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I was due for some good luck. I'm so glad I found the primary care doctor just when it did and will have help to navigate all this.  Overall excellent news from oncologist. Of course, I'm saddened and fearful of the medication I'll be taking and I am feeling punished, like "doom fulfilled," a sense of foreclosure and grief, "I knew it, I wouldn't get away without suffering more, I deserve this." "My life will be ruined."

But that is really premature, I may do fine on the treatment. It's just the brush with mortality even though again I am assured I will not die of this. Getting older is strange, as inside parts of me still feel so so young, almost like I haven't even started my life---and now it's more than half over, and I'm having to balance complicated medical issues that oppose each other. Parts of me are very upset, disappointed, feel I haven't begun yet, I've spent most of my life just trying to survive, and then to recover.... I don't even know what I want to be when I grow up yet and it's almost time to retire, or I'm going to be medically retired the rest of the way shortly.... ah well, I am officially old. Maybe I've worked enough. Maybe there is yet time to begin again. It's a new thing to begin to focus most of my energy on myself, what I feel, need. I am going to work through it.

I have to remind myself my age, that it's ok to be this age, it's ok to not be perfectly well, it's ok to need medicines, or a diet, or exercise, or more self care, to have to focus on being well and not on getting stuff done. I've done plenty, I did much of what I wanted to do. And while parts of me feel they haven't gotten to live yet, I have lived a very full life. One of the benefits of CPTSD is I had a foreshortened sense of the future and so I really did live in the moment, I never thought I'd live past 30, let alone 40.... I traveled when I wanted to, I quit jobs when I Wanted to, I made babies and stayed home with them when I wanted to, I worked with animals when it didn't pay, I made art, I wrote poetry, I sat under trees when I should've been putting green into my 401k. It's how I survived, to balance out the pain I sought joy, presence, nature, beasts, babies, art. And so I don't have regrets on that score. I have some feelings about the limits of what I accomplished, but that's part of the tradeoff, I made a lot less money than I planned to or expected, I left behind certain ambitions to pursue what I thought was more important, and I don't think I judged wrongly. It's just you cannot have it all. I loved what I've had. I hope to get more of it, to be well enough to enjoy, travel, be present at the kitchen sink and in the barn.

Meanwhile I have to get a bunch of scans and tests done to decide exactly which treatment would be least problematic. I am so relieved to have a primary to steer this ship. I am so glad my chart now says "medical trauma." I feel like I'm going to be able to do it. I feel some dread. But I don't feel like I need to disappear and hide from the appointments.

I'm so tired. Tomorrow more PT for the torn knee ligament. I am hoping to get much stronger in the months ahead. I am planning a trip to California to some national parks and hope to hike and tent camp with my sibling assuming I feel well enough---but it won't be the knee that stops me. It would be so healing to be outside. I have about 7 weeks to get my knee back to snuff. I packed my suitcase tonight. Wool, wool, and wool, a metal spork. I am glad I can still plan to go. This is what I live for. Moving through nature, I especially love the desert. you can see for miles and miles. The red or yellow rocks are sculptural and shape the blue air differently than anywhere else. And around them little green scrubby leaves. Everything there is hardy and living on the edge, living on the bare minimum, not flowering or leafing one iota more than necessary yet showing up fully. May I thrive similarly in my oasis, where there's water plenty now. Now sleep.

Marcine, TheBigBlue, NarKiddo, Kizzie, Chart, SanMagic7 Thank you so much for commenting and the encouragement.

I have not and will not share what the forum is with anyone. I want privacy. Even from the therapist. But I did tell her I have found a group of people who've been through similar as me, raised by various types of wolves. And that it's the most healing thing just to find them. Just to not have to pretend to be "normal" or that nothing is or ever was wrong, to be able to tell it like it is, keep it real. She was shocked at first as I don't share with anyone... and it was a happy moment. Thank you all.

Chart, love does not disappear. Thank you.

the BigBlue, yes that's it! I could rest because I was seen. And yes---the doctor not arguing with me! I swear. There's a meme I saw once, "Your one day of learning about my disease in med school doesn't compare to my fifty years living with it" and in the case of most doctors that's the case about more rare diseases, unless they specialize in it. Let alone how little most learn about menopause!

NarcKiddo, thank you for reminding me what we all deserve.

Thank you Marcine!  Your support means so much.

SanMagic7, I hope such a doctor appears for you. We need a database of trauma-aware doctors all around the US Canada and the world, we can crowd source a google doc!

