You live in a black and white world except for four colors: red, green, yellow, and blue. As you look around in your periphery you see patches of green, yellow, and blue if you don’t have trauma. If you do have trauma, you may sometimes see a spot of red that engulfs your vision. When that happens, you collapse backwards.
Every day of your life you wake up a new person. For every past day of your life you have been a different person tainted with the different colors of that day. Each time you wake, you are a grey, blank slate ready for the day. Your past selves wake too and follow you in a line in chronological order. Let’s say you and your past selves get on a yellow bus with mostly blue passengers, but you pass a red building. Suddenly, you collapse backward to the person who saw red in that building on one particular day. Your present day self is gone, and you begin to shake.
This can happen for other memories too – perhaps autumn leaves make you see green, and you acquire green for that day and all your past selves with green autumn leaves collapse backwards and you collectively enjoy the leaves together.
See, I always thought people were always more than just who they are when you meet them or greet them for the day. They are moments upon moments of themselves. This is how I’ve tried explaining PTSD to my husband. I think it’s working.
Today I was asked to send in my resume for a writing internship. I listed all of the writing I had done, and I felt a warmth inside me.
While checking my publications at the Mighty, I discovered one article that received over 400 likes. This is a milestone, as only a few before mine broke one hundred.
I haven’t told the husband yet as he watches John Oliver on his iPad, as is his morning ritual, but I am quite excited. Maybe one day I’ll be a thousandaire in the likes.
In addition, yesterday I was told by Offbeat Bride that I had two more articles I was going to be published by them. As a longtime fan of the website (seriously… I was thirteen) I can’t wait to say I’ll have three articles with them and be part of their bride tribe.
Then there is, of course, my experimental poetry book, It’s Okay, Magic Happens.
It’s experimental mainly for the fact that it was my coping mechanism for PTSD over 9 years and I only took the good stuff, stuffed it into Scrivener, and wanted to see if I could make a book. I wanted to see if I could learn a new technology. Friends who had read my poetry for years told me to self-publish for about three of the nine years the poems collected static on my computer.
Right now I am working on a bridal book I hope to get traditionally published. Email me for more info.
I am hoping this internship leads me closer to becoming a paid, full-time writer. But I am still blessed even if I don’t get the job.
Before Bear and I married, we honestly didn’t know how bad my PTSD was. I knew I had it to some degree, but it was vanquished because I didn’t talk about it. It was simply buried like a honey-badger about to attack our tiny baby marriage from beneath the surface. Does anyone remember that meme?
I remembered how bad my PTSD was when it first started. I would scream in the shower and twist my shampoo bottles across the water. I’d cry randomly in everyday places. Eventually I developed chronic pain once I did stop talking about it. I turned online to vent my fears. But the biggest thing was, the medical professionals denied my PTSD because I kept it under control by staying single for 6 years until I decided to date again, at my roommate’s suggestion.
Once I did, my career spiraled out of control. I began to see and hear things that did not exist at work coming from my male coworkers. There was no way I could work in an office. By the time I quit my job was the time I started going steady with my husband, who had no idea what was actually going on. Neither did I – I thought I had developed schizophrenia.
The same thing would happen at three more places of employment before I gave up and went to grad school, which was a lovely experience. But once I had a new permanent male figure in my life, the craziness exploded again – this time at my husband.
We’ve discovered that letting each other be open and vulnerable even over subjects the other thinks is stupid is the key to getting through our current situation. I’m no longer hearing monsters in the night. Tonight we slept in the same bed for the first time in two weeks. Not because he asked me to leave the room, but because I was hiding. That must have felt horrible to him.
I accomplished two sessions of EMDR this past week, and I think it’s responsible for getting my mind to chill out enough to communicate with my husband. I recommend it for anyone needing trauma therapy. Yes, you can do it remotely.
I’m going to be writing about trauma therapy and marriage again today, because that’s my life right now. This is not a Whiner McBabypants post where I talk about my specific trauma, rather, these are my reflections on life, love, and marriage as a disabled woman.
You know when you just feel sad, and you just want to be sad? Your husband will cook dinner, do the dishes and watch romcoms with you but you don’t want any of it, you want to feel your own pain?
When I look back on my former life as an able-bodied model, I would call myself ungrateful. This lack of gratitude drug into my life as a disabled person, and later as a disabled married person.
Part of this led to walls-up mode. Most people think I wear my heart on my sleeve, but really this is an act of pushing people away by oversharing. If someone really wanted my honest opinion, they’d probably have to cross Jurassic Antartica with added volcanoes to get it.
