littleoc
MyPTSD Pro
I'm not really sure where this goes, so it's going here for now.
For background, my home that I live in, now that I'm done with college, is a hoarder's house. My dad was a hoarder, and also a psychopath and no one likes him but that's not what this post is about. After he was legally removed about ten years ago, we tried cleaning up the house. Long story short, my mother mostly kept out of it which led to huge problems, which were traumatizing and led to horrible neglect (my life in a nutshell I guess) in my teenage years, and now the house is worse than it has ever been.
That means, basically, that to live in the house, I have to take three extra medications -- an allergy medication, a stress medication (being used for anxiety and OCD which were causing feelings of being overwhelmed), and a medication to reduce flashbacks/dissociations that makes me extremely tired -- I have to be willing to carefully nagivate at night to take these medications because getting through the house is hard, and I have to deal with itchy eyes, sore throat, and always being stressed because everything is dirty. When I try to clean it, OCD takes over and I end up getting physically injured in ways that don't heal properly for days.
On top of this, it triggers my PTSD in multiple ways (much trauma in different life stages), giving me flashbacks and dissociations (ESPECIALLY if I try to clean), and also simply adding to my stress and causing emotional overload.
The environment is also a safety hazard.
Even worse, my mother, who can barely walk, lives there.
My service dog isn't getting her needs met, and it really shows. There is no room for her to play, so she MUST lay around in a bed she claimed (it's my little brother's bed) during the day, because otherwise she's in the way. Even her food and water bowl are in the way. Where her bed used to be was by the front door, so she could never sleep soundly because the door might open or someone might walk to it. Her second bed was upstairs, in my mom's room, but it was covered in a mountain of crap. Mostly very heavy boxes. She has no space of her own.
I tried cleaning my room for her, but I can't get far enough to give her a decent space. Therefore, she sleeps in my bed part of the night and eventually moves to my little brother's bed.
For her to get her playtime, I walk her 3 miles a day, even if it hurts or I'm unwell. At times I do it twice a day. I try to play with toys in our front yard, but she only has 25 feet (about 7 and a half meters or so) and is built for running and chasing.
Her work performance has gone down. Her stress has gone up.
My pet cockatiel, who is dealing with traumas of her own, isn't able to leave her cage unless I am able to over-supervise her, because everything is dangerous.
Our pet cat was raised in it, but she has mild allergies, clearly. She has started asking every day for her litter to be changed.
New background:
This past week, I have not been home. I'm not home right now as I type this. I'm in my university because I was taking a large three day exam to prove that I've earned my BA in biology (yay!!!). It was stressful so I devoted all my freetime to studying (and I think it's paid off!). I'm staying in a sorority house with eight other young women, and my bedroom is their living room, which is the second part of a very large room that also holds their kitchen. The couch is my bed. I put a sleeping bag on it, and am using a stuffed sheep and a stuffed unicorn-pig as a pillow. A small throw blanket is my blanket.
I'm being very specific about that because my OCD primarily rules over cleanliness and sleep habits, which are extremely intertwined for me. Each night I must shower, must brush my teeth, must change into a pair of pajamas, etc. I must be clean for sleep or (in my DISTORTED mind/beliefs) I will get nightmares.
My service dog's current bed is a choice between an ottoman this sorority has, and a small loveseat which I've covered in a thick green blanket just for her. This loveseat is close to and somewhat facing the couch-bed I've made (they're at a 90 degree angle to each other), so she can see me while I sleep.
Since I've been here, despite sleeping on a couch, I've been much more stress free and happier. I don't feel stuck, surrounded by mountains of trash. More, my service dog is back to her old self. She's playing, her sense of humor is back more than it was at the hoarded home, and she's doing her job correctly. She's waking me up from nightmares and suggesting casually that we walk around indoors instead of outdoors at 3am.
I am taking THREE less medications here than I have to at home to function.
Current problem:
I was finally able to get possible outside help for the house. (See my older post on "Hoarding cleanup... when it's someone else's mess" if you are looking for details. Probably something in my trauma diary as well but I have stuff in there you probably don't need to see and which aren't related to this post.) It was difficult and for me to even be able to speak I had to get a therapist to help me.
Long story short, my mom agreed.
I have been trying every day since, maybe a month by now, to get her to just call the woman who can help us.
She has untreated anxiety from a past similar to mine, and just keeps freezing up and not doing anything. On top of this she has other major stress in her life currently (which I won't get into here but is definitely serious and financially tied) and has relatable fears about what will happen when getting help.
I can't take the stalling. I'm becoming convinced that nothing will ever get done. I'll have to move out, because it's not fair to me to have to live like that, and my service dog absolutely isn't enjoying it either. This environment is horrible for so many reasons.
