It comes out of nowhere with no particular regularity. I can’t predict it to cycles of the moon or my body or the seasons or anything like that. G would of course link it to some kind of “anniversary” in PTSD-speak, but I reject that. It happens when it happens. I deal with it and move on.
But when it hits, it sinks me. Every single choice, every decision I’ve ever made in my life, every relationship, everything I think of as mine, rears up and smacks me in the face, screaming, “You were WRONG! You should have done THAT, not THIS!” It’s a tangible weight, pressing on me like being the bottom guy in an NFL pile-on. And it keeps piling on.
Worse (if possible) is anyone trying to help me. I want to slap them away like mosquitoes, leave me alone, Alone, ALONE, already, because alone is all that helps and all I want, all I deserve at those times. And sleep. Blessed unconsciousness. The blackness that erases all the crazy meanderings around in the circuits of my brain, chasing down the quantum endings of each path taken and not taken.
What if I’d turned HERE? What if I’d been smart enough to miss THAT exit, where would I be now, how much better off? How much worse? Still alive, even? The questions never stop.
No drugs. No meds. Usually just a lot of frantic, frenetic mental activity while I’m sitting in one place. Anyone else would think I’m a bump on a log, but my mind is a hamster wheel on crack, trying to process everything back into order and oblivion, while I sit calmly on the couch reading a magazine article about how to find calmness in meditation. As if.
It goes along. Everything annoys me like I’m some kind of huge, walking oyster and just being alive is an irritant. I can only pray that each grain of annoying thought or speech or action (my own and others’) will be smoothed over eventually and become pearls of wisdom that I can wear later when it hits again.
It’ll be over soon. It always is. I feel it lift. Sometimes when I exercise, sometimes when I’m completely still, sometimes it’s gone when I wake up another day. I can’t explain it out loud without everyone trying to explain or diagnose or excuse or say, oh, it’s because of this or this or this.
It’s NOT. It would happen regardless because it just does.
I deal with it. I manage. I go on. Just don’t touch me.