PTSD and Sushi

I've been waiting a few days for my body to process what happened. Mostly, my brain. But I've definitely had more back pain, anxiety, loud noises scare me easier, and I'm hyper-aware of people around me and what they're doing. It's been years since someone raised a hand to me, much less actually physically assaulted/abused me, but my brain hasn't forgotten.

Here's what happened this week.

The hubs and I got massages from our friend/massage therapist, and went out to dinner with her and her two sons. We are seated at Kobe, a teppanyaki style restaurant, on one of their U-shaped tables. What this means is that there's about 4 seats, the table turns 90º, another 6 or so seats, another 90º turn, and 4 again. There are two grills in this space, each one facing the 4-seat side. (There's about 2 spaces on either end, too, so I guess it's more of a "C" than a "U" but I digress...

2, 4, 6... You get the idea.

Friend is sitting on the end of the 4 side, next to another party. Her two sons and hubs are 1-3 on the 6 side. I'm 4th. So I am closest to the OTHER grill, that has another party seated at it, and a different chef, who was just starting his routine when we were seated. We order drinks, and start looking at the menus. Great. I'm anticipating plum wine and just got worked on for at least an hour so I'm relaxed, happy, etc.

So the chef at the grill I'm sitting near, but NOT a part of, decides that the finishing move to his spatula jerkoff fest is to yell "BOOM!" and at the same time whip a backhand toward my face with the spatula. He stops, maybe 2 inches from my face. I was looking at my menu. I was not looking at him, since he was not our chef, and I had no reason to suspect anything. So like any normal human being I'm surprised, I jerk upright and back, and look at this man, who has nearly just hit me in the face with a sharp, hot (they pass it over the grill), metal object. To say I was caught off guard is an understatement. He jokes that "You're practically at my table, sitting this far over," and all of his table laughs at me. I looked down at my menu, and said, "No." Telling me that, in and of itself alone, would have been funny. Being almost/mockingly hit in the face was not at all funny.

The last time someone did something even remotely similar to this, I caught a fist to the jaw. I had to get out of a moving vehicle. I had to later run the mile plus from my home to my office, lock myself inside, and call the police to come fill out a report and note that my bruises hadn't set in yet. I had a friend come over and sleep on my couch with a gun. I had an abusive partner at that time. That moment, 5 or so years ago, came flying back at me full force. There's plenty of things that have happened in the meantime and no, I don't think about this every day, it's not ruined me, and I've moved on. But none of that made a fucking difference when this man swung at me. Those five years disappeared and I knew that I had to get. out. of. there. now.

I tried to look down at my menu, to try to read about their various handmade sushi rolls, as my eyes welled up and the words blurred and my heart sped up like a hummingbird. I tried to blink the tears back into my eyes, but more kept coming. I couldn't breathe enough through my nose, but didn't want to open my mouth. The man and his table laughed for an eternity in my mind. It's dinnertime, in a crowded restaurant, and I can feel the blood welled up my cheeks, I can hear my pulse in my ears, and I know that I don't feel safe. I hold my menu up higher so the stranger's children across the table from me don't see my crying. I can feel my husband glancing over to see if I'm ok. I'm not, but I don't know how to tell him without breaking out into sobs.

I finally glance over at him and say, "I need the keys." He doesn't hear me between the dining room din and my voice a whisper so it doesn't break. "What?" "I NEED THE CAR KEYS, NOW." I'm crying, wordless. My hand over my mouth to hide my shallow breathing. I hadn't even taken my purse off yet. He gets up, so I get up and walk out, hand still cupped over my mouth so that I can hyperventilate into my palm instead of screaming. Before I hit the doors I hear him behind me ask for a manager. I don't stop. He must have hit the door button for me because the driver's door opens, but I can't stand the thought of having a wheel in front of me so I shut it, and go to the passenger side and get in. I break.

I can't let my eyes off the windows, because... I don't know. Something could happen. A fucking manager might come out and want to talk to me. I don't want to talk to anyone. I don't want to be here. I don't, I can't. Between sobbing and trying to slow my breathing all I can mutter is "FUCK. FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK." My mind is racing. Why would he pretend to hit me? He wasn't even our cook? Why do people do this to women? What is wrong with me? I see my husband, our friend, and her kids come out. Fuck. I was going to try to get my shit together and come back in. Because now it's OBVIOUS that I am fucked up and something is wrong. Why can't I just go have dinner like a normal person? Why did he think it was funny to pretend to hit me? Why did I sit on the end? Are they going to even do anything about it?

