So tired, and yet so insomniatic.

I think, but am not totally sure I remember correctly, that these holidays usually have a calm before the storm before they explode in a paroxysm of deep-seated anxiety, nausea, and then vomiting.

Right now I am afraid. Just afraid. Deep, bone-knacking afraid. It’s not in my control, which is always the worrying part about my PTSD. Maybe I’ll lose it, maybe I won’t… oh heck, bet on “lose it.” It’s rather dispiriting, even though I know there are times when it will get too much just because, as in the past (and I’m sure the present) that some idiot will tell me that if I just think happy thoughts and smile, bad things won’t happen—and if bad things happen, well, I’m just not strong enough.

I want to punch those people.

It gets bad (as I’ve mentioned somewhere before) when I try to sleep. My father attacked at just about any time he wanted, of course, but he liked to do it near bedtime. Insomnia is a stress reaction for me now. And boy, do I feel stressed—not because there is anything to be stressed about, but just because… because. PTSD. Fuck it.

I don’t know how to make it stop. Well, apart from Ambien. Ambien does funny things to me, but most importantly it usually knocks me over no matter what.

Also, I used to visit friends (well, a friend’s) place. Helps with background noise, the screaming inside my head, but if something triggers me, it’s quite bad from there on out.

Right now I am kinda remembering the night he locked me in the closet (it was evening, hm, really) because I didn’t fill out my college application for somewhere with an adequate description of what he did for a living. He got so angry. My fingers hurt to think about it, because of course it wasn’t enough to lock me in a closet… at least he didn’t do my toes, too.

There were some rules, but they could change, and sometimes there was just randomness, in what set him off. It was a Nintendo-hard childhood, and teenagehood, and a lot of collegehood. I understate a lot of abuse in those long years, actually.

So I guess it’s no wonder my body likes to throw itself into a fight-or-flight response for days on end.

K. Time for the Ambien. G’night.