Shadows and Ghosts and Deep Fried Mars Bars: on living with PTSD [CN]

incarnationalrelational

What my brain looks like. What my brain probably looks like.

I have been quiet for a while. Over the last couple of months I have stayed away from twitter and Facebook, and spent most of my spare time at home, avoiding people and life as much as I can. I am no longer a happy introvert. I am an unhappy hermit.

I have PTSD.

It’s very early days – diagnosis is recent. Assessments are being done, what treatments and support will be required are being evaluated.  The path to recovery has barely started, but at least now I know there is a path.

So I hang on, between the appalling sleeplessness, the incessant noise in my brain from flashbacks I cannot control, that tight constriction in my gut from the anxiety and fear, the mind numbing worry of how I might cope financially if I have to stop working, and the nerve shredding panic every…

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No Dignity

Colonel Camulos

I went into Colchester Town Centre a few days ago, a typical family activity you may think, with my task being to purchase shoes for when the kids return to school in September.

We perused the usual outlets when my son became upset and agitated which is usually a sign that his personal hygiene needs have to be seen too.

I hate it when this happens in town, but have to suck it up and change him on the floor of a public toilet.

The first place we visited was Lion Walk disabled toilet, on the approach we noticed the outside was wet as I peered inside, the sink had been stuffed with tissues, and someone had run the tap flooding the floor. I cannot change my son there.

A bright idea was then to go to Three Wise Monkeys, as I remembered that they have a disabled toilet. However…

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SANCTIONED!

Colonel Camulos

A couple of month’s ago my employers had the temerity to make me redundant. They were obviously unappreciative of all the magic that was created by my sheer presence.

Instead, they decided to go down the path to rack and ruin without their A+ prime time player.

A few months have passed, and my delusions of grandeur have subsided only mildly, I have found myself having to go through the indignity of signing on.

A temporary glitch in the Matrix indeed, and after the usual bureaucratic faff, I’m sat in front of Mr Smith himself.

I made the effort to look fresh as f**k, along with cravat and gloriously camp oversized pocket hanky; my aim was to impress this gentleman.

Naturally, after dining with Dukes and Maharaja’s this experience was far from Supercalifragilistic.

My pittance was assigned to me, which was designed to ‘help’ me find work. Even though it…

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