Thinking about going back home is bothering me, making me feel heavy and sad. I want to stay here. I even grabbed a summer job that will get me a bed on this campus, because my bed at home feels unclean and foreign and like no amount of cleaning will purify it because the air around it is wrong.
My pet snake has more room than I do to live.
My bird's cage is huge to compensate.
During a phone call with my mom today, I finally lost it a bit... calmly though. I don't lose my temper easily. She's was having fun with my sister and my nephew when I called. I was just checking to make sure she had remembered to water my snake. And instruct her on how I'm doing my bird's vitamins.
She wasn't fully listening (she was at the store) and brought up when I'm coming home, which immediately made me sadder. Not that I said that. But this morning I was awake a thing 8:30am debating how to text her literally everything I typed above just now (but in a smaller, text format obviously) because I've started reminding her everyday to call S (the woman who can help us). She's just hasn't. Honestly, probably a combination of stress, fear, and legitimately not having time.
So I began to try to talk about how good my service dog has been -- mentioning specifically that she has been playing, has been doing her job better, mentioning again the SPACE she has, but not being forceful about it. Just trying to get her to think about that.
She changed the subject quickly back to when I'd be getting home -- probably because she was distracted. (My nephew is almost two, so he takes up much attention, understandablely.)
I brought up again the house in another way, mentioning that I'm taking three less medications when I'm not at the house.
No acknowledgement. Change of subject.
I brought up again something else, I'm not sure what because I didn't get to finish, because I got interrupted by something. (Something about a pickle display with no pickles in it.)
I do understand that this wasn't malicious behavior, she was just distracted and this wasn't something I should have brought up in the context of grocery shopping with my tiny nephew.
But I got frustrated. So after she addressed me again, she said she'd text my little brother about his concert date, and then let me know.
I blurted out, "Also about fixing the house."
Something like that. Phone went silent. Now I have her attention. But now I'm completely mute. On the spot. She says she made it to the checkout, says love you, hangs up quickly. I feel immense guilt and hold back tears.
I'm also angry but I don't understand why.
There are no drawbacks at this point to getting our house clean.
My mom hasn't called the lady who could help us at all. Keeps putting it off. I'm so scared the house will never be cleaned -- or I'll be the one stuck with it if she passes away.
Because she's not managing her diabetes either.
What do I do? How should I be thinking about this? I'm confused and overwhelmed, and on top of that I really can't stand the thought of going back... even though I want to, to watch Netflix with my mom and direct her diet away from the sugary treats she keeps eating.
Thank for letting me vent, even if you have no advice.
For background, my home that I live in, now that I'm done with college, is a hoarder's house. My dad was a hoarder, and also a psychopath and no one likes him but that's not what this post is about. After he was legally removed about ten years ago, we tried cleaning up the house. Long story short, my mother mostly kept out of it which led to huge problems, which were traumatizing and led to horrible neglect (my life in a nutshell I guess) in my teenage years, and now the house is worse than it has ever been.
That means, basically, that to live in the house, I have to take three extra medications -- an allergy medication, a stress medication (being used for anxiety and OCD which were causing feelings of being overwhelmed), and a medication to reduce flashbacks/dissociations that makes me extremely tired -- I have to be willing to carefully nagivate at night to take these medications because getting through the house is hard, and I have to deal with itchy eyes, sore throat, and always being stressed because everything is dirty. When I try to clean it, OCD takes over and I end up getting physically injured in ways that don't heal properly for days.
On top of this, it triggers my PTSD in multiple ways (much trauma in different life stages), giving me flashbacks and dissociations (ESPECIALLY if I try to clean), and also simply adding to my stress and causing emotional overload.
The environment is also a safety hazard.
Even worse, my mother, who can barely walk, lives there.
My service dog isn't getting her needs met, and it really shows. There is no room for her to play, so she MUST lay around in a bed she claimed (it's my little brother's bed) during the day, because otherwise she's in the way. Even her food and water bowl are in the way. Where her bed used to be was by the front door, so she could never sleep soundly because the door might open or someone might walk to it. Her second bed was upstairs, in my mom's room, but it was covered in a mountain of crap. Mostly very heavy boxes. She has no space of her own.
I tried cleaning my room for her, but I can't get far enough to give her a decent space. Therefore, she sleeps in my bed part of the night and eventually moves to my little brother's bed.
For her to get her playtime, I walk her 3 miles a day, even if it hurts or I'm unwell. At times I do it twice a day. I try to play with toys in our front yard, but she only has 25 feet (about 7 and a half meters or so) and is built for running and chasing.
Her work performance has gone down. Her stress has gone up.
My pet cockatiel, who is dealing with traumas of her own, isn't able to leave her cage unless I am able to over-supervise her, because everything is dangerous.
Our pet cat was raised in it, but she has mild allergies, clearly. She has started asking every day for her litter to be changed.
