't got it, I just don't. I drop the ball. I get it wrong. I am cold and callous and unprofessional and messy and weird and inappropriate and I don't want to be. I'm a fleshy weird puking walking grievance and I don't want to be. I feel like all these trauma homies come at me because they just see it rising up off me in invisible waves. How do you be? What is it that helps you to gain a surer foothold in the struggle for consideration of your spirit? Your soul? Identity? Whatever. I'm religious but I get it, not everyone is. Your, sense. Your self. Mind, thoughts.
Even the most mundane things will trip me up. I can watch people talking and if they only knew. BAM! And on and on it goes.
So, yah. That's my spiel. Weemie out.