Kizzie, thank you so much for your advocacy. This is essential! Today at the oncologist he wanted to do an exam. And clearly the note in the medical record worked because he said, "What can I do to make the exam more tolerable?" He handed me a list. A printed card! The nurse would be in the room. I could choose my level of recline, have him describe what was happening or not speak during, have the nurse wherever I wanted, hold a squish ball or not... It was extremely brief exam and I forget the other options. To be honest none of the options helped and seemed a bit silly, but what helped was HAVING OPTIONS. And having a mutual understanding that there was a "thing," there was a trauma, there was an issue so that I didn't have to hide it, I didn't have to "act normal" so he wouldn't know I have CPTSD. For me that is the most triggering part is having to act like there is no trigger. Is that weird? Having it be acknowledged between us with the list paradoxically allowed me to act perfectly "normal," I had zero symptoms of PTSD in the moment and the exam was a nothingburger. HOORAY!!!

I'm sure it helped that I wore loafers and a fabulous blazer with pockets aligned diagonally, with silk pants in a muddy khaki. The receptionist had on a cowprint skirt. "I love the skirt!" I said. She lit up. She had seen it on an influencer, then found it in a Marshall's the same day. What a coincidence. "Cow print is in, but I'm not so bold," I told her. "And the turban!" I said. "Pop of color!" she said, touching the hot pink head wrap. As I got on the elevator she called, "I love your bag!" I looked down, ah yes the zebra print bag! I have animal print too! Just in my hand and not wrapped around my hips. May I soon be so bold as to wear it on my hips. Clothes continue to be a way to connect with others and myself, help me show up as the middle aged person I am, in all my complexity, gifts, wounds, hopes and fears.

SanMagic, I was moved by your post. That your D can now accept your care would seem to show repair and healing over time. Cheers for that. The intense parenting required to get a child through high school alive is relatable. When our children need so much, we have to try to meet those needs, while also meeting our own, too. I hope you do get even a moment to curl up, and encourage you to make sure you're eating and resting too.

So glad you can see the new T today. It's always challenging to start a new therapy relationship and I know that feeling of waiting for things to "cohere", to have that sense of a shared understanding of the landscape---and where to start the tour? I hope it will be supportive today.

Marcine, hooray for self-acceptance, joy, and yes, a poignant sense of what the journey has cost.

That win-win is so important I think. So many times I've ended up on the losing side, I picked the wrong people, or lacked awareness I was losing/what the other person was extracting, or I wasn't able to negotiate when I did notice. Looking for win-win situations is such an important aspect of healing to notice!

Me neither, NarcKiddo. Music says it better.

BigBlue, 

Marcine you found some way to reflect my words. Thank you so much for reflecting back to me. The stark reality. It is what it is.

SanMagic7, thank you so much for being with me. And you can identify. That means a lot. I'm sorry we're in this club no one wants to be in.

I know better what I am carrying now. Which somehow helps me get a better handle on it and makes it a little easier to carry. Grief is love that has no place to go. I'm looking for that place. I'm not looking to receive love, although I do need love, what's driving me, what's eating me up is I'm looking for a place for my love to go. My life force. A place where I can express myself. Where I can be all of me. Where I don't have to be a secret, or feel like a walking bomb.  Where I can pile weeds as tall as my head and my message is understood and received, or at least, tolerated, not immediately trashed, not discarded, not rejected.

I feel so clear right now. In general I feel like my insides are a scribble, a scribble so intense it becomes a solid blur. But right now I feel so clear.

Today I went to a new doctor. I need a primary doctor to run the ship due to my stitch-uation. I haven't had one, don't like doctors. I wasn't going to bother mentioning anything else, the nerve pain, joint pain, fatigue, nausea, trouble swallowing, stomach pain, light-headedness, muscle weakness, genetic disorder she won't be familiar with. She'll just write "functional" and "anxiety" and tell me to drink more water and exercise. My plan was for her to just take my blood pressure and refer me to an oncologist for second opinion.

Put on the paper gown and wait. I hate doctors. Try to stay present. Refer to the text I wrote myself. Rehearse: Hello, I just need to establish care and get a referral. Hello, I just need to establish care and get a referral. Hello, I just need to establish care and get a referral.

The door opens. I hate that part. She sits down. "Is it ok if I record? That way I can look at you and listen better and not look at the screen." Look at me? OK. "Let's get to know you." Get to know me? OK.

