I don't think he realizes that when I say I miss him, what it means is: that I am missing him to the point of physical pain. That I can hardly eat, because the anxiety is consuming me and gnawing a hole through my core. That the psychic ache is to the point of being unbearable. That a gray curtain has fallen over my mind half the time, and the rest of the time, my mind is scrambling and stumbling in frenetic circles of worry. That I am utterly exhausted and cannot sleep.

And I don't know how to say it, because really, nobody wants to hear these things.

So depressed. Not hungry. Stomach hurts. Feel nauseous. Ugh.

Hope is like
Pale moth wings laying flightless
Dusty, dried petals
On a cracked and peeling windowsill
Which frames a clouded and solitary scene of grey.

I don't want to let anyone close to me anymore. I knew this would happen and I did it anyway. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

Tonight- I am sleeping in a bed that is safe and warm. Not in a car, or on the ground, or in a tent, or on some unfamiliar couch or cold floor....I get to sleep in a nice, warm bed with heavy blankets.
Tonight- Nobody is going to yell at me, hit me, or make me afraid. I can sleep without feelign anxious or hypervigilant.
Tonight- I won't sing the above song to myself, wishing that there wasn't a fight.
Tonight- Nobody is hurting my kids, or screaming at them. I don't have to feel conflicted, guilty or cowardly. Tonight-There is no ominous cloud, no sense of foreboding.
Tonight- I will not be raped, coerced, or coaxed into doing anything I don't want to do. If I awaken tomorrow morning and have done nothing sexual the entire time I've been naked in bed, I won't feel guilty...not even a little.
Tonight-I go to bed with a full stomach. I am neither thirsty nor hungry, and should the need for a bathroom arise, it won't be a problem. I don't have to walk or drive to find facilities.
Tonight- Everything is OK...and like so many of us, I take it for granted. We don't live in a war torn country, fearing for our lives as we try to snatch a bit of sleep. Our children aren't starving to death. Even those of us who are poor are so much better off than those in poorer countries that our complaints are relatively minor. We are rich by comparison.
Tonight- I will try to remember to be thankful, to have true gratitude, for all of these things.

I can't draw anymore, not really. I've always been able to draw. But ever since the concussion, whatever goes on between my head and my fingertips is messed up and nothing comes out right. I mean, I can draw a little...but...things look so bad. It's very discouraging and disheartening. I do realize that if I can force myself to draw everyday, in time, the ability to make art that doesn't cause me to cringe will return. It's like an athlete who sustains an injury that impairs their ability to engage in their sport- the strong ones tough it out and don't take no for an answer, they fight the weakness until they get their ability back. It's the same with the pottery, although not as bad, since fine motor skills aren't quite as much in use....but I've become a lot clumsier, more fumble fingered. I go to paint glaze on and it ends up places where it wasn't supposed to be, pick up a piece and just drop it, bump things without meaning to....

Oh, and my typing has become increasingly dyslexic. It used to be an occasional problem. Now everything I write has transposed letters and capitalization where it isn't supposed to be.....makes me look illiterate and stupid.

And that thing where between my head and my fingertips, something gets lost and doesn't come out right? It's the same between my head and my mouth. The words that come out of my mouth are frequently NOT what I meant to say, and or I see the picture in my head, but really struggle to make words out of it. And auditory processing issues, which were always there anyway, have gotten worse. It is frustrating as hell.

PTSD...eats away at me and leaves me feeling dirty, damaged, second rate and ashamed. I was so triggered last night that I was literally in physical pain. If it were possible, even my hair hurt. :-( I shouldn't complain, nobody wants to hear it, but god, it really sucks.