The answer to the last one, at least, was no. There wasn't a manager on duty. There was nothing to be done except my husband write a review of what he thought happened. (Close, honey, but not exactly.) They've attempted to make contact, and I guess he'll call them back and they'll apologize maybe and offer us free dinner, but I'm not going back. I can't now. And I don't want to. There's other sushi places in town and frankly, most are better or on par.

I don't talk a lot about my ex anymore. He's in jail, for 3 more years, this time. I don't talk about the abuse or the memories because many of them have faded and I thought that I was doing pretty well about keeping my shit together. But it happens. Things remind me of him, or of situations, and I deal with it, process it, and move on. That's what we have to do. We have to keep going. Was this a fucking stupid move and a shitty situation? For sure. Eventually I calmed down and we had dinner at another sushi place, down the street, outside. Away from other people. Away from cooking utensils. And yes, I got my plum wine. And it was delicious.

To have your body go straight into fight or flight mode, and react completely separately from your brain. I knew I wasn't in danger, but tell my adrenal glands that. Tell my muscles, which went from post-massage-relaxed to get-the-fuck-out-of-here-tense. It took me 4 hours to fall asleep that night, just because my body wouldn't calm down. I felt like I had been hit by a truck the next morning. The human body is a weird glitchy meat suit, and mine was on full alert for a while, and I'm still paying for it 3 days later. (Thanks, chronic back pain.)

I have to remind myself that these are things that happened to me. They are not who I am. They are a part of my past, sometimes revisited, and that I'm never going to have to worry about someone hurting me, because I won't let that happen (as much as I can control it). But good god, is it uncomfortable to be reminded.

In the meantime, keep your fucking spatulas away from me.

acknowledgement.

I feel like some of the things I do, I have to just DO, for MYSELF, because I want or need to.
I need to not be acknowledged. I need to find intrinsic value in the *doing of tasks*, not the end result or anyone else caring about it, because it seem to be an exercise in futility.

I baked bread that nobody ate. I'm learning; it wasn't awful, but it wasn't eaten, either, besides a slice I had and one that I fed to DH.

I decorated the xmas tree on my own, by myself, although DH helped me put the lights on since I'm short. I asked for help, and I got it. (See? I can work on shit.) I also feel super weird about this since I'm the only person in the household with xmas ornaments (albeit from dead family members) but I don't feel comfortable with a tree entirely covered in shit with my name on it. It feels like I'm erasing my family and I don't know how to solve this. I thought about a trip with the stepkid and DH to the store to have everyone pick out an ornament, but it feels cheesy and since I'm the only one that seems to give a shit, futile.

I raise birds so that we can have fresh eggs and someday soon, I hope, meat, but my only broody girl got murdered late last summer. The people that give me money or trade for them are more thankful than anyone I've fed personally.

I've been working on cultivating more friendships with people who share my hobbies, since my family does not. DH will help, when asked, with bird or garden stuff, but that's about it. I had him help me move dead things once and I could tell he was pretty turned off by the whole subject... which is fine, most people are.

He has airplanes and poker and cryptocurrency. He makes a decent income. I have birds and gardening and taxidermy... I don't. I've been struggling since we moved here, in feeling equal in the  relationship.

The only hobbies that overlap, we have barely even done together. Camping (1x when I arranged a trip to Glacier NP), hiking (same GNP trip), travel when his work has called for it (and none else during 2017). Brewing beer is fun but he doesn't seem to want help or company when he's doing it so I've just left him alone, and now he hasn't even done it in months.

I clean because it helps with my anxiety and makes me feel like a productive member of the household.

I try to minimize money out the door and maximize what we can get from our land here. With help this summer I learned to make and can jam, tomato sauce, and a couple other items. It's not going to last us the winter, but it's a good start with the space I've got, and the awesome tomato haul I pulled in this summer. Next year I want to try to stay on top of the garden more and get more yield. DH bought me a greenhouse for my birthday in 2016 and it's still in boxes in the garage. I'm to the point where I think I'm just going to have to take a few days and build it myself. I think I can do it. I can read directions for Ikea furniture, so...

I'm going to try and get out of the house more, although that doesn't help when I have at least 10 items that always need to get done or worked on around here.

I want to become active in the music, art, and kink communities again, but I'm nervous about how that will be received at home and my anxiety about social spaces. I also realize that these are things I'm into, and my family has no interest in, especially.

So... intangible things (mostly feelings) that I need to work on. It's not impossible, just difficult... I think I just need to find my tribe, here. Which feels like more trips to Seattle, and I'm not exactly fond of the traffic. Neither is my back.

