Friday, June 14, 2013

The Sound Of Silence.

I just came home after running some early morning errands and I had left Thomas alone in the house still in bed. I was very uneasy about doing this. When I came home to a silent house I was filled with dread. Why was it so quiet? Is he ok?

Clearly I have a problem of my own brewing, maybe P.T.S.D.? I am constantly on alert now for everything. If he sleeps too much I worry, if I wake in the morning and he's still in bed and his a/c is turned off (because usually he keeps it on all the time), I worry. If he clings to me, doesn't leave my immediate area for hours at a time, I worry. If he avoids the basement (where he previously spent his entire life) for days, I worry. If I leave the house and he's still in bed when I go, I worry that he'll be scared when he wakes and finds I'm not there (even though I leave him a note). If I discover when I'm out that my phone is on silent and I don't know how long it's been that way or if Thomas has tried to reach me, I worry. When I go to bed at night and leave him alone in the house in just a pool of the light of a single lamp, I worry. If I discover that he's had so much night time anxiety that he has had to take one of his anti-anxiety pills at night while in his room, I worry. When I see him begin to fixate on some sort of scary thing/movie/YouTube, I worry.

I am constantly worrying and it has gone so far out of control that I don't know how to make it stop. I've gotten myself in such a bind that I believe if I STOP worrying that that will then be the time that something goes horribly wrong and then I wasn't here and prepared correctly to help him. It's not that I've stopped living my life, make no mistake, I am still alive and kicking. I still go places without him like I did this morning and I'm totally calm and collected about his new job and am excited for him to start and am encouraging him in every way possible, I sleep pretty decently at night (thanks in large part to an arsenal of medications to calm me and put me to sleep), I haven't quit living however LIVING, no matter what form it takes, is slowly killing me because to be alive means I am filled with worry.

I know I need to get some control of this. I know that it serves no purpose to worry. I know it doesn't do anybody any good. I know all of this but I am scared to death and I can't shake the fear.

For the record, I am now getting help but even that blessed man, who is trying SO HARD to help, sees that my situation (not just with Thomas but with other crises going on in my extended family at the same time) is just about impossible to treat. At least that's where I was left yesterday. Without some relief SOMEWHERE in my life there is no place to get a hold of to begin the ascent out of this hole.

So here I am writing to you all my--what feels like--hundredth entry about my inability to cope, my broken heart, my grief. I hope you guys will hang in there with me. I have much to contribute to your lives outside of these sad posts and I will get back on the ball here as soon as possible.

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