I’m not cured. I’m just temporarily free-ish from the PTSD—well, I can feel it trying to drag me down, but only when I’m around too many people I don’t know, because my natural paranoia and hyper-awareness kicks in and, well.
I’ve been spending a lot of time getting truly re-engaged at work. Even though I know I’ll lose it in November or October or something. I feel like I’m me for the first time in a long time; it’s just the ability to concentrate that’s somewhat returned.
So I’ve decided that I will cook. Further exploring gluten-free and dairy-free, making applesauce again when the season rolls ’round, and trying to work out new traditions that can start overriding the old ones that my father tried so hard to work but, ah, turned them into days of unending terror instead.
Trying not to think about that.
I have my cows. I know that I’m not completely cured because I clutch them a lot. If they weren’t there, I think I wouldn’t be this sane; it’s just the clutching that is soothing, the ability to hang onto something and hug it a bit harder when the waves of terror come. Fuzzy and soft somethings, preferably.
I wish I could take Ike out shopping but for some reason I’m extra afraid of people staring at me when shopping. But I may have to do so. It’s hard to shop for ingredients I’m not familiar with when I’m starting to drown in paranoia (another sign I’m not cured).
Anyways. It’s late and I gotta sleep. I’m less dependent on the Ambien, too, which is very novel.
I wish it would last… but I know from looking at my blog’s archives that it won’t.
But for now, I’m running with the wind for once.
P.S.: I’m thinking of trying for rice mac & cheez, non-dairy alfredo-ish sauce with rice spaghetti, and nacho cheez with corn chips over the weekend. I have to say, one cup of rice pasta with sauce and tvp is very very very filling. I think I may have to cut down the serving size, it almost feels like too much. Thus far, Tinkyada rice pasta seems to hold up even better than most wheat pastas to abuse like cooking in a rice cooker, baking, and being reheated or eaten cold (or at least, room temperature).