What are those little cabbages called?

Distractions are everywhere.

I could be cleaning the kitchen one moment and the next find myself tending my little container garden on the front porch. The stove, countertops and floor in the kitchen remain untouched.

I can't watch a full movie in one sitting--most of the time.

I'll get up, walk outside, realize I haven't looked for slugs in the garden lately and spend the next hour doing just that, in between playing with Lala and noticing everything that needs to be done on the tomatoes.

When I do finally make it back inside and look at the computer, that movie I've been wanting to watch for awhile is up on the screen. How cool is that?

My Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is just as unique as the nearly 8 billion people on the planet. That is; each person suffering from this disorder has a different version, based upon their experience and circumstance.

It's not a virus. We can't get rid of it with antibiotics. Some meds can make it better--others make it worse.

I don't form bonds like most people. Outside my little family unit, I keep people at arm's length. It takes a very long time to be able to feel safe with someone. And even then, if I'm triggered in any way, I cut off contact, (or ghost as some like to call it,) because I cannot risk another betrayal... or what I may imagine to be worse.

The meds I'm prescribed deal with the anxiety and depression, because right now those are the most current threats to my well-being. Besides this, I have short-term memory loss that could be labeled as astounding. Really. It could be.

It can take me days to write a short essay. I lose track of what I'm doing and the original intention of the essay. Then there are days I write a two-thousand word essay in less than an hour.

I fear my memory loss could be early onset Alzheimer's. I ask myself, how long will I have before I can no longer form cohesive thoughts or a proper sentence?

Logically, I know it's not Alzheimer's. The idea is a nagging one. It doesn't go away and resurfaces with a vengeance with each little episode of forgetfulness, especially when I forget the names of things.

A few days ago I wanted brussel sprouts. I haven’t had them in awhile, but I couldn’t tell my daughter what to get at the store, because I couldn’t remember what they were called and was too embarrassed to say, “you know… those little cabbages?”

There is an upside to all this. Don't believe it? Consider this: You're angry with someone you love because of some off-color comment or something they've done. In an hour, (or three) the slight or comment is gone from your mind. Though you remember you were angry, the reason for the anger is mist. It's great for long-term relationships and keeping family peace.

So, this is my PTSD. It's not a thing that defines me, but it does have an impact on my life and relationships. The lens I look through paints the world gray. I like to think that one day things will look normal again, but realistically, I know that's not possible.

My doctor said the chemicals in my brain have changed. There are some that don't respond the way they should (hence, the meds) and that will never change. I'll need medication for the rest of my life. Still, I can learn to work with it. Carve out a little space in the universe for myself that gives me some form of meaning.

I think I've done that. But again, it depends on the day. Tomorrow I may disagree with myself. Because that's the way I work now.