I should never have boasted last night.
Well. I don’t know, actually. It’s that season again, and I fell asleep so quickly after working all night, plus all my medication, plus the Ambien, that I forgot to snuggle the Overherd close. And I did say that I would be awesome or fighting monsters, so I did leave room for being the exact opposite of awesome.
I don’t really know what to say about the dream, except that it involved my father making all the same mistakes (as he viewed them) just before he exploded and started the usual holiday “you’re not doing it right, so I must strangle you now,” and the death threats, and the torture, etc. Also they were in my house, and this was all happening in my living room. So my PTSD managed to turn my recent exploration of staying downstairs against me.
We didn’t get to the actual abuse; we were well on the road to it. You could say that it’s really the journey. And the destination.
I can’t help but think about the person who said that PTSD-suffering characters/people are too weak to serve as protagonists and heroes, that they are broken because of their own faults, and that PTSD is not a normal human reaction but the reaction of a weak human being (also it’s totally not their fault they’re weak! They just are!).
I know that’s not true, but it damaged me anyways. Words have power.
And now I don’t know what to do.
I’m sorry, y’all. Sometimes I lose. Often I lose. I like to think I’m strong but perhaps it was all just an illusion. I can’t think.