At least I have something to talk about in therapy this week, now...

bipolar II notes

"Inflated self-esteem or grandiosity (nope)
Decreased need for sleep (yup)
More talkative (during hypomanic episodes)
Subject experience of thoughts/ideas racing (yup)
Distractibility (SQUIRREL!)
Increase in goal-directed activity or psychomotor agitation, or (yep)
Excessive involvement in pleasurable activities with a high potential of painful consequences (uhh not usually)
The individual will not have experienced a manic episode or mixed episode. (yeah)"

"Bipolar disorder can have a major impact on quality of life. Hypomania, mood and depressive episodes can influence daily functioning. Adaptation strategies and behavioral changes can help an individual to manage moods and remain balanced. Many of those with BPD II require daily medication. Establishing the right medication and dose, and dealing with side effects can have a significant impact on QOL.

Occupational functioning is a major problem for those experiencing hypomania and depression. As a result, they may have problems with concentration and socializing. Employment rates are reported to be low among this population. As a result of hypo/mania episodes, an individual may not enjoy job stability, take more time off due to illness and face stigmatism (Michalak, Yatham, Maxwell, Hale, & Lam, 2007). Consequently, a higher percent of bipolar disorder sufferers are in lower socioeconomic classes."

-

"Bipolar II is notoriously difficult to diagnose. Patients usually seek help when they are in a depressed state, or when their hypomanic symptoms manifest themselves in unwanted effects, such as high levels of anxiety, or the seemingly inability to focus on tasks. Because many of the symptoms of hypomania are often mistaken for high functioning behavior or simply attributed to personality, patients are typically not aware of their hypomanic symptoms. In addition, many people who suffer from Bipolar II have periods of normal affect. "

"Antidepressant use, in the absence of mood stabilizers, is correlated with worsening BP-II symptoms." Oh FFS for real? So the last 20 FUCKING YEARS OF MY LIFE? Cool. Thanks doctors. FML.

Ok well at least science has figured out why I'm a fuckup. Cool.

Gutted.

Pain will end your plans. Your day. Your future. It will cut into your thoughts and interrupt you constantly. Like a child tugging at your apron that cannot be consoled. A nagging injury.

Missing.

Note: This post was originally written on 9/12/16


I don't give a fuck who reads this anymore, I'm not censoring it. My thoughts are subject to change without notice or approval. Fuck it.

---

I miss Montana. I miss my friends. I miss knowing where I am, and being comfortable with it; Even if it was nowhere, it was safer than here. There's really not much that can hurt you in the middle of Montana except yourself, the weather, and infrequently seen larger mammals (bear, moose, etc.). I've seen more car wrecks in my 4 months here than I did in my 15 years in Montana.

I miss my freedom.

I miss my confidence.

I miss being able to go to the river with the dogs. Or go to the woods. Or go two hours away to see friends and stay over and enjoy myself and not have to worry about traffic, or the panic that comes with large crowds for me. Or being lost. Or worrying about people hurting, robbing, whatever, me. When did I get so panicky? When did I get so paranoid? Who told me I wasn't a badass or an adult and that I can't do anything in the world?

The only people here in WA that have visited us are related to my husband. They came out once, over 3 months after we'd moved in. Or our friends up in Everett, because their mom was coming out to see and then move into our guest apartment.

We've had friends out from Montana several times already. Multiple times, already, for some of them. I miss being able to go visit my friends and their cute babies and dogs. I miss feeling like there were actually things I could go to and not be one of a thousand strangers. It's strange, I was ready to leave Montana, and now I miss it. Now I realize how much I had put down roots there. And now they're pretty much cut off.
-
I don't know why I'm so fucking critical. Grandma taught me well?? Who knows. I can't keep my fucking mouth shut. I don't know why. Note to self: If you can't say something nice, shut the fuck up.
-
I switched from venlafaxine 150mg XR to desvenlafaxine 50mg XR a few days ago. Been trying to keep myself stoned enough to not hate everything, but sober enough to not be a complete waste of space. Mostly just been upset a lot. Hopefully the brain pressure and weird nausea and all the other fun side effects dissipate soon. I'm tired of feeling like I'm going from zero to bitch in 2.5 seconds flat. I'm tired of not knowing why I'm crying, or mad, or want to just get in my truck and drive away from this stupid fucking country.
-

Our tenant and I went out to run some errands/shop last week while hubs was away on a trip. She tried to walk out of a store with a pair of shoes. Like she found a bag in the store, and put the shoebox in it, and tried to walk out without paying... I was wandering around on my own, not paying attention to where or what she was up to, so when I saw her near the entrance again, and she had a bag with the shoebox and shoes she'd picked out earlier, I didn't think anything of it. We go to walk out, and BEEP BEEP. I laugh because, having worked retail before, I thought the employee (or Kandy) forgot to remove the RFID tag (beeper). She looked confused, and went to the counter to go figure it out, dealt with the employees, and came out. I waited by the door, laughing, because again, I thought she'd missed something obvious, or literally forgot to pay for it. But I remembered that she'd had a bag...