My age. My medications, none.  Systems. "Cardiac?" A murmur here and there."Joints?" Hurts."Spine?" Hurts. "Muscular system?" Hurts, weak, constant deconditioning. "Digestive system?" Hurts. "Bladder/kidneys?" That hurts too. "Genitals?" Hurts. "Lungs?" Inflammation, scarring. "Sleep?" Nope, I can't do that. "Ok let's go through the records. You were tested in 2009---that's a painful test---and it was positive....no one offered you this treatment?" Nope. "So in 2016 you were in the hospital, procedure, procedure....but this was never resolved?" Nope. "In 2018 you saw neurologist and orthopedist...but they never gave you this drug?" Nope. "And for gyn they sedate you... because it hurts?" Yup. "Does a Qtip touch hurt?" Yup. "And you fainted in 2016, 2017, you fainted in 2019 ER trip...? No one ever did an echo?" Nope.

She asked me to do some movements and I realized she was testing for the genetic disorder that I wasn't going to bother to mention. "Do you know you very likely have this genetic disorder?" Yup. "Do you know it's in your chart as suspected back in 2010?" Yup. "And no one offered you this testing and this treatment?" Nope.

"You're too young for this much pain, you need to get your life back." I didn't tell her I've spent much of the last four years in bed if my kids weren't home, though lying flat does nothing for the pain except help me hide it. That I do the dishes in short bits. Can work only a few hours a day in bits. "You've been undertreated." Undertreated. I thought I was being aggressive seeing all those specialists. But apparently they just wrote "anxiety" or "unknown etiology." Maybe not having had a primary doctor went against me, no one was putting all the pieces together. Each specialist knows their own area, but no one knows the genetic disorder. It was 2009, 2010, 2016, 2018. In 2020 a new test came out for the disorder, but it was COVID, and most doctors still don't know how to identify and treat it. Now we know better.

Undertreated, neglected. As a child I thought everyone could see right through me, but no one put the pieces together. They just wrote "sensitive," "spacey" and "possible hearing loss?" in my school record. My ears were fine. It was the 70s. Now we know better.

"What's this---ok we're taking that out." "Deleting this." "Delete." "Deleting this." Who knows what my record said. "OK well obviously that was a result of the disorder, adding a note...."

She gave me three prescriptions. Medications that may help. It's all nerve problems, dysautonomia, nerve dysregulation, and nerve pain. But I'm sensitive to drugs. "Yes, you would be. That's why you're starting with a microdose of each. And I'll see you back in two weeks." See me again? OK. 

My kids have it, too, I told her. I was able to get the kids to doctors at a children's hospital who could help, get them medications, treatment. But pediatric doctors don't see adults.

Now I am seen.

"I have it too." She showed me. Her kids have it. No one could figure out her children's pain, she had to do her own research, advocate, demand, navigate. She will do that for me. Referral to her specialist, referral to her cardiologist, referral to her orthopedist. And a gyn who will sedate? Referral. "And she'll treat the pain. It's ridiculous for you to be in pain like this." Referral to rheumatologist. "Once the pain is treated you will sleep. And your stress scores and anxiety scores will go down. This isn't anxiety, it's the physiology of dysautonomia, fatigue, and your nervous system's response to chronic pain." Referral to oncologist. "You can't go through any kind of treatment in this much pain and already fatigued and stressed. We need to get the right medications on board now."

I can't. I don't have to. I am seen. Understood. Not alone. She has it too. "I'm writing medical trauma in your chart." Medical trauma? "Is that ok? That's what fifteen years of misdiagnosis, wrong
treatment and neglect leads to." OK, medical trauma.

If she only knew.

I didn't even have to tell her. My therapist has written me a script. Also on my phone. "I want to let you know I have medical trauma so you can be aware of how I might respond and we can communicate and collaborate effectively...." But I did not practice it. And now I don't have to use it. Relief.

I will have prescriptions that might help.

Even if they don't, I am understood. The record is clear. Doctors in future may not know what my disorder is but they'll know I have it. And know there is medical trauma. Maybe understand better why I can only say "hurts" "nope" and "yup." Why I grip my paper gown. Why I seem "anxious."

Makes sense.

So peaceful inside, all the little me's lying down cozy in bed in safe glowing rainbow rooms and drifting off to sleep. So quiet. So clear.

Thank you, all of me. And thank you all, in the storm, for seeing, reading, hearing, looking, understanding, receiving my piles of weeds/words.

Working on grief.

A year ago I unintentionally revealed a trauma to my therapist, somehow I thought she knew, and so I said something rather awful, with zero preparation. she was a little shocked although she tried not to show it. I was really upset. I was upset that I hadn't known what she knew, that I had been a bearer of bad news. I felt that I had hurt or betrayed her.