New background:
This past week, I have not been home. I'm not home right now as I type this. I'm in my university because I was taking a large three day exam to prove that I've earned my BA in biology (yay!!!). It was stressful so I devoted all my freetime to studying (and I think it's paid off!). I'm staying in a sorority house with eight other young women, and my bedroom is their living room, which is the second part of a very large room that also holds their kitchen. The couch is my bed. I put a sleeping bag on it, and am using a stuffed sheep and a stuffed unicorn-pig as a pillow. A small throw blanket is my blanket.
I'm being very specific about that because my OCD primarily rules over cleanliness and sleep habits, which are extremely intertwined for me. Each night I must shower, must brush my teeth, must change into a pair of pajamas, etc. I must be clean for sleep or (in my DISTORTED mind/beliefs) I will get nightmares.
My service dog's current bed is a choice between an ottoman this sorority has, and a small loveseat which I've covered in a thick green blanket just for her. This loveseat is close to and somewhat facing the couch-bed I've made (they're at a 90 degree angle to each other), so she can see me while I sleep.
Since I've been here, despite sleeping on a couch, I've been much more stress free and happier. I don't feel stuck, surrounded by mountains of trash. More, my service dog is back to her old self. She's playing, her sense of humor is back more than it was at the hoarded home, and she's doing her job correctly. She's waking me up from nightmares and suggesting casually that we walk around indoors instead of outdoors at 3am.
I am taking THREE less medications here than I have to at home to function.
Current problem:
I was finally able to get possible outside help for the house. (See my older post on "Hoarding cleanup... when it's someone else's mess" if you are looking for details. Probably something in my trauma diary as well but I have stuff in there you probably don't need to see and which aren't related to this post.) It was difficult and for me to even be able to speak I had to get a therapist to help me.
Long story short, my mom agreed.
I have been trying every day since, maybe a month by now, to get her to just call the woman who can help us.
She has untreated anxiety from a past similar to mine, and just keeps freezing up and not doing anything. On top of this she has other major stress in her life currently (which I won't get into here but is definitely serious and financially tied) and has relatable fears about what will happen when getting help.
I can't take the stalling. I'm becoming convinced that nothing will ever get done. I'll have to move out, because it's not fair to me to have to live like that, and my service dog absolutely isn't enjoying it either. This environment is horrible for so many reasons.
Thinking about going back home is bothering me, making me feel heavy and sad. I want to stay here. I even grabbed a summer job that will get me a bed on this campus, because my bed at home feels unclean and foreign and like no amount of cleaning will purify it because the air around it is wrong.
My pet snake has more room than I do to live.
My bird's cage is huge to compensate.
During a phone call with my mom today, I finally lost it a bit... calmly though. I don't lose my temper easily. She's was having fun with my sister and my nephew when I called. I was just checking to make sure she had remembered to water my snake. And instruct her on how I'm doing my bird's vitamins.
She wasn't fully listening (she was at the store) and brought up when I'm coming home, which immediately made me sadder. Not that I said that. But this morning I was awake a thing 8:30am debating how to text her literally everything I typed above just now (but in a smaller, text format obviously) because I've started reminding her everyday to call S (the woman who can help us). She's just hasn't. Honestly, probably a combination of stress, fear, and legitimately not having time.
So I began to try to talk about how good my service dog has been -- mentioning specifically that she has been playing, has been doing her job better, mentioning again the SPACE she has, but not being forceful about it. Just trying to get her to think about that.
She changed the subject quickly back to when I'd be getting home -- probably because she was distracted. (My nephew is almost two, so he takes up much attention, understandablely.)
I brought up again the house in another way, mentioning that I'm taking three less medications when I'm not at the house.
No acknowledgement. Change of subject.
I brought up again something else, I'm not sure what because I didn't get to finish, because I got interrupted by something. (Something about a pickle display with no pickles in it.)
I do understand that this wasn't malicious behavior, she was just distracted and this wasn't something I should have brought up in the context of grocery shopping with my tiny nephew.
But I got frustrated. So after she addressed me again, she said she'd text my little brother about his concert date, and then let me know.
I blurted out, "Also about fixing the house."
Something like that. Phone went silent. Now I have her attention. But now I'm completely mute. On the spot. She says she made it to the checkout, says love you, hangs up quickly. I feel immense guilt and hold back tears.
I'm also angry but I don't understand why.
There are no drawbacks at this point to getting our house clean.
My mom hasn't called the lady who could help us at all. Keeps putting it off. I'm so scared the house will never be cleaned -- or I'll be the one stuck with it if she passes away.
Because she's not managing her diabetes either.
What do I do? How should I be thinking about this? I'm confused and overwhelmed, and on top of that I really can't stand the thought of going back... even though I want to, to watch Netflix with my mom and direct her diet away from the sugary treats she keeps eating.
Thank for letting me vent, even if you have no advice.
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