I've been taking my antidepressant for two weeks now. Not sure if that's long enough for it to start working but lately I've felt more emotionally stable. I still feel depressed at times but have not thought about suicide and it's easier to get through. One of the reasons for this medication is to help me write about my trauma but I have not been on here and feel a bit further from it right now. I've been staying with my boyfriend a lot. Maybe I'm like others who have PTSD, my symptoms are suppressed when I'm in a loving relationship with a non-abusive partner. I am back at my apartment now only because my bf gets on my nerves sometimes and I still like my apartment. Due to go back to his house today though.
Not sure what the rules are, is this like antibiotics where you must write even though you're feeling better? Does this mean my brain is chemically imbalanced because the medicine is working?
Maybe writing is a bit of self care...well I do have a trip coming up with my boyfriend who is not affectionate to anyone but his dog. I love traveling but long car rides and being away from my familiar stomping ground gives me anxiety. I think it's because I am far away from my known resources, like I know where the hospital is, who to talk to, where things are if I need fuel and food. Where I can run to if shit hits the fan. When I'm at a far away place, I get anxiety thinking about how far I am and can't just drive back. I tell myself that being in an unfamiliar place does not mean I am in danger and there are resources and people here, in this unfamiliar place, just like back at home. Home is always there. It will be there today, and it will be there tomorrow. It sucks when traveling makes you feel like you're stuck in this foreign place and you can't escape back to safety. But what in this foreign place makes me unsafe? I still travel because I'm not going to let my disorder control my life and miss out on opportunities to go places and see things. It's just the anxiety, but I guess that's something that can be managed.
There's always a worry that I will have a panic attack and embarrass myself in front of my boyfriend or the people I'm traveling with. They would view me differently and think I'm weak, they would pity me like I'm handicapped but I'm not, I've just lived a not so pleasant life before and know what fear is. And I've learned that that is not an uncommon thing. So why the judgement? I think it might have something to do with every time I showed fear or expressed that I was afraid, my stepdad/husband would roll his eyes. He never took me seriously. And my mother never took me seriously either. No one did. So showing fear was judged to be weak. I remember when I had my first panic attack, it was brutal. I was in bed and could not stop shaking even though I wasn't cold. I got on his nerves, he threw the Bible at me while I sobbed from the anxiety and rolled over in bed, disgusted with me that I was having a mental breakdown as though I could control it.
Long car rides, I can swing. But when someone else is driving. I feel like I don't have control of my situation and I'm stuck. Like when my stepdad/husband would rage drive with loud music blaring. I was helpless in the passenger seat, just waiting for it to end. And then I hated it when he would go off course. Then I would have no idea where he was going or when he would stop. The night I told him I wanted a divorce, he knew his driving scared me. We were at a restaurant and left to go home. He said he was okay with it, but while we were driving, he passed the turn towards the apartment and just kept driving faster and faster while yelling at me, "if this is what you really want, if this is what you think is best", I begged him to just take me home. I hated it.
I hated when the sky would darken, when dusk came, all the colors as the earth turned away from the sun "God took a paint brush and painted the sky" yeah like when you hallucinate before you die and see all the colors of the f*cking rainbow.
My stepdad/husband made life miserable. I think about him every single day. My brother once told me I have Stockholm syndrome. Of course I denied it. But now I think he might be right. Even after he's dead, I still think about him, sad that he died, can't believe he's really dead. Sometimes I feel like one of these days I'm going to receive a text saying, "thought you got rid of me for good, huh bitch? I'm never going away" it would not surprise me if that person faked their own death.
But he is dead. I have his death certificate. I had a dream where I heard his voice. I remember his voice. Plain as day. In a way I guess my imagination is right, he is never going away. He will always be with me.