Of course, she is not my mother.

I brought her a few flowers in a little glass as an apology. She took it. The glass has remained in her office.

"Grief is only love that has no place to go."

Age 5, showing my dad a drawing. He doesn't look. A little glass in hand. A secret. "It would kill your mother." I won't tell.

"Grief is only love that has nowhere to go."

What to do when you can't use words? I spent the next day bicycling my tricycle a few doors down to a vacant lot. Picked flowers, dandelions, thistle, Queen Anne's lace, filled my basket, tricycled them back home. Piled them on the driveway. How many trips? The pile of flowers, erm, weeds, was as tall as my head as I recall. The flowers filled two trash bags. I know because when I called my mother out to see my "surprise," she stuffed them into trash bags immediately.

Grief is only love that has nowhere to go.

This week I realized that little glass is a shot glass.

This week I realized I didn't need to bring my therapist flowers. She's not betrayed that I know what I know, not hurt that I feel what I feel.

Still don't know what to do with the two trash bags of love. Or the empty glass.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0n952KsQg6M

Thank you, SanMagic. I'm getting lots of practice LOL. Still sick.

When I get overwhelmed with caretaking I just go to my room and rest. No one seems to mind, they carry on their activities.

I feel so vulnerable when sick. I imagine Mr. Frank must feel that way too. He hides his illness. You can only tell because he doesn't flop stretched out when he's sick, he sits only in a "loaf" with his feet tucked under him and you can see a little tension in his cheeks. So maybe it's just a mammalian nervous system to feel scared that I'm not 100%.

You ARE a good human being, Marcine. Living in alignment, with courage. And breaking the cycle. 

Your children, students, and everyone here are so fortunate that you are bringing hard-earned wisdom, borne from pain and hard work of grieving, discernment, and many brave leaps.

LittletoNothing, I was so moved to read your post. Congratulations on turning 70! A foreshortened sense of the future is a symptom of PTSD. And, here you are!

I was so moved to read that you were able to talk about some difficult things with your T. That's awesome. Everything you've done till now, brought you to the point where that could happen.

You are not guilty of your abuser's actions. Coming to that awareness and taking delivery of the ramifications of that IS huge. With you in the storm.

SanMagic7, nice to meet another person who wears a mask. I'm cautious as well as partner and I are both vulnerable and we had a lot of pandemic trauma.

I'm sorry your gal pal wouldn't admit the obvious, she appears to be sick!

So glad you got some calm moments. I can relate, I feel calm comes and goes and I'd like to find the "calm button." One step is just to enjoy it, notice it when it happens and you were able to do that!

So glad you could see the new T!     And get the medication you need.

It's positive that after talking to her you feel calmer. Sounds like she listened, even if she doesn't have answers straightaway. I know for me, just  being heard and having someone be curious to learn about the unique me can be healing. 

Thank you TheBibBlue, SanMagic7, NarcKiddo, Chart.  This is so hard and also I feel so supported.

NarcKiddo, I hate my plans being scuppered! This made me smile. I was able to do therapy virtually which is good. Came home and slept. Kids home but---each is now making their own snack. I am listening to "tink tink" and "click clack" from the kitchen. A peaceful sound. They know how to cook, there's plenty of food in the house, yummy things I didn't have access to. They know what Tzatziki is. The house is a bit of a mess but it's fine. Frank reclines amidst the recycling to go out tonight. I see he has tasted several of the cracker boxes.

TheBigBlue I had to laugh because you'r right, wolves do better! They keep the young wolf within the pack and share the kill.

Chart, What you wrote "Isolation is indistinguishable from abandonment to a child. And abandonment is death." really hit home for me. I am lying in bed after therapy and my teeth are chattering. I think it's a relaxation of long held tension against speaking. I am speaking in a new way from a new part of me. I am undoing isolation.

I have been listening to a song, maybe it's silly. It's a love song, but I'm singing it to me. Madison Malone singing Aerosmith. I was stunned just now when I looked it up to post. I had never seen the video. She is singing not to a lover but to her child. And that's how I was hearing it. To my younger self. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L1299NPXPeM

I feel bleary and depleted. But not horrible. Just weakened. I can't tolerate feeling weak---I couldn't tolerate it, I always pushed through. I am tolerating it. Sinking into my flannel sheets. Listening to the kids keeping normal life going, as a child would listen to parents sleepily through the door. I am certain not one recycle box will go out, I am not deluded But they are making their own snack and that's enough, that's fine, they are settling in after school to their routine, they are peaceful, settling into their homework, the couch, resting too. They know how to rest. I am learning.