I finally revealed this to my husband today, with the caveat that for most of my life, I didn’t think people were safe. But when I put his wedding band on his finger, I marked him as someone who was safe. It was my job to get out of Jurassic Antartica and place him in the sunnier meadows of my mind so I could hear him out, and ultimately communicate with him.
I really don’t have anyone or anything I’m more grateful for than him. He finished building a 4 ft tall aromatherapy garden for me today. It’s that tall so I don’t hurt myself by bending over.
Remember, learning to love is just as hard as accepting it!
Disclosure: Bear in mind that some of the links in this post are affiliate links and if you go through them to make a purchase I will earn a commission. Keep in mind that I link these companies and their products because of their quality and not because of the commission I receive from your purchases. The decision is yours, and whether or not you decide to buy something is completely up to you.
My husband and I have been through some real hell. There is no doubt in the medical professionals’ minds that I have PTSD although I’ve been saying that for years in an attempt to get help. It all exploded when I married Bear. I exploded HUGE twice.
I’ve got some major guilt about what I’ve done in the light of my PTSD. But I’ve started trauma therapy (and missed one day due to being extremely ill) and hope that I’m on the path to recovery. Bear is who I want and who I love. He’s who I am eternally grateful for in the midst of all this crazy inner turmoil.
Lately I’ve come to realize that Bear is a human being *GASP* who has dreams, and gets frustrated and anxious when those dreams are delayed or seem thwarted. This realization came to fruition with the writing of my next book, when my beta readers wouldn’t get back to me, finding editors and agents, and not knowing my way around the book world whatsoever.
I mean, I always knew that Bear had dreams, interest, and goals. But the experience of chasing after things most people would deem trivial, such as Master Gardener, while constantly being thwarted by circumstance, enabled me to understand him on a deeper level.
When it comes to marriage, it’s easy to make the bogeyman out of your spouse, but most of the time they have good intentions. At least that’s the case with mine.
Anyways, those are my marital musings of the day, on to the review!
Product Review: Foster-Stephens, inc White Heirloom Wedding Gown Storage and Preservation Box
The Foster-Stephens box arrived in style with a neat color scheme and design. But because it’s a box within a box within a box, the actual box that holds the dress ripped when I attempted to take it out. This wedding dress preservation kit is all cardboard.
It’s an attractive box, in a grandma sort of way. Cheaply made and flimsy, we only paid $75 when some kits are over $200. As I was working to put the acid-free tissue around my dress, the cardboard box was bending.
This is the inside bottom of the box where the DIY bustier form is. I could somewhat make the cardboard bustier, but it was too large for my wedding dress as my dress had an empire silhouette. Or maybe it just wasn’t cooperating. In the end I stuffed my dress with acid-free paper provided with the box.
I don’t know how I was supposed to wrap the rest of my dress and stuff my bodice with the acid free paper provided because the pieces were so small. My dress doesn’t even have a train.
This Wedding Dress Preservation Kit Comes With
DIY Cardboard bustier
Instructions with how to watch on You-Tube
This Wedding Dress Box Does Not Come With
Dress cleaning supplies
Before using this box or any other, you should get your dress dry cleaned!
I put my dress in a white box partially wrapped in acid-free paper.
It cost me $75.
If you really want gown preservation, I suggest saving up and going elsewhere, but if you have a case of the poors like we do, this is a box and it does something for your dress.
My book, It’s Okay, Magic Happens, is finally here! Over the course of about 6 years I wrote this collection of poetry. I do believe this is chronic illness related, as these poems are related to PTSD and the general feelings that come with developing chronic pain. I have worked on this for the past week, so please, give it a look over and a nice rating for me. It would be appreciated.
Those who have been on this blog for any amount of time know that I suffer from PTSD. I also believe that it is the root cause of my chronic pain.
There is a lot of evidence that if one has untreated trauma, it explodes into fibromyalgia, and later other diseases. The therapist I work with now specializes in people with chronic pain and their trauma. I am blessed to have found her.
The year following my trauma I began writing poems. I have written poems since 2013 up until today. When I was in DBT I made a writer acquaintance who shared her writing resources, one of which was Scrivener. I got into the program and wanted to see how easy it was to publish on Kindle Direct Publishing (KDP).
It was very easy, however, there were some blunders. I will need to get better and this poetry book is my guinea pig book. Printed in a PDF it’s about 72 pages. I’m still figuring out how to create a print book through KDP.
Anyways, my poetry book It’s Okay, Magic Happens is on the Kindle store. I’m only not linking to it yet because I’m still trying to figure out cover art.
Comment/tweet/contact me with your favorite cover (tell me magical, blue, glitter, or flowers) so I know which one to use.
Thank you so much and I hope you have a wonderful quarantine.