Life After Trauma

I'm not entirely sure why I woke up this way.

It's a gross feeling. I feel my muscles tense from my neck down to my shoulders. My stomach felt off. I assumed it was from the $3.00 Big-Mac I scored last night. Still, I felt trapped in my bed. Sometimes I felt my bed was a prison, but at least it was a comfy, stylistic prison. I began to wonder if I had an alarming dream I couldn't remember, or maybe if something last night triggered me into this state.

"Right, this is anxiety.", I had muttered to myself out loud, to no one in particular. My dog took this as the opportune time to show me that she, too, is awake and roll on my face in hopes of her morning affection ritual. I obliged, but the anxiety still lingered. Just temporarily shoved down to a place it couldn't reach me, mainly because my chihuahua pressed the side of her neck and face into my face. I accidentally inhaled a hair or two.

Coughing really doesn't help that impending doom feeling when you're choking on dog hair.

Trying to shove off the anxiety, along with my dog - calmed my ass down enough that I was able to text good morning to my people, or reply to messages sent throughout the night. But as always, the one I have feelings for got texted first.

Good Morning. With a little heart.

Ten minutes later, I realized that my texts weren't sending. I couldn't really figure out why, and me trying to diagnose my own tech issues in the first 15 minutes I'm awake is not a good idea. Eventually, I figured out it was my internet that was off. But of course, this is where the anxiety goblins who love to play with my abandonment issues proceeded to march in a ring chant. Panic! Panic! Panic! Panic! They'd shout, chaotically. Because my texts weren't sending, I tried to message him on Messenger. I realized that after our last argument, I was still blocked. Fuck. I internally was beating my head on a desk.

The goblins started laughing chaotically.

"What if he ghosting you?", they whispered, "What if we were right and this is just all some awful joke? Wouldn't be the first time!" Then they'd snicker, break up their stupid like chaotic chanting circle and run amok in my brain. Nothing left unscathed that their gross little fingers didn't touch.

It's exhausting telling your brain, and its little manifestations, to fuck off all the time.

I sighed to myself, inwardly soothing the parts of my brain, "It's fine. It's fine. If he ghosts, we'll deal with it then. Let's not make an issue of it now. He's probably just busy." Then sent the texts as actual texts, not through the internet.

Rationalizing worked.

Of course, that's when the screaming and shouting started. Not from me, but my lovely upstairs neighbour - who was screaming, yelling and throwing things. All because his internet also went out. As he thrashed around, sounding like an elephant gone rogue as he stomped around his apartment - every memory of any male screaming at me surged. Flinching as whatever he tossed around hit the wall, or bounced on the ground of his apartment. Which was my ceiling. I knew my neighbour was just being my neighbour, that this wasn't a first-time occurrence screaming over stupid shit. That didn't stop the sinking feeling. Intuition and rationalization told me that I wouldn't be hurt. But that fucking anxiety goblin tribe running rampant wouldn't leave me alone.

I wished he was screaming over shaving his nut sack again. At least that situation was hilarious enough to override the fear and panic of him screaming, yelling and thrashing around. Made for an entertaining 3 am.

As he screamed his string of profanities at god knows what, I slunk further and further into my skin. This boy was pissed. I know it was probably his router he was screaming at, but the fear that was settled deep down into my bones was already threatening to drown out my whole system. Intuition and rationalization told me that things were fine, I was safe. But that instinct of how I was next to be screamed at filled my veins with that buzzing, electric feeling of a trauma response bordering on flight.

I pulled the covers over my head.

The different aspects of my thought processes running rampant. While the chaos anxiety goblins caused mischief, at least the thoughtful, analytic thoughts made an appearance too. Trying to figure out once again why I was so overstimulated, what triggered me. What exactly happened between last night and tonight. Maybe I drank my green tea a little too late in the evening? I thought about my caffeine intake, as usually, it's a stimulant that sets me off like this. But alas, I only had a sip or two of it before I passed out. I didn't think it was the Big-Mac, but - stranger things have happened. Who knows anymore.

Outwardly sighing again, internally waving off the memories of every time I've ever been screamed at belligerently up one side and down the other. I got out of bed. I was already exhausted and hadn't been awake for 30 minutes.

The neighbour still raged on. I decided to attempt calling some people for help, even to just talk to me for a little bit while he raged on. Nobody answered. Can't blame them. My friend who is more like a Mom than a friend is out with her partner, nursing a concussion. The person I have feelings for has their kids over. Everyone is busy with their Sunday Mornings. I talked a bit to a friend over messenger, which helped a little. I realized just how ridiculous the goblins who live in my Amygdala were being.

"See, he is ghosting you.", one little goblin whispered, I flicked it away. Knowing that the confused little beast was confusing social interaction for a lion attack, again. I ain't got time for that shit. It's not even true. Well, hopefully not. The goblin snickered as I wrote that. Bastard.

Deciding that doing something productive would help my mood, I grabbed my journal and wrote down some thoughts. It worked, for a bit. Until I got distracted by the soft glowing red light of my router. No connection/Fibre issue. That little red light, for whatever reason, felt daunting. I stared at it, knowing that probably just unplugging it for 30 seconds could help. But that didn't change the feeling equivalent to the first time I watched Frodo launch the ring into the fires of Mordor, or how I felt every time the appearance the Eye of Sauron made. That weird, panicky feeling that I felt drop straight down into my gut. Accompanied with nausea.

Heart beating out of my chest, for whatever stupid reason - I shut the fucker off. Counted to 30, did some deep breathing while counting, and plugged it back in. Thank fuck it worked, because today is not the day and I am not the one to be making phone calls to technicians.

Taking the notes from my journal, I sat down at my computer and began to write. Attempted to take the dogs outside, but once the dainty chihuahua saw the abundance of snow after she'd gotten used to a few weeks of fair weather - she promptly put herself back to bed. The other one lazily basking in the sunshine, her brindle coat glistening as she snoozed.

The buzzing hasn't left. My heart feels like it's going Mach Two. The exhaustion is overriding the fear, at least. I practice my self-compassion. I place faith and trust in the mantra of "whatever will be, will be." I know that people aren't trying to intentionally hurt me.

1, 2, 3 - Breathe in. 1, 2, 3 - Breathe out.

Learning to self-soothe has been a valuable skill. Would a voice outside of myself be helpful? Yes. But it's Sunday, and I can't exactly call my mental health support team up, demanding they help. They have lives of their own entirely. I also can't expect that of my friends, almosts, loves, family either. So out of anxiety, I chew on the hood of my sweater. Writing, checking my phone. Asking some stubborn dogs if they'd finally like to go outside before I force their asses out. The buzziness of worry, fear and anxiety all wrapped into one little package. The neighbour stopped raging, and thus - the fear of getting hurt has subsided. Clarity starts to warm over. Then I panicked because I thought maybe someone I knew got offended by something I wrote on my Medium blog a while ago - so I left to check. There is nothing inflammatory written in them.

"But are you sure?"

These damn anxiety goblins playing tricks.

It's been a challenge, learning to not react to things in a current situation - just because they remind me of something in the past. To not see the ghosts of those who've hurt me in everyone around me. Dealing with this horde of goddamn goblins in my head that I'm constantly herding like sheep. Therapy has helped. Medication, unfortunately, doesn't. Turns out I'm allergic to 3/4 of it. Glancing at my stash of marijuana goodies for dealing with my fibromyalgia pain, I wonder if it'd be worth it to be stoned as fuck all day just to deal with whatever the fuck is happening right now.

But it's not.

I'm going back to bed.

Once these dogs actually go outside.