Solidarity in the tough mornings. 

 
Thank you for reading and commenting, Marcine!

Yes. I am working on heeding my body's signals.

That's part of what I'm trying to do with the clothes. Every morning when I put something on, is it a "yes"? How do I know? It's a yes if I feel like moving, if I feel more present. It's a no if I feel stiff, awkward, or tension in my face. This is all new and I'm struggling with it. Noticing inside what I feel. But I need to do it!

You're so right and I know you've walked this walk and come out the other side which inspires me to keep working at it and being open to it even when my habit is to shut down and just keep going.

This morning I had some clarity. It wasn't just that I had chicken pox. My sibling also had chicken pox! And was three at the time. Yikes. I forgot that part.

I was taking care of my sibling and feeling helpless at their misery. Worried, how sick would we get? I had no idea. There was no internet.  What if I got too sick to take care of my sibling? My mistakes, I ran a tub, made the water too hot. Felt scared, responsible, guilt, overwhelm. Their constant fussing. Getting us water. Standing at the cupboards having no idea what to make, or how. Put the tomato sauce in a pan, heated it, added dry pasta to the sauce.... which of course did not cook. Turning off the stove, checking it over and over to be sure it was "off." Getting us each an apple, putting on cartoons, scratching. What a nightmare.

The sense of helpless overwhelm and feeling I MUST caretake is ALSO an emotional flashback.

My kids are teenagers. My partner is an adult. The load is not so heavy as a sick three year old when I'm just nine. My family absolutely CAN take on caring for themselves for 24-48 hours. One kid may fuss and whine, OH WELL. I can tolerate it. No one is going to yell at me if there are dishes in the sink and a cardboard box on the floor. I can chill in bed if I feel like it. I don't have to get up and clean with a stuffy head. I can make myself a cup of soup, I know how to cook now.

And this is JUST A COLD. I am not going to get severely ill.

I have to work through this stuff quick. So I can do what else I have to do to take care of myself.

Breaking the isolation IS the path for me. I did thirty years of therapy, isolated in a box once a week with a therapist who, no matter how skilled and caring, couldn't share as a peer the internal knowing, because even if they'd been through it that was not their role. I love my therapists, most of them and they truly helped me survive and learn to semi-thrive. But this is a whole new world. I had never broken the ice, the isolation. The isolation was the biggest part of the trauma. And now that, too, is over, is in the past.

Thank you for sending love and care. 

Feeling triggered and thought writing might help.

I had a wonderful day today connecting with a special group of people. Afterward I felt so centered and calm, so present. I think this has been a huge missing piece for me in my life, being with people who understand what it's like to have CPTSD, being able to be "out" about it. No one in my life knows my diagnosis. I don't share my past beyond that I was "raised by wolves." My partner knows because he lives with me, not because I've told him. My sibling knows because they lived it with me. I've lived as someone to whom it didn't happen.

To be able to take for granted that it happened, to be with people who lived it too, to even laugh about the predicament with others..... I wish I could better describe the feeling, all I can say is "solid." and "clear." "Quiet inside." "Arrived." "All of me." "What I've been searching for." This feeling lasted for hours and hours and I just reveled in it. It's like all the me's of the past were taking it in, and it was changing their lives, too, rewriting the past. Not alone---never alone. While I was suffering in the Midwest of America, these beloveds were also going through their own samsaras, AND COMING OUT ON THE OTHER SIDE, all these years ALSO fighting, climbing, searching, learning, persevering, believing. It's a shared experience. It's an experience of human beings. I am a human being. I belong to the tribe of humans. If they can live and thrive, I too can live and thrive. I can be someone to whom it all happened---I CAN BE ME.

As the day wore on I started to feel unwell and now it's clear I'm getting a cold. NBD. A little cold. Tested negative for flu an dCOVID. Fine.

Yet I'm spiraling. I HATE the feeling of "going down."

I get so scared when I feel sick. I get so triggered. I get so scared.

I hate being unable to do things. Feeling helpless is the worst feeling for me.

I had cleaned the whole house Friday, yet today it's messed up again, and I can't clean it, I can't do the dishes this evening, I can't clean the rat cage, I can't put away the laundry. I hate disorder, it's very triggering as my house growing up could be hoarded or disordered. I am not a neat freak and do regularly have creative mess, it's just that when I feel triggered I need to be able to order it. And right now I can't. Frank's lettuce sits on the counter, the dishes sit in the sink, there's a box that needs to go to recycling. A feeling of chaos and neglect overwhelms me.

