A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.
I have spent a lot of time in your home, listening to your story, while I read between the lines. I have come when you called, even for a hemorrhoid that you have had for years, but now has a pregnant belly providing extra pressure. I have apologized for things that were not my fault, but it closed a ridiculous issue. I have smiled to keep your day nice, no matter what my day has been like. I have eaten crow publicly "No sir, I did not do as directed". I have patted those on the back that deserved it, as well. I knew a man I called The Airway God. But the thin veneer of bravado is very poorly maintained, even by the best of us. We put on our suit of armor, and our loud and comfy boots. Every item is a fragile piece of rice paper, even us ladies wearing makeup, waiting to be ruined by some unexpected bodily fluid. This is what happened to me. Blood saturated through my long standing suit of armor, and contaminated my body with God, only knows what. I have my last test this week. All clear so far. But the panic that set in, and was almost immediately was profound.
I have Combat-PTSD, so they tell me. Flashbacks, nightmares, insomnia and startle reflexes are common place for me. I can only read a few pages of a book at a time, it becomes too much information and my brain downloads the newly absorbed text and drops it out the bottom of my head. There is an abundance of advise to 'heal' from this, but my doc says, this stays with you forever. Learning to manage it is the key. The need for grounding is strong and leaves me with a sense of isolation that can only be described as complete. There are voices in my head, whispering just out of range of detecting any words. Like exuberant roofers wanting to complete a task that has run two days over schedule.
Cortisol is your friend and your enemy. Too much and you rage like a bull elephant in musk, too little and you are deeply depressed, over eat and cry endlessly. Meditation is the best thing to keep your levels under control--CRAP. I can meditate for an hour, and in 30 minutes I am a black rage that has me at the verge of breaking my house to pieces.
I know I am taking my anger out on my housemates. I do not intend to, but I find that particular anger has a beginning, a middle and an end. The 'end' part is good, it suggests I may be done with my stress (open mindedness, makes any possibility present itself). I love them all, and I want to provide, but this extended leave has me in a position that no longer allows for such things.
This is my thought- when you hit rock bottom, there is nowhere to go, but up. And hey! it aint cancer. So there is that.
A thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it.