05/23/2017 by syrbal-labrys
Ah, the road is long and dark here. As I begin to function again, I cannot say the same of my youngest son. He, too, was hit with a resurgent PTSD but his reaction is far worse. He becomes controlling of his environment beyond house and garden tidying: he wants to control the actions of everyone he lives with, his “team”. He cannot bear any heterodoxy to his will, because it makes him feel at risk. He drinks too much, he makes untrue statements to reinforce his entrenched positions. He spends all his money on retail therapy, and then needs to ask others for more. Of course, this alienates and drives away the very people who most want to see him reacting healthily to life again.
All of us respond to this with a mixture of pain, grief, and helpless anger. He is unreachable. We will all sit back and wait, miserably, for him to find something like equilibrium again. Because right now, he can’t even really talk to us. For the Minotaur and I, PTSD is an old known enemy — I know when I am triggered and withdraw to hold myself from doing the very damage the Raptor does now. The Minotaur does not always recognize when he is triggered – but usually does once he is TOLD he is reacting to a trigger.
The house is again re-arranged; this time to bring the Manchild’s cases of mead back into indoor racks before the summer heat began effecting the delicious honey alcoholic beverage with which we celebrate our holidays. The 4 spout kegerator now resides on the front porch, kegs empty to not be an occasion of excess for the Raptor.
The news in the world continues a-pace. No break in the incoming mental trauma at all. I note that ABC news last night had no word of the horror in Manchester, England — although it had happened a couple hours before hand. When NBC covered the story, their main question was (keep it tacky and Ameri-centric) whether any Americans died in the debacle. My eyes roll in disgust; what, now it is only a “proper” tragedy if Americans are killed? Nobody else fucking counts? Seriously NBC? This is why I so fucking rarely watch your goddamned news. What do I expect as you hire Faux Nooz dropouts?
I work myself to exhaustion. I sign petitions, I call my legislators. I watch distracting things on Netflix. I read. I sleep (with the occasional nightmare)sporadically. I continue. One foot in front of the other. It really is a bit like that line from “Firefly” here:
“When you can’t run, you crawl, and when you can’t crawl – when you can’t do that… You find someone to carry you.”
We are all carrying each other off and on, here.