Monday, January 30, 2012

Thunder Crying and Egg Face

Oh you know just a little cure for weakness

Therapy has been going well but I ended up pushing it too hard. I had it in my head that I'd hurry up and get all the bad out of me. I guess the hope was that once the bad was out I'd feel better. Turns out that hyper speeding through therapy is actually damaging. Who knew?

Friday I had therapy again. This was the first session I had that my body actually cried when I slumped onto the couch in exhaustion. I didn't think that hour would come the week before. There are moments where I feel like I won't make it. My trauma brain says I'll probably die. Friday comes and I don't die.

After therapy I came home and experienced the most raw intense cry I've ever had. It was slightly similar to The vicious circle of crying. The weight of this trauma was on me and I was so heavy. The moment I stopped to pick up Husby from the lacrosse field, I lost it. Right there in the car. I started pre-crying. That's when I turned on the worship music full blast. I sang that cry right back into me until home. I ran right through the house WITH MY SHOES ON. I ran past the living room, down the hallway, over to the bed, and I fell flat onto the bed. My soul opened up and the demon of cry came barreling out of me. I was like a child. Eyes shut, crocodile tears poored out of me, head back, mouth opened in contortion. All I could do was cry. Husby helped the best he could given the situation he had earlier in the week with root canals and infections. Usually I would stuff all this trauma back in me some how but not on Friday. Husby took my shoes off, got my socks off, helped me out of my clothes. All I could do was stand there lifting whatever body part needed to be clothed. He put me in his giant college sweatshirt and sweatpants. I needed juice. He put me on the couch and made fresh guava juice. All trauma wanted to tell me was that I didn't deserve his niceties. FUCK YOU TRAUMA. I cried harder.

Over the weekend I got the flu. Woke up today. Mondays. I hate 'em. Sunday night I started my relaxation rituals early. They usually start at 8pm and then sleep at 9. I started at 6. I don't know why but I couldn't stop the tension and ended up with a mini migraine. Trauma brain was in full force telling me all the horrible things about myself life how I'm fat, ugly, probably messed up at work on Thursday so I'll get yelled at first thing in the morning. I put my feet in a bucket of hot water and calming salts. Secretly put tequila in my tea. It's not until this coming Friday I get to try anxiety medications.
Sleep never goes well and this night was particularly awful. Awake at every hour. Woke up looked over 3am. slept. woke up. looked over... 4am. EVERY HOUR. The more I looked at the clock the more anxious I became worried I wouldn't sleep enough. I started mildly dreaming of not getting enough sleep and over sleeping. Woke up an hour and half later than I usually do for work. I put on wrinkled scrubs. For some reason I was covered in sweat. I thought it was my anxiety level. Got to work and took my temperature. 102. FUCK. Tylenol. Temperature again 4 hours later 99.6. Got sent home. I'm glad I pawned my old ex's jewelry for cold and flu medication.

Husby update: He woke up this morning when I was running out the door and says to me,

"baby...?? "Is it normal to have schewwling"

"Uh, no? let me see"

Husby comes through the light like a hunchback of Notre dam all ogre looking and slumpy. His eye, nose, and upper lip looked like someone put an egg in his face.

"Nope, not normal. I'm late. Call the Dr."

Psalm 107:9-21
Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress; he sent out his word and healed them, and delivered them from destruction. Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love, for his wonderful works to humankind.

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