Once we were in the car, she confessed to me that she did it sometimes, "for the rush," and I jokingly scolded her, telling her if she got arrested, I'd be WALKING all the way home and to not do it while I'm with her...

It's about a week later, and frankly, I can't stop thinking about this. What if she had been arrested? What if they look back at the tapes now and see it's obvious and involve me? Should I avoid the store we were in? If she does this on her own, is she going to have the ability to call her daughter to have her tell me that it happens? That now I have to go get her dog out of her apartment and feed him? Kick her out? Deal with her stuff? What the hell do I do?

The part the bothers me right now, at this moment, as I'm talking to another friend about it and thinking about it, is that I'm more upset because it's ANOTHER shitty roommate (ish) situation that I'm dealing with. Yes, I am concerned that she doesn't have enough to do, and is resorting to petty theft to get a rise. I worry that she'll get in trouble. I worry that she won't be able to get a job later (she says she's getting one again in January). But mostly, I worry that it'll affect me and my home and my life negatively. That's why I feel like a shitty person. Because I'm more worried about the effect it'll have on me and my life, than her and hers.

On the flipside, I've dealt with someone going to jail already, and fuck that, I'm not doing it again. I guess I'd give her daughter 30 days to get her shit out or something. I don't know. I don't want to have to deal with it, so I guess at some point (soon) I need to sit down with her and talk about this so that I can try to have some "at least I tried" closure on the subject. Or maybe that won't come until she's moved out and I feel safe again. And here's hoping that she's only doing it at stores, and not anywhere else in her life. Like my house. Ugh. Fuck.

-

It has literally taken me months to feel comfortable enough with myself, and after the reaction last time, to initiate sex. Just had all of that progress gutted. I'm at a loss for words or thoughts.

I start by touching partner to show I'm interested, in bed one night.
Described to me later as rude/no emotion/foreplay.

10(?) months later, at least:

I start by touching my partner's arm/neck/back/whatever else to show I'm interested in bed one night.
Described to me later as basically "Next time just touch my junk if you wanna show me you want me."

So I can't fucking win. Or read people in the dark. Or something.

And them I'm selfish I guess, right now. I want to not be dealing with 15 things at once, when I'm also dealing with the changes of my meds.

- I'm usually pretty selfless, but not enough so in bed, as I understand it.

- I show my partner constantly that I am here for them, and that I love them, but I don't want to fuck or engage in/participate in enough sexual intimacy enough

- I've told him he can go fuck other people, but he says he can't

- I've told him I don't want to see him browsing on okcupid or fetlife or whatever looking for other people to fuck (I don't care if he does, I just don't want to see it), and then he does it sitting next to me on the couch, so I got upset and took some time to myself to come write, and he got upset that I didn't want to go hang out in the same room and "support" him while he jerks off 20 minutes later...

My partner is upset because he feels like I don't show him I WANT him enough. I don't want anyone right now, I want to be fucking alone. I want my brain to calm down and shut up. I want these side effects of starting to (once again) go about changing my brain chemistry, to stop. I've been taking them for what, four days? Yes, I'm going to have a short temper. Yes I'm going to get irrationally emotional. That's why I went in my office, to fucking be alone and not take shit out on someone else. And I explained this. Then I got sucker punched in the fucking emotions by something (a few things) that were said, and I just couldn't do it.

"I know you're going through a lot right now."
Who isn't??

I don't want to fuck anyone, right now. I don't want to lie next to someone while they get off, right now. I don't want to do shit except get my fucking brain in order, RIGHT NOW. Can I get through a week at least maybe? Because this shit can last for up to a month and if this is how it's going to be, after only day four or five, I won't make it through three plus more weeks. It's going to be fun enough seeing how my therapist deals with all of this tomorrow, and I really don't need to pour more gasoline on my fucking life. Right now.
-
Some days I think I would have been better off living alone in my tiny house and not ruining other people's lives by being involved in them. Some days I actually have some fucking self-esteem. It's a toss up.