It's scary to feel I must keep going, when my body says I can't. I'll still have to take care of everyone, meals, dishes, laundry, pets, a cycle of every 2 hours another production. Recently with my surgery I got one kid and the partner to step up and the other kid who just can't cope went to a friend's for the week. How will I produce meals tomorrow. I can't even think.

Being sick was rough as a kid. When I had flu they made me bathe in cold water, scrub my head (wouldn't pay to heat the water), and put on my tights and patent leather shoes and frilly dress to go to Christmas dinner. I passed out in the hallway with wet hair dripping on my dress. They bundled me up and put me in the car, hair still dripping in 20 degree winter, off to grandma's house. I laid on her carpet and the room spun. I don't remember getting home. One of the worst moments of my life was having chicken pox. Sounds wild, right? So much abuse, and yet it was CHICKEN POX that got me? I was about 9 years old and awake in the middle of the night, so itchy, and alone. Feverish. It's the only time I ever wished to die as a child. I just felt so alone in my suffering, lying on the green carpet in the living room so my crying wouldn't wake my parents, scratching nd scratching and asking God to take me. It was my dark night of the soul. Probably because of high fever. 

I also don't like my plans being messed up. I don't have much of a life, and now I won't be able to do a few things that were important to me. I had plans for tomorrow, for once in years my partner and I were going to go out to breakfast. I was to return a pair of shoes. And I want to go to therapy in person on Monday. And my older kid has several doctors appointments. And I'm supposed to see the oncologist. And I need to respond to the district about IEP. And I already can't think clearly.

If I could just lay in bed and be sick I think it could be a cozy feeling. It's the feeling of having to keep going that is getting me.

I'm not sure how to get through a night that now feels scary, isolated, nightmarish. I want to go back to the feeling I had earlier today of being fully present, clear, and inner quiet. That inner quiet was just delicious. That sense of presence was so yummy. That feeling of clarity was cravable. How can I get back to that and unblend from this?

There's a loud thumping from down the hall. Frank always interrupts my rumination, it's like he can sense overthinking and it annoys him, he doesn't like the vibe. THUMP THUMP STOP THINKING, THINKING TOO LOUD. This is Frank's happy hour, he's crepuscular so 8pm-midnight is his high time. Thump thump thump. And I'm not alone, Mia the dog is in her purple puffer coat and under my wool blanket for good measure, little thin-skinned Puerto Rican greyhound was not meant for snow. You can feel Frank's spirit loud tonight. Lately Frank is a destructo-bun. Lately he seems more frustrated. The more he heals, the more energy he has. It's his second year with us? or third? And month by month he has more energy, more self-expression. From totally shut down, to hopeful but in pain, to pain-free and curious, to connected and joyful, content and liberated, and now... destructo-bun. chewing a wire here, flinging his metal bowl there, thumping, tearing down the hall and back and tiptoeing onto the hard floor, digging the carpet into a frayed mess. He's a wild man these days. I love to see the spunky spirit but sir! You are a domesticated rabbit, please mind the wires! I think his intensity is just a sign of more healing, he feels safe enough to let his instincts out, Frank flag fly. And, clearly I am not alone. Thump thump thump, crash! I'm going to take away his bowl tomorrow.

I think one of the worst things about my trauma wasn't the fists or body part A and body part B, wasn't the emotional abuse, it was this sense of isolation. Neglect. That I'm alone, as if I'm the only one who ever suffered. Which is of course complete rabbit poop. Everyone suffers. Right now millions are suffering much more than a minor cold in a posh American suburb. It's not to gaslight myself with "people are starving in China," It's that I am not, actually, alone. This sense of profound isolation, alienation, depersonalization and derealization is an emotional flashback. It's not reality. Today I experienced not being alone. It was life-giving, absolutely life-giving.

Now, I have a cold. this too shall pass. I have taken zinc, vitamin C, vitamin D, peppermint oil, saline nasal spray and whatever other neurotic witch magic I can think of. I am safe under 100% wool covers to deal with night sweats. I have Netflix. All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well. I'm sorry I was not cared for when I had chicken pox. Which reminds me ,I need to get my shingles shot! Frank, have mercy. Frank be with me. Frank hear me, and make haste to help. Thump if you must. Be near me, and do not leave.